Opposite the centaurs stood a pack of werewolves in full lupine form, surrounding a wizard who looked barely human himself. He had matted gray hair, a tangled beard, and a fleshy face with an exposed chest covered in thick black fur. His fangs were elongated, jutting out in a way that defied ordinary human anatomy.
Facing this pack, the centaur troop backed against a massive rock formation, split into two rows. Five adult centaurs stood in the vanguard, the three in the center gripping heavy spears while the two on the flanks joined the three juveniles in the rear. They held their bows drawn to full tension, maintaining a state of high-alert vigilance.
The werewolves did not rush blindly into the fray, clearly wary of the centaurs' marksmanship. Several wolves still had broken shafts protruding from their flanks, and the ground was dotted with dark bloodstains.
The centaurs, however, were struggling. Several in the front row bore deep, ragged scratches and were breathing heavily. One warrior, likely due to blood loss or exhaustion, had hands that trembled visibly as he held his bowstring taut.
The werewolves had been tactical, using the terrain to corner the troop. It was well known that once centaurs found open ground to run, even a werewolf at full sprint could not catch them. If the centaurs managed to kite the pack, the wolves would be the ones slaughtered.
It was evident the two sides had already clashed at least once. The centaurs had failed to break the encirclement, and the werewolves had been unable to collapse the defense. Both sides had taken significant damage, leading to this tense stalemate.
This standoff favored the pack. Werewolves possessed a formidable regenerative factor; Alan watched as one wolf yanked an arrow from its shoulder, the bleeding slowing to a trickle almost instantly. The initiative remained firmly with the predators.
As Alan observed from his vantage point, he noticed a discrepancy in the numbers. Counting the lone wolf he had tracked and the group that had ambushed the merchant, there should have been seven. However, his Echo Spell revealed eleven werewolves in total. Two had even begun to scale the high ground behind the centaurs, waiting for the perfect moment to strike from above.
"The wolf that bolted earlier went to fetch the rest of the pack." Alan looked at Kiki and gestured toward the wizard. "Is that the man you saw before?"
"Yes, Master, that's him. But he has many more monsters with him now," Kiki whispered after a quick peek.
Alan nodded. It appeared there were no other wizards involved; this man was the alpha of the operation. He had likely distributed his pack throughout the Forbidden Forest to search for unicorns, and Alan had only discovered them because one scout had wandered too close to the school grounds.
Alan had no intention of letting them leave alive, but he remained patient. Rushing in without knowing their specific physical limits or the wizard's combat style was a recipe for disaster.
"Despicable poachers!" the centaur in the center—an elder with a heavy beard—shouted at the wizard. "We should have read the sky more clearly. When Rigel dimmed in Orion, the wolves began to roam beyond their borders. You are the one behind this, the blight who has gathered them."
"Hahahaha!" The wizard licked his jagged teeth. "You stubborn old mules, I suggest you surrender. I only want the bright-maned foals behind you. As for the rest of you, I have no interest in eating meat that tough and bitter."
The centaurs in the front row bristled with rage. The three juveniles in the back loosed a volley of arrows, but the wizard didn't even draw his wand. He simply batted the projectiles aside with his clawed hands.
"How dare you threaten our young," the Elder said, leveling his spear at the wizard. "Leave this place now, or the disaster meant for your kind will descend upon you."
"Hmph, old charlatan, your posturing is useless. I haven't been ruthless because I don't want to ruin the pelts of the foals. Damaged goods fetch a lower price. My patience is thin; don't mistake it for mercy," the wizard spat.
"A cruel werewolf speaking of mercy? What a farce. You know nothing but slaughter and filth," another centaur mocked from the front.
The wizard's face contorted with fury, his lips curling back to reveal his gums. "Do you think you can look down on the pack from your little cage? One day I will breed an invincible army of werewolves that will make the entire world tremble. That will be the end of your race. You will be the prey, and we will be the hunters. You like prophecies? Prophesy your own extinction!"
The centaurs shook with indignation, their formation wavering as several prepared to charge. The Elder stopped them with a calm gesture, looking up at the night sky before turning his gaze back to the alpha.
"Flee, you wretched beast, for the wrath of thunder is coming! I have received a revelation: the messenger of the seventh star shall preside over your deaths. After tonight, only two of your curs will see the sun rise," the Elder said, his voice eerily steady.
"Enough of your riddles! The time for talk is over. Since you love the stars so much, I'll send you to join them!"
The wizard drew his wand with his right hand and snatched a glass test tube from his belt with his left. He crushed the vial and gave his wand a sharp flick. The liquid within instantly vaporized into a thick, swirling cloud of gas, which he directed toward the centaur troop.
"Beware! It is a sleeping draught!" a voice cried out as panic rippled through the centaur ranks.