Chapter 117. Zephyr’s Warning

Eryndor’s POV

I finally understood why the pheromone blast had been so devastating: releasing an enormous quantity all at once had triggered a chain reaction of its own. Then it struck me—wolfsbane, harvested from werewolves themselves, should be able to neutralize those pheromones at their source.

With that realization, I ripped open one of my battle vials, unleashing a fine mist of concentrated wolfsbane over the pack of snarling werewolves. The poisonous haze clung to their fur and flesh, effectively canceling out most of the pheromone explosion and sparing us from total destruction.

With the immediate threat quelled, I set my sights on Hermione, the self-important werewolf who still stood defiant at the edge of the blast zone. I uncorked the second wolfsbane bottle, letting its viscous liquid coat my sword blade from tip to guard. Every ridge and groove drank in the toxic oil, transforming the steel into a venomous instrument of death. Bracing myself, I