The woods grew quiet once more, interrupted only by Pete's even breaths and the gentle patter of obsidian ichor dripping from the beasts' injuries. Alph stayed vigilant, arrow nocked, his gaze sweeping the encircling pines for any additional dangers lured by the stench of the fallen. The image of weaponed figures systematically inspecting recent quarry no longer disconcerted him as it used to—Lukan knelt next to the bigger Duskmane, combing through its inky pelt with the seasoned appraisal of one who recognized worth on sight.

  Pete rolled his shoulder and examined the shallow gash along his sword arm, dark blood seeping through the torn mail rings. "Gonna need stitches when we get back to town," he said, prodding the wound with his finger. "Damn claws went right through the mail."

  Lukan glanced up from where he was still running his hands through the Duskmane's fur. "Well, least these pelts should cover the cost of getting you patched up." He tested the density of the midnight fur between his fingers. "Quality like this fetches thirty silver each in Stoneford, maybe more."

  Alph lowered his bow slightly, still keeping watch but joining the conversation. "Don't forget the claws," he said, nodding toward the curved talons that gleamed like polished obsidian. "Herbalists will pay for them."

  "Aye, good thinking," Lukan nodded, already eyeing the pristine claws. "Between the pelts and claws, we're looking at a decent haul." He paused in his examination, a satisfied grin spreading across his weathered face. "Lucky for us this contract fell into our laps when it did. Even if we can't complete the job now, we've already turned a profit."

  Alph kept his eyes on the treeline, but his mind drifted to Lukan's words. Lucky. Was that really the right word for what had brought them here? Memories of what had transpired that morning came to his mind...

  The heavy oak doors swung shut behind Alph as he stepped into the guild hall. Steam rose from clay mugs at the bar counter, where a scarred woman in leather armor tore chunks from a fresh loaf. The clatter of dishes drifted from the kitchen beyond.

  Three mercenaries occupied the central benches, one gesturing with calloused hands while another shook his head and muttered something about "fool's wages." A merchant in fine blue cloth slid a sealed letter across the posting counter, coins clinking as the clerk weighed them in his palm.

  At the acceptance counter, a bearded fighter argued with the clerk over payment terms, his voice rising above the general murmur. Alph stepped around a crossbow specialist counting silver pieces, then approached the large notice board where two other mercenaries stood reading the posted contracts.

  Alph positioned himself beside the other mercenaries and began scanning the posted contracts. His eyes moved methodically down the board—escort duties for merchant caravans, pest control for outlying farms, courier work between settlements. He paused at each posting, reading the requirements and payment terms with careful attention.

  A hunting contract caught his eye. Three missing cattle, last seen near Borov Wood. The payment was modest but the work straightforward. He was reaching for the parchment when a voice spoke behind him.

  "Alph, got a moment?"

  He turned to find the vice chief's secretary standing with her hands clasped behind her back. Her brown hair was pulled into its usual tight bun, and she wore the guild's formal blue tabard over practical leather armor.

  "The vice chief would like to speak with you in the private meeting hall," she said, tilting her head toward the corridor that led to the guild's administrative offices. "If you have time, of course."

  "Of course," Alph nodded, stepping away from the notice board. As he followed the secretary toward the corridor, hushed voices drifted from behind him.

  "Another good commission, no doubt..."

  "Silver spooned boy gets the choice jobs again..."

  Alph ignored the familiar comments and walked down the narrow hallway toward the private meeting hall.

  Alph followed the secretary into the familiar meeting hall with its dark wood paneling and rectangular table. The vice chief sat at his usual spot at the head of the table, his weathered hands folded in front of him. Two mercenaries occupied chairs on the opposite side—a burly man in chainmail with a shield propped against his knee, and a lean figure with a hatchet and crossbow slung across his back.

  "Boss, I brought Alph as you requested," the secretary announced from the doorway.

  The vice chief looked up and nodded. "Thank you. Please close the door on your way out."

  The secretary bowed slightly and stepped back, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. The vice chief gestured to an empty chair across from the two mercenaries.

  "Alph, please sit. I assume you know Pete and Lukan."

  Alph nodded at the two senior mercenaries as he took his seat.

  "We have a private commission to discuss."

  The vice chief leaned forward, his expression grave. "Two days ago, I sent Marcus—one of our senior representatives—to the northern fringes through Borov Wood. He was scheduled to meet with one of our intelligence assets, a routine check-in that happens every few weeks." He paused, running a hand through his graying hair. "He should have returned yesterday morning. I've heard nothing."

  His fingers drummed against the table. "Under normal circumstances, I'd post a standard search contract on the board. But this involves guild intelligence operations, which makes it... sensitive. I need people I can trust to track him down quietly, confirm his safety, and escort him back to town."

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  The vice chief's eyes moved between the three mercenaries. "The nature of his mission means this stays between us. No questions asked in the taverns, no details shared with other guild members. Just find Marcus and bring him home."

  Lukan leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "What's the usual route he takes? And how long should that meeting with the asset have lasted?"

  "He follows the main path north through Borov Wood to the edge of the forest, then cuts east to the ruins near Blackstone Ridge," the vice chief replied. "The meeting itself is quick—an hour at most."

  Pete shifted in his seat, his chainmail clinking softly. "Any idea what kind of trouble he might have run into? Bandits? Wildlife?"

  "Both are possibilities," the vice chief said, his voice steady. "There have been reports of bandit activity in the region, and the deeper woods always have their share of dangerous wildlife."

