The faint glow of the dying campfire flickered against the canvas of my tent.

  A shadow loomed across it—large, still, and far too close.

  I sat up slowly, a strange unease prickling down my spine. There was no sound, no movement… just that silhouette, cast wide enough to cover nearly the entire front of the tent.

  Carefully, I reached for the flap and peeked outside.

  And froze.

  Three dire wolves stood in the clearing.

  Each one had piercing blue eyes. Two were male—massive and muscular, with thick gray-and-white fur that shimmered in the moonlight. The third, slightly smaller, had fur as white as fresh snow. All three stared at my tent in silence. No growling, no aggression—just presence. Calm. Measured. Watching.

  I stepped out slowly, blinking against the cold night air. Sk?ll had been the only dire wolf I’d ever seen until now. So where had these come from? And why were they here?

  Still, even as I stood before them, something didn’t sit right.

  These wolves were big—but not big enough to have cast that enormous shadow across my tent.

  Which meant—

  A cold breath escaped my lips as I turned around.

  And there he was.

  Black as the night. Towering. Majestic. His body had filled out since the last time I saw him—no longer lean and gaunt from starvation. Sk?ll’s fur looked like the void itself, a shade so deep it seemed to absorb the firelight. His eyes glowed with a cold, piercing blue. And the scar—that familiar, jagged burn around the corners of his mouth—confirmed it.

  “Sk?ll…” I breathed.

  But this was no longer the same beast I found dying in the woods.

  He had returned—changed, awakened… evolved.

  The sound of shifting tents and rustling fabric behind me snapped me back to the present. The others were waking.

  Bardock stepped out first, axe in hand. “What in the hells…?” he muttered, eyes darting between the four dire wolves. “Am I still asleep, or did they multiply?”

  Sasha followed, blinking hard. Her gaze landed on Sk?ll, then on the three newcomers. “Arthur,” she said cautiously, “did you… tame them too?”

  I shook my head. “No. I only bonded with Sk?ll.”

  She hesitated. “Mind if I try?”

  I nodded toward the wolves. “Be my guest.”

  Sasha approached one of the gray males slowly, arm extended in peace. As her hand neared his head, he stepped back and growled softly.

  She froze and dropped her hand. “Yeah… they don’t want to be tamed. Guess they’re picky.”

  Before I could respond, the second gray male stepped forward. He passed right by Sasha, ignored everyone else—and stopped in front of me.

  Then he lowered his head.

  That same warmth pulsed through me—like when I bonded with Sk?ll. My hand moved almost on instinct, resting gently atop his head.

  Chains of blue light erupted between us, wrapping around my wrist and the wolf’s neck before fading into the air.

  A name formed in my mind.

  “Hati,” I whispered.

  Blue letters shimmered above the wolf’s head before fading like smoke.

  Sasha let out a strangled sound. “You… you really are something else,” she said, staring. “It’s like you’re their king or something.”

  Before I could reply, the white female and the other gray male turned toward Rias, who stood silently at the edge of the camp, her sightless eyes wide.

  She lifted both hands slowly, as if guided by instinct.

  And the wolves came to her.

  They pressed their heads gently into her palms, and with a flash of blue light, chains wrapped around her wrists and their necks.

  No hesitation. No struggle. Just a bond—as natural as breathing.

  “I… I think their names are Freki and Geri,” Rias said quietly.

  Sasha nearly dropped to her knees. “This… this shouldn’t be possible. Beast contracts like that don’t just happen. No chants, no crystals, no taming magic—you’re not just lucky, this is unheard of.”

  Lily folded her arms, studying Rias and me. “It’s either you’re both extremely gifted… or there’s more to you than any of us realize.”

  Stewart scratched the back of his head. “Do you think the Duke would know?”

  “If anyone does,” Lily said, “it’s him.”

  Sk?ll stood beside me now, silent and watchful. Not like a beast. Not like a pet.

  Like a guardian.

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  Or a general.

  Whatever was happening… it felt like the start of something bigger.

  ?

  Day 4 of Travel

  As we packed up for the next leg of our journey, I kept glancing at Rias.

