CHAPTER 110: CHAPTER 109. THE SHIFTERS

The werewolf race had always been known for their strength and resilience, though among the many races of the continent, demons, and beastmen, they aren’t the most terrifying. Demons commanded pure destructive magic, and beastmen were born from nature’s raw force, quick and brutal in their primal instincts.

Compared to them, the werewolves stood somewhere in between: more organized than the beastmen, less chaotic than the demons, but still ruled by the pulse of instinct that ran deep through their blood.

From birth, every werewolf carried a trace of physical power greater than an ordinary human. Even the weakest of them were born with sturdier, faster, and sharper reflexes. But what truly defined them isn’t their human form, it’s their ability to shift.

A shifter werewolf is what separated a simple wolf-blooded person from a true shifter, a being who could call upon the full might of the beast inside. Because when a werewolf shifted, their body became a vessel for their ancient strength.

Their bones stretched and reshaped, their muscles thickened, and fur laced with moonlight grew along their skin. Their senses expanded to unnatural limits, they could smell fear before it surfaced, hear the smallest crack of a twig in the far distance, and see movement in complete darkness.

A shifter was said to have ten times the power of their human form. Their claws could cut through steel, and their fangs could pierce the hide of a beastman’s skin, one of the toughest in the known lands.

But this gift isn’t evenly shared. Among the common-born, those who lived quiet lives in villages and small towns, only a handful could shift. Many carried the blood, but the beast in them remained dormant forever. They were strong, but without the shifter gift, they lived ordinary lives as farmers, hunters, craftsmen, and soldiers, never touching the wild potential that slept inside them.

In contrast, among the nobility and royal lines of werewolfkind, shifting is almost a certainty. Their bloodlines were old and carefully preserved through generations of arranged bonds and selective breeding, their ancestry reaching back to the First Shifters who made a pact with the ancient Moon Spirit.

It was said that the nobles were born under the moon’s favor, their souls forever tied to the wolf within. For them, the act of shifting is a matter of birthright, not luck.

Noble shifters were trained from childhood to control their transformation. Tutors and elders guided them through the pain of the first shift, teaching them how to hold their form and how to fight with discipline instead of rage. For them, the wolf is a weapon—a symbol of authority and pride. They shifted not out of desperation, but out of will.

The rare commoner who did awaken their beast often did so through turmoil: in moments of mortal danger, loss, or fury, when their body refused to die, the wolf emerged. Such transformations were uncontrolled and wild and often left the shifter broken, mentally or physically. Many of them could never shift again without losing control entirely.

That divide shaped werewolf society. Power isn’t just determined by lineage but by whether one can command the wolf inside. Nobles ruled because they could shift, while commoners obeyed because they couldn’t. The ability became both a privilege and a symbol of dominance.

Among the other races, werewolves aren’t feared like demons or beastmen. Demons are masters of destruction, beings of chaos and pure energy, while beastmen are raw survival incarnate, moving in packs larger and wilder than anything else.

Yet, what made the werewolves respected, sometimes even envied, was their balance. They had the discipline that the beastmen lacked and the sense of unity that demons often destroyed in themselves. They built cities, formed armies, and created a system strong enough to challenge even those stronger races.

To outsiders, the werewolves seemed more human than beast. But beneath that civility is still the same hunger, the same instinct for dominance that defined all predators. Shifting didn’t just make them powerful, it reminded them what they were. And in that reminder lay the reason why even demons and beastmen didn’t take them lightly.

The werewolves may not be the strongest or most dangerous, but they are the most enduring. Their power lies not just in brute strength but in their will to survive. No matter how much the world changes, no matter how many ages pass or empires fall, the moon still rises, and the wolf within them answers its call.

This endurance, this unbreakable bond of flesh and spirit, earns them fear and respect. Yet among even the mightiest races, werewolves, demons, and beastmen, one thing unsettles them all: the mixed blood.

The fear of mixed blood runs deep, passed down through generations like a dark prophecy. When two powerful bloodlines merge, something unnatural is born. The child inherits the strengths of both parents, yet none of their weaknesses. They become beings that belong nowhere, contradictions of power and instinct.

For werewolves, strength lies in the body, endurance, sharpened senses, and primal survival. For demons, it flows through magic, raw, devastating, and untamed. A werewolf’s body can endure a thousand wounds, but they don’t have magic. A demon commands the elements, but their flesh is fragile, bound by the cost of their power.

And mixed blood, like Roxanne de Borgia, shatters that balance. She’s both a predator and a sorceress—wolf strength and demon magic fused into one. She can tear through steel like paper, standing unshaken beneath a storm of blades, yet her soul burns with ancient, consuming power. Shadows bend to her will as easily as breath leaves her lips.

Those who meet her sense it instantly, the primal dread when her gaze locks onto theirs, the weight in the air that feels like surrender. It’s not just her blood that terrifies them, but what it means. She’s proof that nature’s laws can be broken.

To demons, she’s an abomination, wielding their sacred magic without their curse. And to werewolves, she’s both kin and nightmare, a living reminder that even their pride and discipline can be surpassed.

Legends say the gods forbade such unions long ago, not out of cruelty, but fear. A mixed blood, unchecked, could one day command the balance of the world itself. That fear lingers in every court, temple, and battlefield.

Yet Roxanne de Borgia exists. Warrior. Royal Blood. A force of defiance. She was born of two worlds that should never have met, and her very presence shakes alliances, silences kings, and makes generals hesitate.

So while demons seethe with envy, beastmen bristle with unease, and werewolves watch her with awe and dread, one truth remains: Roxanne carries the power all races fear, the power to shatter the balance they’ve fought so long to keep.