From a Werewolf to The new Fenrir.

Chapter 1:Werewolf of Another World

"Don't come near! Don't—"

The figure fell to the ground， bracing himself with his hands， dragging his body backward. His fingers were scraped raw against the decaying floorboards， leaving behind streaks of crimson blood.

Crimson mist slowly gathered under the red moon， like a living mass of darkness. Gradually， the mist began to solidify， forming a large， indistinct shape. Its long limbs were covered in thick， disordered fur， its muscles taut， exuding an oppressive sense of danger. The werewolf emerged from the shadows， radiating a suffocating aura of brutal violence， each step it took making the air around it grow heavy and silent.

"Ahhh! A werewolf!" The figure screamed， his voice almost losing coherence due to terror.

In an instant， the claws shot out like lightning， giving him no time to react. The black claws gleamed with cold， deadly sharpness， piercing the figure's chest without mercy.

The figure's eyes widened in fear as he weakly grasped the werewolf's massive forearm， his fingers digging deep into its fur-covered skin. No matter how much he struggled， the immense strength felt like an immovable mountain， and every effort to escape was futile against the overwhelming power.

Crack!

With a dull， sickening sound， the werewolf jerked its arm， its claws tearing through the chest. The excruciating pain spread through the figure's body， and his upper half was nearly torn in two， blood and flesh flying， the anguished scream drowned by a sudden， deafening silence.

The figure's body collapsed like a lifeless puppet， falling to the ground. The flicker of survival in his eyes slowly faded， replaced by the cold emptiness of despair. Blood poured out rapidly， soaking the ground beneath him， forming a spreading pool like a crimson lake swelling and flooding across the floor.

"I don't want to die..." he whispered， his voice barely audible beneath the overwhelming fear.

The werewolf coldly looked down at him， its massive foot descending with the precision and merciless force of an executioner's hammer， smashing down on the figure's head.

Crack!

"Ah!"

Daminen suddenly opened his eyes， gasping for breath.

He propped himself up， feeling the weakness in his limbs， and gave a wry smile.

He was a psychology graduate from Earth， and had been transported to this world two days ago. Yesterday， he couldn't even move; today， he still couldn't get up.

Daminen slowly began to recall the memories of the original owner's death—sharp claws， a violent werewolf.

The world I've transmigrated to really has werewolves?

Why was the original owner being hunted by a werewolf?

(original owner: the former owner of the body)

The original owner's head was shattered; how is it that he is still here， unscathed?

Daminen had no answers to these questions. All he could do was keep his mouth shut and silently endure.

For the past two days， the original owner's death had replayed in his nightmares， tormenting his nerves and keeping him restless.

He couldn't get up， but judging by the style of the room， it seemed to be from the medieval period.