Chapter 4: Sebastian's POV

In the dim light, the knife gleamed with a cold silver shine.

My heart sank. Silver was lethal to werewolves — wounds inflicted by silver weapons could not heal quickly, and the silver toxin would spread through the bloodstream, ultimately leading to death.

I tried to step back, but a hand suddenly grabbed my arm from behind. It was the two Betas I had knocked down earlier — they had gotten back up, and now their fingers dug viciously into my biceps.

I twisted my body trying to break free, but it was useless.

"This is a gift for you," Garrett sneered, raising the silver knife. "So you understand what happens when you cross me in this place."

The blade plunged deep into my chest. Searing pain instantly consumed me.

I couldn't help but let out a groan of agony, my knees buckled, and I collapsed to the ground.

Garrett pulled the knife out, and blood gushed forth, forming a garish pool of red on the ground. He planted his foot on my ribs and kicked me onto my back, then walked away laughing. The others followed.

I don't know how long passed before I heard footsteps again.

I forced my eyes open and saw two guards assigned to patrol the exile territory walking over. They looked at the wound on my chest, their faces showing no surprise — only indifference.

"Another silver wound," one of them said. "Third one this month."

"He's not going to make it anyway," the other replied, already bending down and grabbing my arm. "Drag him to the corner so the blood doesn't get everywhere."

They didn't treat my wound. They didn't call a doctor. They simply grabbed my arms, one on each side, and dragged me across the concrete floor.

They dragged me into another, darker corner and dropped me against the wall like discarded waste. Then they turned and left.

I realized they wanted me to die quietly in this corner.

In the exile territory, people died every day. No one would care about one more permanently banished Beta.

The silver toxin was spreading wildly through my blood, and the wound wouldn't stop bleeding. I could feel my life force draining away bit by bit, my body growing colder and colder, my consciousness growing dimmer and dimmer.

I could not die.

The thought echoed in my mind, growing stronger and clearer with each repetition.

Yet the agony pulled me inch by inch toward the darkness.

My vision began to blur, and images flickered before my eyes —

The first time I met Joanna, the way she turned to smile at me in the sunlight.

The moment we confirmed our mate bond, the way she kissed me with tears streaming down her face.

The way she accused me in the courtroom, those cold, indifferent eyes.

The pain on her face when the bond was severed.

I was going to live.

I wanted Joanna, the instant she recognized me, to see the same desperation in her eyes that I felt in this moment. I wanted her to understand what the price of betrayal was.

"Moon Goddess," I heard myself rasp, "if you can still hear me..."

I paused, summoning the last shred of my strength to speak the next words:

"I don't want your grace. I don't want your pity. I don't need your forgiveness."

My lips were already numb.

"I only want power. Give me the strength to destroy those who betrayed me with my own hands."

My vision plunged into total darkness. Agony tore at every nerve, blood was draining, body temperature was dropping. I thought I was going to die.

But the extremity of near-death awakened the most ancient power within the werewolf bloodline.

Starting from the sternum, radiating outward along the ribs, spine, pelvis, and limbs, each fracture was immediately followed by a grinding reformation.

My blood surged through my veins like fire, and that fire was using the silver toxin itself as fuel — devouring it, converting the poison from something lethal into raw energy.

I gasped sharply, and all the pain in my chest vanished.

The wound pierced by the silver knife was healing at a speed visible to the naked eye. Deep within my consciousness, my wolf Knox howled with exhilaration.

My heart was pounding violently, being filled — not with love, not with pain, but with absolute desire for control.

I slowly rose to my feet, feeling the power surging through my body.

This power was so immense, so pure, that I almost had the illusion I had gained strength rivaling an Alpha's.

I could hear distant heartbeats, smell the scent of every person in the air, feel the presence of every living being around me.

I turned around and walked back to where those men still were.

That bastard Garrett was still there, a cheap cigarette dangling from his lips, bragging to his lackeys.

"...That kid's definitely dead," he said, gesturing with the hand still holding the silver knife, its blade crusted with my oxidized, blackened blood. "Did you see that wound on his chest? Silver knife straight through the heart — nobody's coming back from that."

One of his lackeys sucked up: "Our position in the exile territory is even more secure now."

When they saw me appear, the entire scene went suddenly silent.

The cigarette slipped from Garrett's lips, rolled a few times on the ground, scattering sparks.

I said nothing. I just stood there quietly, watching them.

I could see them trembling. I could smell the scent of their fear. It was the most satisfying thing I had tasted since arriving here.

"S...Sebastian?" Garrett stammered, his voice filled with disbelief. "You... how are you still alive..."

I still did not answer.

I simply walked toward him, step by step. Knox was roaring, urging me to unleash this power.

My fist connected with Garrett's face before he had time to raise his hands. My own speed startled even me. His entire body was sent flying, slamming hard into the wall, then crashing to the ground.

Blood gushed from his nose and mouth, his jaw already dislocated, his cheek caved in, his entire face a bloody mess.

He tried to get up, but I had already walked to him and planted my foot on his chest.

Garrett let out a piercing, agonized scream, his body convulsing beneath my foot.

Then I smelled a foul, acrid stench. He had lost control of his bladder.

A yellow liquid spread beneath him, emanating the scent of humiliation.

I did not let him go. Punch after punch, kick after kick, I poured all my fury, pain, and despair onto this bastard who had once humiliated me.

The other wolves tried to run, but I was faster. I caught them and took them down one by one. Some had broken arms, some had broken legs, some lost consciousness.

The guards heard the commotion and rushed over, but when they felt the aura emanating from me, every one of them hesitated in their steps.

Not a single one truly dared to stop me. They simply stood at a distance, their eyes filled with shock and fear, watching as I walked back to Garrett.

All that remained in Garrett's eyes was despair, and a faint moan escaped his mouth. Then everything fell silent.

I killed him.

Looking at the body on the ground, I felt a strange calm for the first time. This feeling made me realize that I had changed. I had become something more powerful.

The people here were no longer a threat. But this place was still just the exile territory — a cage for the defeated.

The one who truly should be kneeling before me was still outside these walls, living her comfortable life.

Joanna.

I murmured the name under my breath, my jaw clenched until the muscles ached, the veins on my forearms rising beneath the skin in hard, dark lines.

I raised my head and looked toward the direction beyond the exile territory's walls. There lay the Shadow Pack's territory, there was the home I once had, the mate I once called mine.

"Wait for me, Joanna," I said softly, my voice drifting away in the night wind. "When I stand before you again, you will understand just how heavy the price of betraying me truly is."