The abandoned stone house looked like a literal skeleton. The roof was half-gone, and the wind kept howling through the cracks, bringing in a lovely mixture of wet dust and the smell of ancient mold.
Before we officially started the track, Evander called a tactical timeout. Time to eat and double-check who was doing what.
I sat against a crumbling wall, gnawing on a piece of rye bread that was about as soft as a hardcover textbook. While I chewed, my brain did what it always does: Risk Stratification.
The Mission Meta:
Party: 3x Tier III Adventurers, 1x Intermediate Apprentice Mage (Seraphina).
Target: 1x Novice Warrior-class Kobold.
Terrain: Forest edge, near a village.
Failure Cost: Low.
Expected ROI: Stable. Good material drops, clear Guild payout.
Conclusion: This was a "low-risk, low-reward" grind. Nobody was going to die, but nobody was going to get famous either.
"The track is basic," Evander said, tracing a route in the dirt with his knife. "Seraphina and I will lock down the nest and handle the heavy lifting. You two—"
He glanced at me for a split second before looking away, like I was a piece of equipment that didn't come with an instruction manual.
"—Handle the loot and stay out of the way."
The subtext was loud and clear: You're a werewolf. Just be useful and don't make me think about you.
I didn't argue. In this world, being underestimated is a top-tier resource. If people think you're mid, they don't guard their secrets.
"Alright, little brother—"
A shadow fell over me. Seraphina was standing there, dropping a backpack big enough to hide a body right at my feet. Thud.
"Carry this."
I looked at the bag, then up at her. Her mage robes were... a lot. They moved with her in a way that felt both effortless and incredibly distracting. In this gray, dusty ruin, she was the only thing in high-definition.
My werewolf nose hit the "Alert" button before my brain could. Her scent was a mix of amusement, a tiny bit of adrenaline, and the smug confidence of someone who knows she's being watched.
"Everything in there is important," she said, tilting her head with a bright, dangerous smile. "If you lose anything, you die. Okay?"
"...Got it."
I swung the pack onto my shoulders. The weight hit me like a sack of bricks, nearly buckling my knees. I stabilized instantly, but damn—Kobolds are basically walking ATMs (teeth, claws, hide, even the meat sells), so a heavy pack makes sense for the ROI.
But sense doesn't make it suck any less.
"You take the small bag, I take the big one," I told Rowan. "Division of labor."
"Hey, don't look at me," Rowan grinned. "My build is optimized for 'running away,' not 'hauling freight.'"
He complained, but he moved fast. He's the kind of guy who will never win a Medal of Honor, but he's also the last person who'd ditch you in a ditch.
The Trek
The formation was simple: Evander in the lead, tracking like a machine. Rowan in the middle, eyes darting around like a twitchy fox. Seraphina and I brought up the rear to watch our six.
Or, that was the plan.
"I'm thirsty," Seraphina said suddenly.
"Water's on my belt."
"I. Want. Water."
I paused for a second, then unhooked the canteen and handed it over. As she took it, her fingers grazed the back of my hand. She held it there for a heartbeat longer than necessary before taking a sip.
My throat went dry.
The full moon was creeping up, and my internal "beast meter" was definitely rising. It's not a moral thing; it's a biology thing. Science.
"Thanks," she said, handing it back with a look that was zero percent sorry and one hundred percent "I know what I'm doing."
She wasn't testing my patience. She was measuring my breaking point.
I started worrying about something new. Not the mission, and not the money. I was worried this woman was treating my sanity like a literal toy.
The "Date"
An hour in, the forest thickened. Evander didn't hesitate; he had the scent.
"Typical wild monster," Evander muttered. "Doesn't know how to mask a trail. Lost a territory fight and fled to the village outskirts."
"Classic," Rowan nodded, acting like he was taking notes. "So much to learn from the pros."
I felt a bit of a sting. In a world with no YouTube tutorials or public libraries, "technique" is a monopoly. Being this close to high-level adventurers was a rare opportunity to see the "Meta" in action.
"Hear that, little brother?" Seraphina whispered, leaning into my ear. "Sounds like we'll be done soon."
"Great news," I said.
"Since we'll be done early... do you have plans?"
"Plans?"
"Yeah." She smiled like we were just talking about the weather. "It's rare that we run into each other. We should kill some time together."
Immediately, the werewolf instincts flared up. The "urge" was hitting a red-line.
Cost-Benefit Analysis:
Solo Action Explore Rupture Zones High Risk/High Long-term ROI.
Hang with Her Unpredictable Variable () Difficulty of control increases exponentially.
"...I can't," I said.
"Why not?"
Before I could blink, her staff was hooked around my neck like a shepherd's crook, pulling me in close.
We were inches apart. Her robes were practically pressed against my chest. She was tall, pale, and smelled like ozone and expensive perfume. My breathing went completely out of sync.
"Why not?" she repeated, her voice like silk.
I cleared my throat, feeling my ears getting hot under my hair. "I... have an appointment."
"Oh?" She narrowed her eyes. "With who?"
The grip on the staff tightened. It wasn't a request; it was a threat wrapped in a flirt. Think, Arthur. Think.
"The Church," I blurted out. "I'm going to the Church."
"Church?" She raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you religious?"
"Always."
"The Church of the Sacred Flame?"
"That's the one."
"Trying to be a Paladin?"
"It's a dream of mine."
It was a half-truth. Paladins are the ultimate "efficiency" build in this world. Tanking, DPS, and healing all in one. Not the best at anything, but incredibly stable.
Seraphina stared at me for a few seconds. "Are you lying to me, or do you just really not want to go on a date?"
"...Neither."
Her eyes went cold for a split second—a flash of pure, sharp killing intent. I immediately put my hands up.
"They give out free Holy Water," I said quickly. "My stats have been low lately. I need the recovery buff."
She blinked. Then, she started laughing.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
"The low-grade stuff?"
"Yep."
"The stuff that barely does anything?"
"That's the one."
She laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. "Fine. Then let's go together. I'll watch you get your 'buff.' Perfect."
Great, I thought. It's not an invitation. It's a tether.
"Stop."
Evander's voice cut the air.
My brain went to zero. Muscles locked. Knife was in my hand before I realized I'd moved.
Ahead, two small wood sprites—glowing green and twitchy—floated out of the brush.
"Sprites! Sprites!" Rowan's voice hit a high pitch. "Arthur, it's a sprite!"
I instinctively stepped in front of Seraphina. It was a reflex—a "Survivor's Instinct" drilled into me by this world. It wasn't about being a hero; it was a tactical reaction to protect the high-value asset.
"Evander! Combat ready!" Rowan yelled.
"Wait, what?" Evander looked confused.
Then, he flicked his wrist. A lazy, almost bored blade of mana shot out.
Snap.
One sprite was sliced in half and dissolved into ash. The other bolted.
Silence returned. I stood there, heart hammering against my ribs. Seraphina peeked over my shoulder, looking totally chill. "Why are you so jumpy?"
"Those were... sprites," Rowan said, still shaking.
"Just basic Sleep-magic sprites," she shrugged. "The soul-eating ones are Devourers. You guys probably got them mixed up."
I slowly sheathed my blade, feeling a cold sweat run down my spine. I wasn't scared of the monster. I was scared of the Information Gap.
"You moved pretty fast back there," Seraphina whispered in my ear.
"Force of habit," I said.
She smiled. "I like that habit."
And that's when it hit me. She wasn't just attracted to me. She was starting to treat me like a variable worth betting on.
And that is way more dangerous than lust.