The rest of the night passed without incident. Dinner was a simple stew—nothing to remember, but warm and filling enough to quiet the hunger. Afterward, Lucas and Seth returned to their tent, while the rest of the mercenaries settled into their own shelters. A rotation of four or five guards took up their posts around the perimeter, keeping silent watch as darkness claimed the forest.
At first light—long before the sun even breached the horizon—the camp stirred. Orders were given in hushed tones, gear was packed with practiced efficiency, and within minutes, the squad was on the move again.
Lucas followed quietly, his thoughts heavy with doubt. The decision to break camp so early seemed excessive. Then again, questioning the lieutenant's choices wasn't exactly a luxury he had.
As they moved, Lucas noticed a shift—this time, they were veering off the main trail. Instead of following the established path, the group began weaving deeper into the forest, where the underbrush grew thick and roots clawed at the ground like twisted veins.
He leaned closer to Seth, keeping his voice low. "Aren't we going off-course? Wouldn't this take longer?"
Seth gave a small shake of his head. "Not necessarily. There are multiple routes through the forest to reach the southern outpost. This one's a bit rougher, sure—but faster if nothing goes wrong."
Lucas frowned. "Then why wasn't it the original route?"
Seth's gaze swept the dense trees around them before replying. "There must've been something wrong with the trail we were using before. A collapsed path, monster activity, something serious enough for the lieutenant to reroute us."
Lucas didn't press further, but as they walked, the strange pull he'd felt the day before stirred again. Faint but persistent, it tugged at him from somewhere deep within the forest—distant yet oddly familiar.
Before he could dwell on it, Seth nudged him lightly.
"Relax," he said with a half-smile. "You're walking with Reinfrey, remember? She's probably the strongest lieutenant in the entire corps. Maybe even stronger than some of the captains. Nothing's going to happen."
Lucas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Somehow, that's not as comforting as you think."
He didn't know why, but Seth's optimism made him want to punch something. Not out of anger—just... something else. He shrugged the feeling off.
They walked in silence for a while, but eventually Seth picked up the thread of their earlier conversation. Since there wasn't much else he could recall about Lucas's past, he turned the topic toward the mercenary corps itself.
"You know," he began with casual pride, "the Marrowyn Mercenary Corps isn't just big—it's the biggest in the entire Empire. There are a few other noteworthy guilds, sure, but none operate on the same level."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "What makes us so special?"
"Well, for one," Seth said, "we're officially affiliated with the Empire. That means contracts, legitimacy, access to resources... the works. Most mercenary guilds operate independently, which gives them freedom—but not much credibility."
Lucas listened quietly, absorbing the information. It helped to know who he was involved with, even if he didn't know why.
"There are around a dozen captains in the corps," Seth continued. "But only a few are actually worth paying attention to. The rest mostly manage smaller divisions or regional branches."
Lucas nodded slowly. "And the corps is strong enough to rival whole kingdoms?"
"In a way, yeah," Seth said, tone slightly more serious now. "We've got numbers, training, and access to weapons and healing supplies that most armies don't. If the Empire ever turned on us… well, they'd have a real problem on their hands."
That made Lucas pause. If they're that powerful, why serve under the Empire at all? The thought amused him—but also intrigued him. There had to be more to it than just loyalty or convenience.
He kept the question to himself, deciding to focus on the path ahead. The forest was growing denser now, the light dimming beneath a thick canopy of tangled branches. Shadows shifted across the undergrowth, and the chirping of birds gave way to a quiet stillness. Even the air felt heavier.
Suddenly, Reinfrey came to a stop. The entire squad halted behind her with practiced discipline. In one smooth motion, she unsheathed her longsword, its steel gleaming cold under the filtered forest light. The tension snapped taut in the air.
Around her, the mercenaries immediately tightened their formation. Weapons were drawn—blades rasping free from scabbards. Most wielded swords, though a few carried daggers or short-range tools built for speed and precision. The broad-shouldered man near the rear still hadn't drawn the massive battle axe strapped across his back, but his grip had already tightened.