  His expression shifted slightly, a shadow crossing his features as if something had occurred to him. He paused, then seemed to shake it off.

  "But the scouting area is limited to the outer edges of Borov Wood," he continued, his tone lighter. "At most, you'll face tier-0 monsters. Nothing a team of your caliber can't handle."

  The three mercenaries exchanged glances, Pete and Lukan's eyes settling on Alph. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken questions. Alph felt the weight of their attention, the awareness that he was the junior member at this table, the one whose presence required explanation.

  He cleared his throat, meeting the vice chief's gaze directly. "Why me?"

  Alph's mind raced. There had to be a reason he was being included in a meeting with two of the guild's most experienced operatives. The vice chief didn't make casual decisions, especially not for sensitive missions.

  "I mean, considering this is scouting and escort work, you've got the right team with Lukan and Pete. Their experience speaks for itself." He gestured between the two veterans. "I'm just a tier-0 scout, and I haven't worked with either of them before. Wouldn't that make coordination difficult if we run into trouble?"

  The vice chief smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Tell me, Alph, how long have you been working as a mercenary?"

  "One year," Alph replied.

  The vice chief nodded. "And how many times have you been paired with other mercenaries on an out-of-town job?"

  Alph opened his mouth, then closed it. The truth was, he'd mostly worked solo contracts—courier runs, small investigations, pest control. The few times he'd worked alongside others had been within Stoneford's walls, simple tasks that didn't involve any real danger.

  Seeing his silence, the vice chief continued. "The job of a mercenary isn't always working solo, Alph. Sometimes you need to team up with others. Since you haven't formed a group yourself yet, I decided to give you a nudge."

  Lukan chuckled and nodded in agreement. "He's right, you know. When Pete here started out, he arrogantly declared he'd take on any job alone. Ended up getting his ass handed to him by a group of bandits." He grinned at his partner. "Had to scurry back to town in his underpants after they robbed him of all his gear."

  Pete's face reddened as he coughed uncomfortably, shifting in his chainmail. "That was... different circumstances."

  The tension in the room dissolved into quiet laughter, and Alph felt some of his nervousness ease.

  The conversation continued for another quarter hour as they discussed routes, supplies, and contingency plans. Maps were spread across the table, and the vice chief provided what details he could about Marcus's usual habits and preferred travel methods.

  As they prepared to leave, the vice chief's expression grew serious once more. "Remember, you have two days to complete this job. If you can't find Marcus within that time..." He paused, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "Then we'll have to presume him dead."

  The weight of those words settled over the room as the three mercenaries filed out, leaving the vice chief alone with his maps.

  "Alph." Lukan's voice cut through his memories. "Give me a hand with these pelts."

  Alph blinked, refocusing on the present. Lukan had finished skinning both cats and was rolling the valuable furs into tight bundles. Pete was securing the harvested claws in a leather pouch, his wounded arm moving carefully but steadily.

  "Right," Alph said, slinging his bow across his shoulder and moving to help. The weight of the pelts surprised him—dense fur that would indeed fetch good coin in Stoneford's markets.

  "We should keep moving," Lukan said, securing his pack. "Trail's getting colder while we've been working."

  Pete grunted agreement, shouldering his shield. "Marcus isn't going to find himself."

  They resumed following the blood trail deeper into Borov Wood. The crimson droplets led them through increasingly dense undergrowth, where ancient pines blocked out most of the afternoon light. Alph kept his senses alert, watching for both the trail and any signs of additional threats.

  The forest remained unnaturally quiet. No birdsong, no rustle of small creatures—just the soft crunch of their boots on pine needles and the occasional clink of Pete's chainmail. The blood drops grew more scattered but continued in a roughly northward direction.

  After another half hour of careful tracking, Alph spotted something that made him raise his fist in the universal signal to halt. Through a gap in the trees ahead, a splash of bright color caught his eye—fabric that didn't belong in the muted browns and greens of the forest floor.

  They approached cautiously, weapons ready. The body lay sprawled between two massive pine trunks, arms flung wide in the unmistakable pose of violent death. This wasn't their quarry—the clothes were wrong, rough leather and patched wool rather than guild attire.

  "Another bandit," Lukan confirmed, crouching beside the corpse. Deep claw marks raked across the man's chest, the wounds matching the Duskmane cats' handiwork. "Looks like our feline friends were busy before they found us."

  Pete examined the torn leather armor with a grim expression. "Maybe Marcus met the same fate as this poor sod. Could be why he never made it back."

  Suddenly, Lukan went rigid. His head tilted slightly, as if listening to something beyond their hearing. Without a word, he raised his hand in a sharp gesture for silence, then rose slowly to his feet.

  Pete and Alph exchanged a quick glance. Both men quietly drew their weapons—Pete's shield sliding from his back while his sword whispered from its sheath, Alph nocking an arrow with practiced efficiency.

  Lukan began moving through the trees with careful, deliberate steps, his crossbow appearing in his hands as he advanced. The forest seemed to hold its breath around them as they followed, every shadow potentially hiding another threat.

  They moved in single file through the undergrowth, Lukan leading with silent confidence. The trees began to thin ahead, and the ground sloped downward more sharply. Lukan slowed, then stopped at what appeared to be the forest's edge.

  He dropped to one knee, motioning for them to do the same. Alph crawled forward and peered through the pine boughs. The earth simply ended—a deep ravine cut through the forest like a wound, its walls dropping away into shadow-filled depths.

  All three mercenaries lay at the rim, staring down into the darkness below.