Kael stood by the Guild Hall wall. The damp stone soaked through his tunic.
He looked at the Caravan postings. Duration: One Month.
Noble District map. Wards: Active.
Pit Fight roster. Invitation Only.
He checked his pouch. Three coins clinked against each other.
Kael stepped into the street.
Thud.
A shoulder drove into his chest. Three men in cured furs took up the width of the lane. The one on the left, a man with a pox-scarred face, had walked right into him.
Kael's boots crunched into the frozen mud. His heels locked down. The impact shuddered through his frame and grounded instantly into the cobblestones.
"Gah!" The pox-scarred man rebounded. He stumbled back, boots slipping on the slime, and landed hard in the filth.
"You blind rat!" Vance scrambled up. His hand flew to the hilt of a jagged dagger. "I'll gut you!"
"Vance! Stand down."
The voice was like gravel crunching under a boot. The leader, a wire-thin elder with eyes like polished flint, clamped a hand on Vance's wrist.
"Check his feet," the old man hissed.
Vance stared at Kael's boots. They remained exactly where they had been. The frozen earth around the soles had cracked from the stress transfer.
Vance shoved the blade back into its sheath.
Kael rested his hand on his pommel. "Ground is slippery."
The old man studied Kael. He looked at the cracked earth. He looked at Kael's shoulders. He turned to the wooden notice board and ripped down a parchment.
"Young man," the elder said. "You have a solid frame. Dense. We are short a blade."
He held up the bounty.
[ BOUNTY: THE IRONHIDE TIGER ]
[ TARGET: Solitary Dire-Beast (Suspected Corruption) ]
[ REWARD: 15 Gold Dragons ]
[ ISSUER: Merchant Guild ]
"An Ironhide Tiger," the old man explained. "Three hunters. We need a fourth anchor. We track, you tank."
Kael looked at the reward. Fifteen gold. Four for a split. Enough for armor. Enough for meat.
"The Guild pays on delivery of the head?" Kael asked.
"Aye. I am Grimm," the old man said, tapping the massive yew longbow on his back. "The fool is Vance. Spears and traps. The mute is Horg."
Horg, a brute a head taller than Kael, shifted a rusty battle-axe.
"I am Kael. I'm in."
"Good. Tomorrow. Dawn. North Gate," Grimm nodded. He looked at the short sword on Kael's hip. "Get real steel. That toothpick won't scratch an Ironhide. You hit that beast with a Recruit's sword, and you'll be holding a broken handle."
Kael looked down at his blade. "Understood."
He turned toward the Merchant Quarter. He had twelve hours.
[ The Black Anvil Smithy ]
The furnace roared, drowning out the sleet. Born, the Master Smith, hammered a horseshoe.
"Repairs left, sales right. No credit."
Kael walked to the corner barrel marked Defects. He pulled out a Bastard Sword.
The blade was dark, unpolished steel. The cross-guard was a simple iron bar.
"That's a reject," Born grunted. "Apprentice messed up the carbon ratio. Too dense. Balance is off."
Kael gripped the hilt.
System. Analyze.
[ ITEM: HEAVY BASTARD SWORD (LOW QUALITY) ]
[ WEIGHT: 4.5 KG ]
[ DURABILITY: HIGH ]
[ REQ: STRENGTH 1.5 ]
Kael swung it. The air hissed low and deep. The weight carried the momentum, pulling his arm forward. A kinetic hammer.
"How much?"
"Twenty silvers."
"Deal."
[ The Alchemist's Alley ]
"Fire Oil," Kael told the shopkeeper. "Pitch-based."
The Alchemist narrowed his eyes. "Hunting trolls?"
"Something like that."
One Gold Dragon. Two flasks. Kael strapped the heavy sword to his back and walked into the rain.
[ The Next Day, Dawn ]
The North Gate bustled with refugees. Kael stood against the flow.
"He came," Grimm said. He eyed the dark slab of steel on Kael's back. "And he brought a door-beam."
The four men walked until the city vanished. The forest was a mire of grey slush and rotting earth.
"Kael. That name isn't local," Grimm said. "Not from the Varentis Empire?"
"North," Kael said. "Drifted down."
"Ah. I have a granddaughter, barely sixteen. Strong hips. If you survive this, maybe you come for dinner?"
Kael scanned the treeline.
"Hold." Grimm raised a hand.
Vance was crouched on the road. "Grimm. Look."
Directly beneath his boot lay a pug mark. Grimm hovered a hand over it. The impression was wider than a shield.
"Dead gods..." Grimm breathed. "That print."
He looked at the depth of the depression in the mud.
"Eyes up," Grimm whispered. "Bigger than calculated."
He turned to Vance. "Check the springs. Use the reinforced chains."
Vance knelt in the slush. He concealed the serrated steel jaws of a bear trap beneath a layer of rotting pine needles.
"The bait isn't poisoned?" Kael asked.
"No." Vance stood, wiping grease onto his leathers. "The bird is for the scent. To mask the metal."
Vance tapped the ground. "It'll come downwind. And when it creeps up—SNAP." He pointed to the spot. "Kill-zone."
Kael stood still.
The hair on his arms rose. The wind died. The dry rattle of branches stopped. The forest went silent.
"Vance," Kael said. "Stop talking."
"What? I'm telling you, this setup is—"
Crunch.
The sound rolled from the main path.
They froze. Horg gripped his axe.
Out of the gloom between the pines, the Beast emerged.
It ignored the trees. It ignored the cover. It walked straight down the center of the trail.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Massive paws sank into the oily black sludge. The Ironhide Tiger had arrived.
[ WARNING: ANOMALOUS BIO-SIGNATURE ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: HIGH ]
[ STATUS: UNRESOLVED ]