Alpha's Cruel Addiction

What created a swordmaster werewolf like Killorn Mavez.

It didn't take magic or mana.

Pure strength crafted the strongest soldiers known to mankind. The most skilled fighters could feel the power of their sword flowing through their veins. It was decades of dedication and practice honing the skills. The basics of swordsmanship were the perfection of forms.

The outcomes of battles fought by swordmasters were decided the second they stepped onto the field. Out of thousands of trainees, only one could ever become a swordmeister before they could even advance into a swordmaster.

Most swordmasters werewolves were well into their late fifties and early sixties.

A decade ago, one of the youngest swordmasters was crowned.

Ophelia was there to hear the news spread far and wide across the land. She was the one who picked up the newsletter, only for it to fly into the wind.

And he was none other than the Killorn Mavez.

"ARGH!" The goblin boss didn't even get to finish his scream.

Plop!

Ophelia was frozen with terror. The giant goblin's head fell limply onto the carriage floors. His body collapsed to the snowy ground, but his limp head landed right inside the carriage. It hopped right to her feet.

"Not my wife, you fuckard."

Blood spewed all over the carriage's insides, splattering on her purple dress and face. She was coated with a nauseating stench. The leader's dead eyes stared her straight in the face.

Plop. Plop. Plop.

When Ophelia blinked, two goblins dropped dead, their heads bouncing all the way to her shoes. When she blinked again, the entire horde in the carriage fell like flies. His sword moved faster than the human brain could register.

Ophelia's body went limp, for she was completely paralyzed. She could only watch as her beast of a husband stabbed the goblins one after the other. His breathing was heavy, his eyes ravaging through the pile of corpses, and his entire body coated with goblin blood.

A lone tear slid down her face, washing a path of the green liquid off of her. In the corner, Killorn saw Everest flicking his wrist, goblin blood dripping from his hands. Everest fought nothing like a royal, for he used his hands as a weapon.

"U-uhm…" Ophelia choked down a sob.

Killorn's expression was murderous. His lips curled into a snarl, his gaze venomous, and his posture tense. Within seconds, he kicked the creatures off his carriage. In a single swoosh, he flicked their blood off his sword.

Killorn was in complete control.

What made a swordmaster was not his mastery of sword fighting. It was being able to manipulate your entire body, heightening all five senses, and never losing a fight. When your sword drops, you lose the title you spent your entire life chasing.

Nothing fazed a swordmaster. Especially not the youngest of the bunch.

"What?" Killorn's voice came out like the rumble of a beast.

The noise was from deep within his chest. In the darkness of the carriage, his sapphire eyes glistened unnaturally. It was frightening.

No one could ever beat him. One gaze and it sent an army yielding to their knees. The battle was already won when he stepped onto the battlefield.

Ophelia let out a tiny squeak. Realizing she was staring, she quickly looked away. Her heart was racing in her chest, stomping on her rib cage like spooked horses. She felt tears gather in her eyes. Her hair was disheveled, her dress ripped, and a horrible smell was coming from her.

How disgusting did she appear in his eyes? Not to mention, she wondered if he saw the purple glow in the carriage ride. Did anyone else see that?

"You are always messy in your wrongdoings," Everest deadpanned whilst cleaning his sword off and sheathing it back into the casing.

Killorn sharply turned, his metal armor still glistening with the unnatural blood. His wife was cowering in the corner, resembling a battered and bruised animal. At this exact moment, the old man wanted to share some of his irritable comments? Since when did he even come in the first place? He hadn't noticed the man's presence until the last moment. He supposed news of the goblins' ambush reached the

"The proper way to kill a goblin is a prick in the throat or shattering their mana stones," Everest continued. "Out of everyone, especially you, I thought you'd know that. The right technique is not hacking their heads off and gathering a pile of skulls by your wife's feet."

"No one has the time to care," Killorn deadpanned. He watched as Everest got to his feet and kicked a dead goblin over to show him.

