The Black-Stockinged Nun Is Actually a Boy?! [19]

Outlanders—a term that, in truth, referred to players.

In Helen’s past life, NPCs in the game couldn’t distinguish the sudden influx of these otherworldly visitors, so they collectively referred to them as Outlanders. The term stuck all the way into the mid-to-late game.

So of course, Helen, a former player, was well-acquainted with it.

But… Outlanders as werewolves?

He remembered some players jokingly turning themselves into werewolves in the second expansion, but that was still a ways off.

“So you want us to handle it?” Helen asked, raising an eyebrow.

The old priest nodded silently.

“Why not report it to the city guard—ah. I see,” Natalie began to ask, but stopped halfway through. She understood now.

They were afraid the Empire would go with the simplest, most brutal solution.

With the war still ongoing, the Empire wouldn’t hesitate to eradicate potential threats like werewolves. For supernatural entities, their stance was “better to kill a hundred innocent than let one danger go free.”

So instead of waiting for the imperial patrols, it was far safer to let Church people handle it.

“No wonder you asked about Father Anderson,” Helen said calmly. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it. Head back for now like nothing happened. Leave this afternoon’s prayers to us.”

The priest quickly made the sign of the Light and left the chapel without another word.

Natalie turned to Helen. “So? What now? Are we actually calling the Church?”

Helen gave her a look. “You’re asking, but sounds like you already have your own opinion.”

Natalie nodded. “If another supernatural incident blows up, and we’re somehow involved again, I feel like we’ll end up on some list.”

“Exactly. But we still need backup.” Helen folded his arms, lips curling slightly. “Werewolves are terrifying up close—especially at night. Most Tier 1s wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“But we don’t have time for support. Even if we use magic crystals to send a message, reinforcements won’t arrive until evening.” Natalie mimicked Helen’s posture, crossing her arms—which only served to push up her chest under her nun’s robe. The contrast between sacred vestments and subtle curves was… uniquely disarming.

Helen turned his gaze away. “I’m not talking about the Church.”

“…Then who?” Natalie dropped her arms, puzzled. “Those Outlanders? You trust them?”

“I do. Why do you think I’ve been enchanting all those black iron swords?” Helen chuckled behind his hand.

Natalie blinked. She still didn’t fully understand Helen’s fixation on the Outlanders.

“We’re almost out of time. Go check the old priest—make sure he’s not a wolf in human skin. If he’s clean, have him sort the prayer attendees. Anyone who’s single, or has few family ties—put them in one group.”

---

Jace, twenty-eight, was a werewolf—and not just any werewolf. He was the alpha.

Ever since he was born, he’d loved meat. Three meals a day, rain or shine, right on schedule.

The blood elves liked to joke he was trying to be healthy, that he should go out and devour more humans. But Jace scoffed at that. What kind of beast did they take him for?

His pack didn’t live like animals. They didn’t need to. They preferred killing their victims cleanly, then wearing their skins as disguises, assuming the lives of the deceased.

Inhabiting someone else’s routine—eating their food, sleeping in their bed—was how they honored the dead. A tribute of sorts.

Today, he’d been hired by their blood elf benefactors to abduct a nun.

And it was just in time. The pack was getting bored of this village anyway. Time to move on.

“Remember, don’t eat the nun today. The rest—villagers, priest—go ahead and feast.”

Jace was currently disguised as a solitary middle-aged man. Most of his pack had taken similar forms.

Loners, or villagers with minimal family—perfect marks for imitation. The fewer people asking questions, the lower the risk.

On the way to the chapel, Jace quietly gathered his pack at the rear of the prayer procession.

“Boss, during recon I saw that really cute green-haired nun whisper something to an Outlander outside the village,” one werewolf, disguised as a young boy, reported nervously.

“Hah! Not a problem,” Jace laughed. “What, you think the Outlanders are gonna ambush us in the chapel? You’re giving those dainty little nuns too much credit.”

“Shame about those two nuns. They look delicious…” another muttered under his breath.

“Can it. Focus. We strike inside the chapel.”

And so, with no suspicion, they arrived at the church.

The old priest, irritatingly energetic thanks to the nuns’ presence, had even taken the time to organize the prayer groups—placing Jace and his entire pack together in one group.

Jace nearly burst out laughing.

He’d been wondering how to coordinate the attack if the pack got scattered among the crowd. But this? This was a gift from the heavens.

Of course, he didn’t move just yet. For now, he bowed his head respectfully and stood in line with the others, facing the statue beside the two nuns.

“May the Light bless us all.”

Helen’s voice rang out from the main altar as she finished the final blessing. The chapel fell into a solemn hush.

She turned to the crowd, eyes half-closed. “Thank you all. You may return home now.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what’s the rush? The nuns just got here,” Jace said lazily, hands in his pockets as he stepped forward to block the exit. “How about staying to play with us for a bit?”

The villagers froze, confused.

The old priest collapsed to the floor, muttering, “It’s him, it’s him…”

“Been fasting for days. Time to move on.” Jace tilted his head—and in the next instant, his body swelled and contorted.

Black, matted fur burst through his skin as his disguise tore apart with a sickening rip. In moments, Jace stood over two meters tall, a hulking wolf-like beast with razor-sharp claws, a saber-like tail, and yellow eyes locked onto Helen.

His pack shed their disguises as well, howling and shifting into monstrous forms. They weren’t quite as large as Jace, but still intimidating.

In tight clusters, they spread out to block the windows and doors—sealing the villagers inside.

Panic spread like wildfire. Some villagers collapsed in terror, sobbing the names of their loved ones—names that would never answer again.

“Brothers, tonight we fea—”

CRASH!

Jace’s dramatic monologue was cut off by the sound of shattering pottery.

Everyone turned. A ceramic jar had fallen by the reliquary near the altar and smashed into pieces.

“Oh my~ I broke it by accident,” Helen said, tilting her head slightly, still smiling with eyes half-closed. “But now the people outside might’ve heard the noise. What ever shall we do… my cute little pups?”

BANG—

BANG—

BANG—

Glass shattered. Figures crashed through the windows, brandishing weapons of every kind. Their clothes were ragged, mismatched, clearly scavenged—but their faces were lit with pure, gleeful excitement.

“The time has come! Rise up today!”

“This could be my one chance in this life—I must seize it!”

“I hear the echoes of Ambush!”

“Exterminate every last werewolf! Leave no fur behind!”

“Sima Yi, you’ve walked straight into my trap!”

“Bro, who spat on the floor? My hand’s sticky—why is this game so damn immersive?!”

...

Amid the shouts, cheers, and memes, the tide turned in an instant.

The wolves were no longer the hunters—they were the prey.

Outlanders. Or rather—the players Helen had summoned.

“Helen, what now?” Natalie asked, conjuring a growing chunk of ice in her palm.

Helen opened her eyes at last. In the candlelight, his emerald irises glimmered with mocking delight.

“A bunch of mutts causing chaos in front of the Light? Unforgivable.”

They must be purged.

---

T/N: yes purge the mutts

This is a fan translation of 黑丝修女姐姐居然是男孩子？ by 水滴磐石 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!