The Villains Must Win-Chapter 93: Valerian Cross 13

Deep into the night, Valerian moved quietly through the camp, making his final rounds before getting some rest.

The forest stretched around them, vast and silent—too silent. His instincts prickled, an eerie sensation creeping up his spine.

Then, a sound. A whisper of movement.

Valerian turned sharply—only to come face-to-face with a massive, snarling werewolf lunging straight at him.

Reflex took over. In a flash, he drew his sword, barely managing to parry the beast’s deadly claws. The force of the impact rattled through his arms, sending him stumbling back. The werewolf was relentless, its fangs bared, saliva dripping as it readied to pounce again.

But Valerian wasn’t unprepared. With a swift, brutal kick, he drove his boot into the creature’s chest, forcing it backward. It barely staggered, but its glowing yellow eyes flickered downward—landing on the hidden silver dagger tucked into his boot.

A guttural growl escaped the werewolf’s throat. It hesitated, lips curling in both fury and caution.

Then the rustling grew louder. More shadows slithered through the trees.

Valerian’s grip tightened around his sword as two more werewolves emerged from the darkness, their hulking figures moving with unnatural grace. The firelight from the camp flickered against their matted fur, illuminating their giant wolf form. One let out a long, bone-chilling howl, and in an instant, they attacked.

Valerian barely had time to react before razor-sharp claws slashed toward his throat. He ducked just in time, countering with a quick, precise strike to the werewolf’s side. His blade cut deep, but the creature hardly flinched. Its flesh sizzled from the silver-lined steel, yet pain only seemed to enrage it further.

Nearby, soldiers scrambled for their weapons. Chaos erupted as the beasts lunged into the camp, knocking men off their feet, slashing through tents, and sending supplies flying.

"Form a circle!" Valerian barked, dodging another strike. "Watch each other’s backs! Don’t fight them alone!"

The soldiers obeyed, moving swiftly to form a defensive stance. The werewolves circled them like starving predators, eyes glowing in the dim light, waiting for an opening to strike again.

And Valerian knew—they would not stop until they had ripped every last man apart.

"Do you need help?" Evelyn asked, perched casually on the rooftop with both legs swinging in the air. She watched as Valerian and his soldiers struggled against the werewolves, her expression amused.

Valerian shot her a glare while parrying a lunging wolf’s claws. "You’ve been sitting there this whole time, and you didn’t even bother to help?!"

Evelyn beamed at him, completely unfazed. "I thought you could handle a few mutts on your own. Besides, you’re the leader of CROSS, aren’t you? It’d be tragic if you lost your life to a bunch of oversized puppies."

"Werewolves," Valerian corrected through gritted teeth as he sidestepped another attack. His sword slashed across a wolf’s shoulder, drawing a pained snarl. "And they’re not exactly deterred by your so-called ’wards.’"

Evelyn shrugged. "If a creature is old enough, strong enough, or supernatural enough, kitchen spices won’t do squat."

Valerian grunted in response, focusing on the fight—until a deep, thunderous snarl rippled through the air.

The battlefield stilled.

A hulking figure emerged from the shadows, towering over Valerian like a nightmare carved from muscle and fury. It wasn’t just any werewolf—it stood like a humanoid beast on digitigrade legs, thick with rippling muscle, its fur dark as the abyss. Bloodshot eyes locked onto Evelyn.

"EVELYN NIGHT!" the creature bellowed, its voice booming with rage. "Come out, you wretched witch!"

Valerian’s blood ran cold. "No way . . ." He took a step back, instinct screaming at him. "Is that—?"

"Oh," Evelyn mused, tilting her head. "So it’s you, Regor."

The soldiers’ eyes nearly popped out of their skull. "Regor?! As in Regor the Beast-Lord of the North?!"

Evelyn smiled, batting her eyelashes. "That’s right."

Regor’s lip curled into a snarl, revealing jagged fangs—except for one. One very obvious missing fang.

"Where is the miracle potion you promised me in exchange for my fang?!" Regor roared. His deep, gravelly voice shook the ground.

Valerian gawked at Evelyn in disbelief. "Please tell me you actually have that potion."

Evelyn simply chuckled.

Valerian wanted to strangle her. Not now. Not this.

This wasn’t some regular werewolf pack. This was Regor. The Lycan that even other werewolves feared. The one who had been waging wars across the northern territories for sport. A single Lycan of his caliber would take at least ten trained hunters to bring down.

And Evelyn had scammed him.

"Witch!" Regor’s furious growl rattled the air. "Because of you, my pack laughs at me! I was promised a potion that would make me twice as strong! But instead, I’ve been walking around looking like I lost a fight to a tooth fairy!"

Valerian dragged a hand down his face. "Evelyn. Please. Tell me you actually made the potion."

Evelyn tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Well, funny story—"

"GIVE ME MY POTION OR I WILL RIP YOU APART!" Regor’s bellow shook the very trees. His claws flexed, his muscles tensed. He wasn’t even acknowledging Valerian or the soldiers anymore—just the witch who had scammed him.

Valerian cursed under his breath. "Evelyn, stop pissing off the overgrown wolf!"

Evelyn, however, looked far too entertained. She crossed her arms and smirked. "Honestly, Regor, with your superior Lycan nose, it took you a year to track me down? That’s just embarrassing."

Valerian groaned. "Why do you insist on making things worse?!"

Regor’s bloodshot eyes narrowed, his breathing ragged with barely contained rage.

The tension in the air was suffocating.

Valerian could see it—the telltale tremors of an impending berserk state. Werewolves already had short tempers. Lycans? Even worse. Regor was moments away from losing control.

And Evelyn was just standing there with a smirk on her face.

Valerian’s grip tightened on his sword. If this turned into a full-on fight, they were screwed.

Regor cracked his knuckles, growling low. "Last chance, witch. Either you give me what I came for . . ."

Evelyn yawned.

". . . or I tear you apart and feast on your bones."

Silence.

Then Evelyn grinned. "Well, I would love to chat more, but I may or may not have forgotten where I put your potion."

Valerian wanted to wring her neck himself.

Regor’s roar shook the heavens.

Valerian swore under his breath. This witch is nothing bad news!