The mutilated goblin was in pieces, with his flesh hanging off his ugly green skin. A dark tiny pebble was where his heart was supposed to be. When alive, the stone was supposed to glow with mana.

"You are a swordmaster with years of experience, but forget the most important rule," Everest continued rambling.

Then, Everest raised his head and saw her. There have been many women in the empire more beautiful than her, but none as mesmerizing. Ophelia Mavez, the wife of his good friend, was quite tempting. There was something about her frightened nature that provoked his protective instincts—and that was saying something, for he was a sadistic man by nature.

Ophelia was already nestled deep against the corner of the carriage. His hardened gaze softened when he saw her tiny form. His attention fell onto her palm, where he could've sworn he saw an array of light that resembled a magician. How was that possible?

"Ready the horses. We're continuing the journey!" Killorn barked at his men. With an irritable kick, he sent the goblin heads to the ground.

Ophelia curled into a fetal position. She whimpered, burying her face into her knees. When she caught a glimpse of her shoes, she froze. She was practically covered in the disgusting goblin blood, from head to toe. The horrid stench of the green blood made her gag, for it was a horrible mixture of sewage and rotting flesh.

Ophelia saw how useless she was in this situation and shamefully glanced away. As the men began hopping onto their horses, Everest paused.

"Wait," Everest told Killorn.

"No." Killorn flicked his wrist in the air. Immediately, all of his people were at attention, ready to carry out the next order.

"This will be helpful, I promise," Everest mused.

Everest reached into his pocket until he felt a familiar cotton pouch. In the meantime, his keen eyes pried at the carriage doors. He could've sworn he saw a flash of purple in the air. Did it come from her? Had it been a misunderstanding? No one else seemed to witness what he did.

"What is it?" Killorn growled, sheathing his sword and proceeding to sweep his covered weapon across the carriage flooring. Finally, it was cleared of the creature's foul body, minus the blood.

"A herbal pouch for the nerves," Everest explained whilst pulling out the material with his firm hands, revealing a clean and brown fabric. "Reagan made it for the Princess's night terrors, but I had some left in my pocket."

Immediately, Killorn scowled. "Why would I need such a thing? I sleep just fine."

Everest rolled his eyes so far back, he might as well get it stuck there. "All brawn and no brain, I'm telling you."

Killorn's grip tightened on his sword. "Speaking of brains, I'd love to see yours plattered on this floor with the goblins. Come closer, boy."

Everest scoffed. "I'm telling you this pouch is obviously for your wife, not you."

"My wife is fine," Killorn hissed, slamming the door shut.

Killorn sharply turned to glance at Ophelia. Her face was hidden in her knees, her hair sliding over her shoulders. Not a second later, he threw the carriage doors open.

"My wife was not fine," Killorn growled under his breath.

By now, Everest had stopped short in front of Killorn with a pointed look.

Killorn glared at the ugly material. Ophelia deserved the best quality that money could afford. How could he dare give her a brown cloth reserved for peasants and servants? He gritted his teeth.

Ophelia's quiet sob filled the air. Only then did Killorn break. He exhaled reluctantly, then bent to take the pouch.

"For once, you're useful," Killorn stated, snatching the pouch from Everest.

Everest simply shook his head. "Not even a thanks?"

"You should be glad I spared your life for glancing at my wife," Killorn responded whilst raising his head and gazing at his people. His men didn't even seem fazed by the goblins. They were already all seated on top of their saddles, either looking up at the sky or the dirtied snow.

Seeing that everyone was seated on their horses, Killorn nodded his head and waved a hand in the north direction.

"Full speed ahead to Helios Empire," he commanded loud and wide.

"'Aye sir!" chimes of agreement filled the air.

Killorn hopped off his horse, handed the reins to Beetle, climbed into the carriage, and kicked off any remains of the goblin. When he gestured with his hands again, horses and men sped down the trail.

Everest led the men through the familiar routes, whereas Killorn turned his attention to his wife, to whom she claimed he hadn't talked for three days. Soon, they'll be doing more than just talking.

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