True Tycoon Her Empire, Her Rules

The chat room fell silent the moment the wolf appeared on screen.

Everyone held their breath, watching the unusual creature with rapt attention, too captivated to even type

The werewolf stopped two meters away from the crowd, its gaze sweeping over the onlookers before settling on the six wolves led by Sean.

The usually docile wolves became visibly restless at the sight of the werewolf, gazing longingly at it, straining against their leads, but too wary of Sean to make a move.

Winnie, sensing the tension, bent down and unfastened the ropes that restrained the six wolves.

Freed, the wolves glanced at Seah, and seeing he had no intention of detaining them, they quickly darted behind the werewolf, their tails wagging submissively.

The werewolf’s sharp eyes softened slightly at Winnie’s obviously conciliatory gesture, but its wariness remained intact. Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

In response, Winnie simply raised her hand in a polite gesture.

“We mean no offense,” she said smoothly, “We only kept them overnight to ask for guidance. The villagers would like to speak with you.”

The werewolf considered Winnie, then Sean, and after a moment’s hesitation, it returned the gesture.

The villagers behind her gasped in amazement at the sight of a werewolf showing such civility. One man’s surprise was mixed with a flicker of recognition as if he had seen this scene before.

The tension among the villagers eased a little at the werewolf’s reciprocation. A returned gesture was a sign of a willingness to communicate, a good sign.

Winnie knew, however, that this werewolf was only showing them this courtesy because of Sean’s presence. Clearly, it wanted to avoid conflict with him.

Having Sean there was the right move.

Winnie gestured for the village chief to step forward. Despite his fear, the chief approached the werewolf, mimicking Winnie’s earlier gesture.

He stammered, “I’m the chief of Cloverfield Cottage. Is there something we’ve done to displease you? Our village means no disrespect. We used to make monthly offerings to the forest, and if we’ve been remiss, please instruct us, and we will amend our ways.”

The chief trailed off, his attitude one of utmost humility.

The werewolf surveyed the villagers, a flicker of resentment in its eyes.

After a long moment, it spoke, its voice unnaturally high–pitched, not like a human’s but more like an animal’s, sharp and somewhat grating.

“You’re ungrateful. You no longer deserve my protection.”

The villagers were stunned to hear the werewolf speak. Once they absorbed its words, fear spread among them, and they began to protest in confusion.

“We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Could there be some misunderstanding here?”

“We’ve encountered wolves before, but no one in the village has ever harmed them. We’ve always been

The chief seeing the werewolf’s displeasure at the sudden noise, quickly signaled for silence before respectfully asking for clarification.

Could there be some misunderstanding?”

The werewolf stared at the villagers without responding immediately.

an, growing impatient, snapped, “Spit it out. What do you want? No need for dawdling”

The villagers and crew nearly jumped out of their skins at Sean’s brusque words, instinctively wanting to stop him from speaking further.

However, the werewolf, despite visibly restraining its annoyance at Sean’s prodding, did not react negatively Finally, after a tense wait, it spoke again.

“Over seventy years ago, a hunter from Cloverfield Cottage saved me.”

As the werewolf unfolded its story, the villagers learned of its long–standing connection with Cloverfield Cottage.

It was a tale from seven decades past when the village was mired in poverty and the werewolf was just a wolf that had begun to awaken its consciousness.

One day, caught by a serpent in the mountains, it was saved by a hunter who had lost his way. In gratitude, the wolf guided the hunter out of the forest and even led him to a century–old wild mandrake,

Elated, the hunter praised the wolf for its intelligence.

Before they parted, the hunter told the wolf, “You have the makings of a great werewolf who will one day seek a human patron to help you transform. When you’re ready, find me, and I will help you.”

What might have been an offhand remark to the hunter was a promise taken to heart by the wolf, planting the seeds of karma between them,

Over the next seventy years, the wolf diligently cultivated its powers while secretly watching over the hunter. But as the hunter became wealthy from the mandrake he had found with the wolf’s help, he focused on enriching his fellow villagers. Under the hunter’s guidance, the village learned to harvest and cultivate mandrake

What began as protection for one man extended to the whole village. The werewolf not only helped them find aged mandrakes but also drew on the mountain’s spiritual energy to nourish their crops.

Gradually, Cloverfield Cottage became famous nationwide, as prosperous as the hunter had hoped.

In the quaint village of Cloverfield, nestled at the edge of the deep woods, there lived a man who had long suspected that a mysterious guardian–a werewolf–had been covertly shielding his fellow villagers from harm. To honor this unseen protector, he established rules for the community to follow.

The villagers were forbidden from excessive deforestation,

They were not to harm the creatures of the forest.

During the holidays, the village would collectively offer tributes to the woods in their name.

Even after the hunter’s passing, the villagers steadfastly adhered to these ancestral laws.

However, as years blurred into decades, the significance of these traditions faded from memory. The hunter’s descendants, and even the villagers, scarcely recalled the reasons behind their customs. The

tales

of the werewolf seeking acknowledgment, once told by grandfathers to wide–eyed grandchildren, were now dismissed as mere bedtime stories.

The villagers were oblivious to the pact once made with the werewolf.

And so, when the werewolf, after years of spiritual cultivation, finally emerged from the woods to seek recognition from the hunter’s grandson, it did so with a hopeful heart. It donned a cap and a little coat, aiming to appear human, and approached the grandson with anticipation, asking if it resembled a person.

Unfortunately, the grandson, drunk at the moment, burst into laughter upon seeing the werewolf’s polite bow and mockingly exclaimed, “You look more like a fool in a costume.”

The werewolf’s quest for validation ended in failure, and its spiritual progress not only halted but regressed. Were it not for the virtue accumulated from years of protecting the villagers, the werewolf might have had to begin its cultivation all over again.

Enraged by the breach of promise, the werewolf pondered why it should continue shielding those who did not keep their word. Consequently, misfortunes began to befall the village. The once–thriving crops of Cloverfield Cottage were ravaged, and the villagers experienced frequent disturbances.

When the story of the werewolf’s plight was shared with the guests and crew of a television show filming in the area, they looked upon the villagers with eyes full of condemnation.

“You folks deserved it.”