Lucas stood frozen, heart pounding, sweat prickling down his temple. He didn't know what to do—or even what to expect. The silence was unbearable. When he turned to Seth, he found the same anxious expression mirrored on his friend's face.
No one spoke. Instead, Lucas focused on the sounds around them: the gentle rustling of leaves, birds chirping and cawing from somewhere above, the usual ambient hum of a living forest.
And then—
Thump.
A soft, distant pulse beneath it all. Barely noticeable at first, like the beat of a distant war drum.
Thump… thump…
The sound grew louder—heavier. Rhythmic. Relentless.
Lucas's senses sharpened. The birdsong vanished. Wind ceased. Then came the unnatural snap of branches breaking, followed by the shrill, panicked cries of fleeing animals. The forest erupted in chaos.
Whatever was coming, it was big. And it was fast.
Reinfrey shifted. Her posture lightened—no longer just a stance, but a poised transition between motion and stillness. She raised her sword with elegant precision, her gaze locked forward, unwavering.
The thumping halted.
Lucas barely had time to process the absence before—
BOOM!
Something dropped from above. A colossal weight slammed into the ground beside them, shaking the earth. A shockwave of dust and dirt exploded outward. Lucas staggered back, shielding his eyes. Around him, more seasoned mercenaries held their ground with practiced stability, while he struggled to stay upright.
Then—
A howl.
High-pitched, powerful, and primal. It tore through the haze, blasting the dust away in one breath. The air cleared.
Lucas opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the ringing in his ears.
The creature standing before them defied logic.
It was a wolf—but unlike any he had ever imagined. Towering nearly three times his height even on all fours, it radiated strength and menace. Its fur was a mesmerizing indigo, silky yet wild, rippling as though stirred by a phantom breeze. Its eyes—steely gray—glowed faintly, locked onto the squad with a cold, assessing stare.
Gasps rippled through the formation, but no one moved.
Lucas's mouth hung open. Beside him, Seth still held onto their packs, somehow shielding them through the blast.
The moment cracked like thunder.
Reinfrey launched forward.
She became a blur—an explosion of speed that the eye could barely track. Her feet barely touched the forest floor as she closed the distance in a heartbeat. She swung her sword in a wide arc, aiming to disable or stall the beast's movement.
The indigo wolf responded instantly, backstepping with eerie grace. Its massive paw lashed out in a counterattack, claws flashing. Reinfrey ducked inside its reach, narrowly evading the strike and twisting to slash at its exposed flank.
But the beast was already moving. It shifted its weight with feline agility, twisting away and turning the momentum into a defensive lunge.
Steel met claw, but neither found its mark.
A deadly dance began—fluid and lightning-fast. They exchanged attacks in blurs of motion, testing each other's reflexes, strengths, and limits. For now, no blood had been spilled. Only the forest around them suffered, gouged by stray blows or trampled beneath skidding feet.
Then something changed.
Reinfrey's swordsmanship sharpened—less elegant now, more primal. Her movements became raw, aggressive. She bent her knees and sprang high into the air, twisting mid-leap with her sword aimed for the beast's eye.
The wolf reacted a moment too late—but it was enough.
It dipped its head and struck with a vicious upward swipe. Its claw connected with her midair.
CRACK!
Reinfrey was hurled backward like a ragdoll, crashing through the underbrush in a cloud of broken twigs and leaves. She landed hard, sliding back several feet. For a breathless moment, Lucas feared the worst.
But then she rose—slow, deliberate. Her sword still in hand.
She had turned her body at the last second. A clean deflection. No major injuries—just a close call.
The wolf lowered itself again, growling now. Its hackles rose.
The fight was far from over.
The fight between Reinfrey and the monstrous wolf raged on, each of their strikes carving through the forest floor or the air itself. The squad, still reeling from the sheer display of power, stood tensely behind her.
