The Shadow Wolf's Second Life: They Bullied The Wrong Omega

I stripped off the dirty blazer, tossing it onto the chair. A long rip ran along the side seam—It was either another souvenir from the cafeteria or long-term abuse on the poor fabric.

I can patch it up, but appearance matters a lot, so I should consider getting a new one.

​I was fumbling with the tight knot of my tie when a soft knock rattled the wooden door frame.

​I froze, instincts instantly putting me on guard before I remembered where I was. This was not enemy territory.

I walked towards the door and opened it.

​Valerie stood in the hallway holding a steaming ceramic bowl, a quiet smile tucked into the corners of her lips. Up close, the wear and tear of her life was painfully obvious. Her clothes were faded, her frame frail, and dark circles bruised the skin beneath her exhausted eyes.

Yet, the warmth in her expression didn’t flicker.

​”I brought you some stew, dear,” she said softly, offering the bowl. ”Get some food in you before you sleep, alright?”

​I took the bowl, the heat instantly radiating through my palms. I stepped back, ready to close the door, but paused. I turned my head slightly, keeping my gaze level, and said,

​”Thank you.”

​It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. Just a sharp, flat acknowledgment of the meal.

​Surprise flickered in Valerie’s eyes before settling into a gentle nod. ”Rest well, Brianna.”

​I shut the door and set the bowl on the desk.

​Leaving the food aside for now, I took off the rest of my clothes and went to the bathroom to wash up.

The bathroom was small and cold. When I turned the knob on the shower, it gave a dry, metallic shudder before releasing a pathetic dribble. I sighed, looking over at the plastic buckets sitting by the sink, all filled with water.

​This life is really terrible.

​Even I, an assassin, got better treatment in taverns and inns.

I managed to wash off the dirt and dried paste using cold bucket water, scrubbing until my pale skin burned red. After drying off, I pulled a loose shirt and sweatpants from the closet, tossing the towel over my shoulder.

​My eyes fell back on the steaming bowl of stew.

​Decades of training instantly kicked in. Poison check. I analyzed the situation automatically, looking for discolored steam or bitter scents.

​But then I stopped myself.

​This family had zero reason to kill their own daughter. From everything I’d observed, she was their joy. They hadn’t put pressure on her despite the fact that she was the only one who got to go to Ravenhollow. They wanted her to be comfortable, but Brianna felt even more pressured by their quiet support.

She had carried the weight of her family’s low status, bottling up every drop of pain until it drove her into severe depression. This family only wanted what was best for her, and she wanted to make them proud.

​She ended up dead, leaving all these heavy feelings for me to carry, I thought, drying my damp hair with the towel.

How did a girl already on the edge of depression even have the time to fall in love? And with a guy that was way out of her league, no less. She was either waiting for a Cinderella tale with him, or just utterly dumb.

I bet ten silver on the latter.

​I stared at the bowl a moment longer, then shrugged. A healthy body starts with good meals.

​I pulled up the wooden chair and took a bite. The broth was rich, savory, and thick with vegetables. It was cooked with real care—a warm, home-cooked meal. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d eaten something made with affection rather than cold necessity.

​A quiet, strange ache settled in my chest, but I pushed it down and finished every drop.

​Now, time to get serious.

​I crossed the room and climbed onto the bed, crossing my legs into a strict lotus position. The mattress was thin and stiff, the springs digging slightly into my thighs, but it was a quiet, warm place to rest my head—a luxury I rarely had in my past life when out on missions.

​I closed my eyes, pulling my breathing into a slow, rhythmic pattern.

​I needed to reach inside.

In my past life, my power didn’t just come from my daggers—it came from Silas, my bound wolf. His shadow manipulation was the very reason I had become the kingdom’s deadly Shadow Wolf. If my soul had crossed over into this body, there was a chance his spirit had been dragged along with me, given the strong bond we shared.

​I sank deeper into my consciousness, searching for that familiar, dark thread of connection.

​Silas.

​I called out into the internal void, pushing my energy outward. A faint, pathetic flicker of an aura rippled through my veins—so weak it barely registered as life.

​Silas, answer me.

​I pushed harder, forcing the dormant energy inside this body to move. Sweat began to bead along my forehead, trickling down my temple as my muscles strained under the effort. My pulse raced, my lungs burning as I clawed through the empty darkness of my own mind.

​But there was nothing.

Was it just because this body was not a suitable vessel for a wolf? Curses. I can’t accept this.

Then, just as I was about to stop reaching out, a tiny, microscopic spark flickered deep within the darkest corner of my soul. It was faint—like a dying ember buried under feet of ash—but it was there.

It was warm, dark, and gone as quickly as it had appeared.

I opened my eyes, letting out a slow, measured breath as I wiped the sweat from my temple. My heart was racing, but my mind stayed cold.

Was that Silas?

I couldn’t be certain. In my line of work, assuming anything without proof got you killed. But the signature felt strikingly similar to his shadow essence.

If my soul had transmigrated, it was logically possible that his bound spirit had been dragged along with me, now dormant and recovering from the shock of crossing worlds.

A hypothesis, nothing more.

I couldn’t afford to stake my survival on a ghost of a sensation. If Silas was truly locked inside this soul vessel, awakening him would require time and energy this frail body couldn’t currently produce. And if it was just a lingering trace of dead magic, relying on a non-existent wolf would leave me entirely defenseless.

Without Silas confirmed, I had to operate under the cold reality that I was completely on my own.

My main focus had to be conditioning this frail, defenseless body from scratch. If I wanted to survive in a world of predators, I needed proper resources—specialized nutrition to build muscle, proper gear, and a secure place to train without drawing attention.

Which brought me straight to my next glaring problem: Money.