  She didn’t need help moving anymore. Freki and Geri stayed at her sides like living guides. She leaned lightly on their sturdy frames as they walked, easily navigating the uneven forest floor.

  It was strange not having to lead her. At home, I was always her guide—her eyes.

  But now, she had companions of her own.

  After a few hours, the dense trees began to thin. We reached the base of the Wolfhiem Mountains, and with it, the edge of the forest.

  Stretching ahead were open plains—rolling green hills with rivers snaking through them. Flowers dotted the tall grass, and the wind smelled fresh and clean. It was beautiful.

  It was the first time I saw the world beyond the mountains.

  For a moment, we just admired the view.

  Then something caught my eye.

  Movement—high above, fast and distant.

  “Hey,” I said, pointing to the sky. “What’s that?”

  The others followed my gaze.

  Stewart’s face twisted in alarm. “Wyvern,” he said flatly. “And it’s coming fast.”

  My stomach dropped as the massive creature soared toward us. Its body was covered in green scales, with jagged black spikes running down its spine. It had two legs and massive wings—each one bigger than our cart.

  The golem froze, unsure of what to do.

  “Get down!” Lily shouted.

  She muttered an incantation, and a swirling dome of wind erupted around us just as the wyvern opened its mouth and let out a stream of fire.

  The flames slammed into the barrier, but the wind held firm, scattering the blaze.

  Lily’s hand snapped up again, fire blooming in her palm.

  She fired.

  A streak of blazing flame tore through the air, hitting the wyvern’s wing and burning a hole straight through the thin membrane.

  The beast shrieked as it spiraled downward and crashed into the ground, sending dirt and debris flying.

  The golem charged.

  Its heavy steps pounded the earth as it barreled into the dazed wyvern and slammed a massive iron fist into its jaw, snapping the creature’s head to the side.

  Then Sk?ll joined the fight, faster than I’d ever seen him. He lunged at the beast’s throat and sank his teeth in deep. The other dire wolves—Hati, Freki, and Geri—circled the wyvern, snapping at its limbs and tail, keeping it pinned.

  “Now!” Lily shouted.

  Stewart whispered something under his breath, and his swords glowed with raw energy.

  He dashed across the field, blindingly fast, and with one clean, perfect strike—

  The wyvern’s head fell.

  Its body crumpled into the earth, motionless.

  Silence returned.

  Only the crackle of the fire and the panting of wolves remained.

  ?

  We stood in the aftermath, taking it all in.

  “That could’ve gone worse,” Stewart said, shaking his head.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “You made it look easy.”

  “If you hadn’t seen it coming,” he said, “we’d have been toast. Literally. Wyverns are silent in flight. Farmers hate them for a reason.”

  Lily turned to Stewart. “Collect the claws, fangs, and crystal. We’ll burn the rest.”

  “You got it,” he replied, already pulling a knife.

  I blinked. “Wait—burn the rest?”

  Bardock nodded. “Monster meat’s toxic. Not even wild animals can eat it. If you leave the corpse, it rots, attracts other monsters, and can spread disease.”

  Sasha added, “But if the mana crystal’s left inside, it’ll disintegrate the corpse completely over time. It’s how monsters disappear in the wild.”

  “But,” Lily said, holding up the glowing crystal, “this is worth more than the body. Crystals like this are used in magic staffs, magical tools, and can even have spells enchanted into them—but the number of uses depends on the size of the crystal.”

  “So you always remove the crystal,” I said, understanding. “Then burn the rest.”

  “Exactly,” Bardock said.

  We set the remains ablaze, watching the flames consume the wyvern’s massive frame.

  As we packed up to leave, I glanced back at the fire.

  “So,” I asked, “how does the Adventurers’ Guild decide what quests people can take?”

  “There’s a ranking system,” Lily explained. “It goes from E rank to SSS. E, D, C, B, A, S, SS, then SSS—the highest.”

  “You rank up by passing a test,” Stewart said. “The Guild gives them out when you apply. You pick the rank you want, but it’s tough. Most people fail a few times.”

  “And monsters are ranked too,” Sasha said. “That wyvern? A-rank.”

  “What about you guys?” I asked.

  “A-rank,” Lily said, nodding. “All of us—except Stewart. He’s S-rank.”

