A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 144: Revelations and Interruptions

[Ray’s POV]

I inhaled slowly, the fragrant steam from the hotpot filling my lungs, and exhaled just as deliberately. I needed a moment to order the dark, puzzle-like pieces I’d collected in that grim alley. I reached for my glass of water, the cool ceramic a solid anchor, and took a long drink. The water was clean, tasteless, a stark contrast to the complex flavors on the table. Setting the glass down with a soft thud on the wooden tabletop, I lifted my gaze and looked directly into Ace’s silver eyes.

"I attempted to purchase intelligence outright from the black market contact," I began, my voice measured. "But the shopkeeper—an old werewolf—refused the coin. He’s being paid by another party to keep specific secrets." I glanced briefly at Ovelia and Gale. Ovelia had stopped eating, her full attention on me, a piece of vegetable forgotten on her chopsticks. Gale was chewing slowly, but his gaze was fixed on me, sharp and analytical. They were both listening. "However," I continued, "he agreed to answer three of my questions, provided they didn’t touch on those protected secrets."

"What three questions did you ask?" Ace asked immediately, his own food forgotten. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his entire being focused.

"First," I said, holding up a finger, "I asked what he knew about the masked men. His answer: they are consistent buyers. But they don’t purchase new, functional restraints. Their sole interest is in used black magic restraints. The ones that are completely spent, drained, considered decorative scrap."

Ace’s brow furrowed, the confusion etching deep lines between his eyes. The logic didn’t track.

"But why would they commission witches to make new black magic restraints if they don’t need working ones?" Ann interjected, her voice flat with logical frustration. She speared a piece of meat from the pot with more force than necessary. "Those masked men are paying the witches for new stock, and also paying the black market for useless old stock. It’s wasteful. Or illogical."

"That’s exactly what I thought," I agreed, nodding at her. "It’s a contradiction that points to a plan we’re not seeing."

Ace was silent for a moment, his gaze distant, fixed on the bubbling broth as if the answers swam among the mushrooms and greens. "Those masked men are plotting something with a larger scope than we assumed," he said finally, his voice quiet but certain. "If they’re buying up all the spent, ’useless’ restraints... it means they don’t see them as useless. They might be planning to recycle them. Reprocess them."

"You might be right about that," Gale’s voice cut through the tense silence. He took another deliberate bite of his noodles.

All heads turned toward him. In this conversation about magic and conspiracies, the exiled fairy was the closest thing we had to an expert.

"Gale?" Ovelia asked, her voice soft but filled with curiosity. "Do you know something?"

Gale finished chewing and swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Back in Thunoa Village, I followed you while you lot were busy playing heroes to capture the bandits. Along the way, I used my fairy sight to examine some of those discarded black magic restraints." He spoke slowly, as if translating technical concepts. "They stop working not due to drained magic, but because their internal mana storage is full—saturated. Like a cup that can’t hold another drop."

I stared at him. That directly contradicted our foundational understanding.

"Are you certain about that?" Ace asked, his voice tight. "When we interrogated the green-haired witch, she stated clearly the restraints only function for twenty-four hours before the magic is exhausted."

Gale let out a short, derisive sigh. "That was a brief, technically true statement designed so your lie-detecting brother here wouldn’t catch a falsehood," he said, jerking his chin toward me. "If you put that black magic restraint on a werewolf, or use it to drain a silver magic restraint mana, it will stop working after a day. Because in doing that, it fills its internal reservoir to capacity. The mechanism isn’t expiration; it’s overflow." He picked up a piece of meat, dipped it in the dark sauce, and ate it, letting the implication hang in the steam-filled air.

The pieces began to shift, forming a new, more disturbing picture.

"I understand the concept of mana in silver magic restraints," I said, my voice carefully controlled. "But what do you mean, ’on a werewolf’? Werewolves don’t possess mana. We have physical strength, vitality, a connection to the moon—not magical energy."

Gale paused, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl. He looked from Ace to me to Ann, his expression shifting from annoyance to genuine disbelief. "Huh? Didn’t your ancestors pass this down? I thought this was basic knowledge among your kind for centuries."

"No," I said, the word blunt. A cold, unsettling feeling began to creep up my spine. This was foundational. If we were wrong about the nature of our own power...

"So all the werewolves in this era are ignorant of the fact that there is a small, but specific, current of mana flowing inside each of you?" Gale asked, his tone making it clear he thought we were profoundly stupid.

"We believe the magic restraints drain our physical strength and will, preventing the shift," Ann stated, her voice firm with the dogma she’d been taught. "If we had mana, we would be able to sense it. To use it."

"Mana is what gives you the strength to shift," Gale countered, impatience bleeding into his words. "It’s the fuel. You can’t sense it individually because the amount in each of you is minuscule, a trickle compared to a witches, elves or a fairies. But you replenish it from your life force, from the moon’s energy, far faster than any other race. Humans have no mana. Werewolves do. It’s the core difference. It’s why werewolves and humans can’t—" He stopped abruptly. His eyes darted to Ovelia, his expression tightening as if struck by a sudden, unwelcome thought. He clamped his mouth shut.

He had been about to say it. The biological impossibility that was the unspoken tragedy of Ace’s situation. That’s why werewolves and humans can’t produce offspring.

Ace’s hand came down on the table. Not a slam, but a firm, definitive thump as he set his water glass down hard enough to make the dishes rattle. The sound was a punctuation mark, a warning. He wasn’t looking at Gale; he was staring at the table, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. The message was clear: Shut up. Not here. Not now.

Gale flinched at the sound, his own irritation vanishing into wary understanding. "What’s with that atti—"

A sharp, polite knock on the wooden door of our private room cut him off.

The sudden sound was like a bucket of ice water dumped on our heated conversation. We all froze, the tension of our debate instantly replaced by a sharp, shared instinct for danger. My hand drifted automatically to the hilt of my sword. Ann’s posture shifted from seated to coiled readiness. Ace slowly lifted his gaze from the table, his expression smoothing into a careful, neutral mask, though his silver eyes remained stormy.