Blades trembled in hands—less from fear, more from anticipation. Reinfrey darted in with another sharp strike, only to have it parried by a graceful shift of the beast's massive paw. In turn, it lunged forward, jaws snapping—but once again, she slipped away like smoke.
Amid the clashes, a mercenary's voice broke the tension.
"What's a Greater Guardian Wolf doing here?"
Another hissed under his breath, eyes wide.
"They're supposed to be dormant this time of year…"
A third chimed in grimly, "Some were spotted weeks ago, but never this far south."
"Can the lieutenant really take that thing on alone?"
"Are you thick? That beast's dead meat. The lieutenant's taken on worse."
The tension didn't disappear, but the voices calmed slightly—held together by stubborn belief in their leader.
Still, the air pulsed with unease. While most watched Reinfrey in awe, a few began preparing for the worst. They could read the beast's strength—and knew a prolonged fight rarely ended cleanly.
The burly man finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the noise like steel. As he stepped forward, he unslung the battle axe from his back and hefted it with one hand.
"Lieutenant's got this," George said. "What we should be worried about is the pack. Guardian Wolves never hunt alone."
That statement stole the breath from the squad.
"You heard him!" another barked. "If George says it, it's true!"
The mercenaries didn't argue. George wasn't a man who speculated. If he said there was a pack, there was a pack.
His eyes scanned the group, then landed on Lucas.
"Formation! Defensive circle! Priority: keep him alive!"
The entire squad moved as one, battle instincts kicking in. In seconds, they formed a tight shield ring—Lucas and Seth at the core. Blades faced outward. Breathing steadied. The forest fell into a dreadful silence.
Then—
A chorus of howls.
It echoed from the north, rising like a call to war. Trees trembled. The undergrowth parted as an entire pack of Guardian Wolves poured in—more than a dozen strong.
Their indigo fur shimmered like oil-slicked armor, and their glowing eyes locked onto the squad with eerie synchrony. A violet wave of muscle, claws, and fang surged toward them.
They struck.
George led the front line. As one wolf lunged, he raised his axe in a swift arc—but the beast ducked low, dodging with shocking agility. It leapt forward, claws slicing for his chest.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he dropped his axe mid-swing and pivoted, letting the weapon fall as he twisted his hips—and landed a brutal fist to the wolf's ribcage.
CRACK.
The beast wheezed and crumpled, ribs shattered. Still, it rose on shaky legs.
Too late.
George snatched his axe off the ground in one seamless motion and cleaved the wolf's skull in two. Blood sprayed across his arms, painting his skin in crimson.
The surrounding wolves backed off slightly, growling. They had learned fear.
The others weren't so lucky.
Wolves collided with the perimeter like battering rams. Blades clashed with fangs. Screams cut through the air—human and beast alike.
Some mercenaries held the line, driving back the attackers with disciplined strikes. Others faltered under the relentless pressure. Teeth sank into limbs, claws raked through armor. One soldier howled as his arm was torn clean off, arterial spray splashing across the leaves.
Lucas stood frozen in the center of it all, the chaos unfolding around him like a nightmare. His heart pounded louder than the howls, his legs numb.
He couldn't understand it. He'd expected danger—but this was a massacre.
Reinfrey stood her ground, chest rising and falling as blood trickled from shallow wounds along her arms and cheek. Her blade gleamed with crimson, and the wolf facing her was no less battered. Deep gashes marked its flank, and one of its gray eyes had been slashed shut. Each breath it took came in labored puffs.
But what unsettled her more wasn't the pain it had endured—it was the clarity in its movements. This was no frenzied beast. It was calculating.
This one thinks. She clenched her jaw. It chooses its moves. It adapts.
Yet now wasn't the time for questions.
Kill it first. Then think.