  “Does that mean your whole party is S-rank?”

  “No,” she said. “A party is ranked based on its lowest member. That way, you don’t overreach.”

  “Makes sense,” I said.

  As we left the smoldering remains of the wyvern behind, the group fell into a quiet, thoughtful pace. No one spoke for a while. Even the golem’s footsteps seemed softer, more deliberate, as if it too understood the weight of what had just happened.

  I walked near the back, Sk?ll at my side, his large form brushing the edge of the cart. Hati stayed close behind us, ever watchful. Rias was up front with Lily, guided by Freki and Geri—like she’d done it all her life.

  The wind rustled through the grass as we crossed the last stretch of open field before camp. I found myself staring at the fading sun, trying to process everything. Sk?ll’s return. The other dire wolves. The wyvern. The way Stewart moved when he fought, like he was born with a blade in each hand. The way Lily cast her spells with absolute confidence, like it was as natural as breathing.

  It all made me feel… small. Inexperienced.

  I’d fought before—but not like this. Not as part of something greater.

  When we finally stopped to rest, Sasha approached me while the others set up the tents. Her eyes flicked toward Sk?ll and Hati, who were both resting nearby.

  “You did good today,” she said. “Really good.”

  I didn’t say anything at first. I just stared at the fire as it crackled to life.

  “It didn’t feel like it,” I admitted. “I couldn’t even move during the fight. I just watched.”

  “You’re not a warrior yet,” she said gently. “But you will be. It takes time. Today wasn’t your moment to fight—but it was your moment to learn.”

  I glanced at her, and she smiled.

  “Besides, you were the one who saw it coming. That probably saved all our lives.”

  She turned to leave, then paused. “Also… Hati? Nice name.”

  I chuckled softly. “Thanks.”

  The fire died down as we set up camp. That night, the conversation turned light. Stories of past battles, bizarre creatures, and failed quests kept us entertained until the stars rose high.

  The fire died down as we set up camp. That night, the conversation turned light. Stories of past battles, bizarre creatures, and failed quests kept us entertained until the stars rose high.

  But nestled between the laughter and friendly jabs was one story that silenced the firelight chatter.

  They told me about the origins of the Adventurers’ Guild’s ranking system—how it wasn’t just about glory or measuring strength. It was born from necessity. Too many lives had been lost in the early days, when eager adventurers charged into the unknown without understanding the dangers they faced. The ranks—for both monsters and people—were created to prevent that. To match skill to threat. To limit death.

  Then came the story that stuck with me most.

  There was once a party, not unlike ours. Experienced. Confident. Their leader was an S-rank adventurer—known for his skill and pride. One day, their group encountered a pack of four Minotaurs deep within a ruined valley.

  Minotaurs—monsters with the head of a bull and the body of a man, though far larger. Covered in matted fur, they towered over most adventurers. Some wielded crude clubs, others carried swords scavenged from their victims. They weren’t just brutes either—they were intelligent, fast, and coordinated. Now classified as S-rank monsters.

  But back then, no one really knew how dangerous they were.

  The leader believed his strength would be enough to carry the party. He told them they could handle it.

  They couldn’t.

  All five members were killed. Their weapons taken. Their armor stripped. Their bodies devoured.

  By the time their remains were found, one of the Minotaurs was wearing the S-rank’s breastplate like a trophy.

  “That,” Lily had said softly, “is why parties are ranked by their weakest member. It’s not about fairness. It’s about survival.”

  The fire crackled quietly after that.

  No one told another joke.

  And I understood, more than ever, just how dangerous this world could be.

  Day 5 went on without a problem.

  The air was crisp with the scent of morning dew, and the sunlight danced gently over the hills as we traveled. Spirits were high again, though the weight of the previous night’s tale lingered quietly beneath our laughter. That evening, we made camp beside a small lake, its surface perfectly still beneath the twin moons that hovered high in the sky. Their silver light shimmered across the water, and fireflies drifted lazily near the shoreline, glowing like floating embers.

  For a while, it felt peaceful—almost too peaceful.

  As if the world was holding its breath.

  And somewhere deep in my chest… I felt something stir.

  Something that told me the calm wouldn’t last much longer.