Reinfrey launched forward, sprinting in a blur of momentum. The Greater Wolf responded in kind, baring its fangs and racing toward her. At the last second, instead of engaging, the wolf ducked low—and leapt high into the air, flipping over her head.
She skidded to a halt, cursing under her breath, and spun around—
Too late.
The wolf landed within the squad's formation with disturbing grace, its massive form crushing branches beneath its weight without collapsing into chaos. In a fluid snap of motion, it clamped its jaws around Lucas's cloak and gear—lifting him effortlessly off the ground.
Its single visible eye met Reinfrey's from across the battlefield.
It was showing her.
Then it turned and bolted, bounding into the trees like a purple blur.
"Don't let it escape!" Reinfrey bellowed, her voice cutting through the noise like a whip.
George didn't hesitate. He planted his foot, twisted back, and with a roar, hurled his battle axe like a spear. The massive weapon spun end over end—and struck true, embedding itself deep into the wolf's hindquarters.
The creature staggered, nearly dropping Lucas. Blood sprayed from the wound—but it didn't cry out.
Instead, with frightening resolve, it dug in its paws and pushed harder, tearing through the foliage as it vanished deeper into the northern woods. Lucas, limp but conscious, was dragged along—his form growing smaller with every bound.
Reinfrey clenched her fists and stepped forward—but another wolf charged her.
With a single strike, she split it in two, blood spraying across the ground.
She turned to pursue, only to freeze as she surveyed the battlefield.
Chaos.
Wolves still poured in from the flanks. Her squad was struggling. George was holding a dozen at bay, but others had slipped past. Screams rang out, blood soaked the soil, and two of her mercenaries were already lying motionless.
She had to decide.
Chase Lucas... or protect what was left.
There was no time to weigh options. Only action.
With a furious cry, Reinfrey launched herself into the fray.
Her sword danced like liquid flame—each slash precise, merciless. She carved through wolves like paper, her movements fueled by fury and urgency. One after another, the beasts fell, some fleeing at the sheer savagery of her assault.
The rest of the squad rallied behind her. Soon, the last of the wolves either lay dead or disappeared into the treeline.
Silence.
The only sound was the rustle of bloodied leaves beneath their feet, and the heavy breathing of survivors.
Seth staggered forward, urgency painted across his face.
"Lucas—what about Lucas?"
Reinfrey didn't meet his eyes. Her expression tightened, her jaw trembling for a moment before she bit down on her lower lip, drawing blood.
She said nothing.
Instead, she turned to the rest of the squad. "Status. Report."
A mercenary stepped forward, helmet under his arm. His voice was subdued.
"Two down. The rookies who joined last month. One killed outright… the other was dragged into the trees during the chaos."
A heavy silence fell.
All eyes lowered.
Only one body lay nearby, the other gone—claimed by the forest. Some stared at the corpse. Others stared at the blood trail vanishing into the woods. A quiet rage simmered beneath the grief.
Reinfrey knelt beside the fallen mercenary. One arm had been torn away, the chest carved with claw marks. Blood still seeped into the soil beneath him.
She reached down and gently lifted the worn, metal locket around his neck.
It clicked open with a soft snap.
Inside was a black and white photograph—faded with age—of a young man with two elder parents behind him, all smiling through their worn clothes.
Reinfrey closed her eyes for a brief second, clenching her teeth hard.
She rose to her feet and turned to one of the mercenaries.
"Make sure this reaches his family."
The man nodded solemnly and took the locket, slipping it into a pouch with reverent care.
Then she turned to George.
"Patch everyone up. Get the nurse moving." Her voice was sharp again—authoritative. "We rest here. Then we head straight to the southern outpost. No detours. No more caution. We brute-force our way through."
George looked like he wanted to protest. The men needed time. They were wounded, shaken.
But he met her eyes—and saw there was no room for debate.
He gave a short nod. "Understood."
As he moved to gather the injured, Reinfrey stood alone for a moment, her eyes fixed on the direction the Greater Wolf had vanished into.