“Sorry for the wait.”

  The elf looked much better now. In one fluid motion, his bowstring snapped taut, releasing a flurry of arrows that streaked through the air with lethal precision. Each shot forced Mad-Eye Mordok to turn from us.

  The dwarf seized the chance, snatching up his shield and stumbling backward while I healed him from behind.

  Then the elf’s hands flared with white glow, the light crawling up the arrow he nocked.

  The shot hissed through the air, trailing smoke. Sparks burst as it struck Mordok’s armor, scattering metal before punching deep into the creature’s chest.

  No doubt about it. Piercing Arrow.

  “Tch. Not deep enough,” the elf muttered through gritted teeth.

  “Use this.” I tossed him a Cinderbrew Vial. “It’ll imbue your arrows with fire. And just so you know, it’s expensive.”

  He flashed a quick, humorless grin. “I’ll make it worth the cost.”

  He downed the vial, his next arrow ignited mid-draw, cloaked in bluish-red flame. With Piercing Arrow still active, the shot blazed like a comet and buried itself in Mordok’s arm just as the beast raised it to block. A small explosion followed, filling the air with black smoke.

  “I… wasn’t expecting that.” the elf muttered, blinking through the haze as he loosed another arrow. It struck Mordok’s leg, sending the hulking creature staggering to one knee.

  The dwarf charged without hesitation, shield first. The impact landed with a thunderous crack that vibrated through my chest. Dust and spittle burst into the air as steel met bone.

  Shield Bash.

  No wonder the dwarf could hold his ground. He must’ve had the Ironclad Sentinel’s Fragment.

  For a brief moment, Mordok wavered, then its crimson eyes blazed even brighter. It roared, a guttural sound that seemed to shake the ground itself. Primal energy burst from its body, blasting outward in waves that threw me off my feet and froze my limbs in place.

  The elf’s arrow veered off course, clattering uselessly to the ground.

  Mordok rose again, growling low, pain and fury mingling in its monstrous voice. Then both massive axes rose high above its head.

  No… that move—!

  “Dwarf, run!” I shouted, forcing the words past the weight pressing on my chest as I raised my staff.

  [Windstride cast]

  Fortunately, the dwarf had already sensed the danger. Wind shimmered around his boots, carrying him out of harm’s way just as the axes came crashing down.

  BAAAAAM!

  The impact was apocalyptic. The ground split open, dust and debris exploded upward, and a shockwave hurled us through the air like rag dolls.

  I slammed into the ground, rolled across jagged stone, and gasped as pain tore through my ribs. My vision spun, my ears rang, and every breath felt like fire.

  I recognized that attack, one of Dreadspire’s instant-kill moves.

  Brutal. Unforgiving.

  And we’d barely survived it.

  ***

  “Is everyone still breathing?” I croaked, forcing myself upright. Even the aftershock of that blow had left me bleeding and half-broken.

  “Barely, but yeah,” the elf groaned.

  The dwarf didn’t answer. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, and his shield was nowhere in sight.

  Mordok itself was gasping, the crimson blaze in its eyes flickering weakly.

  “Take this.” I hurled another Flameburst Vial straight at the beast.

  It shattered on impact, engulfing the monster in roaring fire. The Gnoll flailed desperately, trying to snuff out the flames devouring its fur.

  The elf didn’t hesitate. His arrow flew true, piercing Mordok’s eye. The monster howled, thrashing in agony as more arrows followed.

  In one final act of rage, the Chieftain hurled both axes before its body vanished in a flash of blinding white light.

  One of the axes spun harmlessly into the distance. The other came straight for the elf’s head.

  “Move!” the dwarf bellowed, voice cracking with panic.

  Time slowed. The axe spun lazily through the air, every rotation promising death.

  The elf turned just in time, catching the glint of steel. He smirked. “An axe thrown that slowly will never hit me.”

  Swish.

  A thin red line appeared across his torso. The smirk vanished.

  “Darwyn, you idiot!” the dwarf roared, sprinting toward him.

  The axe hadn’t struck directly, but the force of its passing alone had ripped through him. The elf staggered, breath hitching as crimson spread across his tunic. Then he collapsed.

  “Hold still,” I hissed, casting Rejuvenation. “You’re not dying here. Not after all that.”

  The dwarf’s hands trembled as he poured a potion over the wound. “C’mon, lad. Breathe, damn it. Just breathe!”

  Darwyn’s body twitched, then went still.

  “Stay with me,” the dwarf muttered, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare die on me, you stupid leaf-eared bastard! I still owe you five rounds of ale and three hundred stones from our last bet!”

  Three potions down, and still no sign of improvement.

  The blood kept flowing. Too much, too fast.

  I kept casting my spell, channeling every ounce of Mana I had left.

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  The dwarf’s face twisted with panic, grief, and stubborn denial.

  Seconds dragged on like hours. Every drop of blood felt like a countdown.

  Then, movement.

  A twitch. A breath. A rasping cough.

  I froze, hardly daring to believe it. Then I checked his condition.

  “…The wounds are deep,” I said slowly. “Vital ones, too. But… he’ll live.”

  The dwarf exhaled shakily and sank beside him. “By Thrains’s beard… I can’t lose another one.” Then, half-laughing, half-sobbing, he muttered, “You scared the beard off me, you pointy-eared bastard.”

  Darwyn cracked one eye open. “Still… winning that bet…”

  “Shut up, you damn fool,” the dwarf grumbled, wiping his face. “You almost died.”

  “…but didn’t,” the elf croaked weakly. “So… drinks are on you.”

  The tension finally eased, replaced by weary laughter that sounded more like a release than amusement.

  As the stocky warrior helped Darwyn lean against a tree, I rose, brushing dirt from my robe. The fight was over, but the drops remained.

  Perfect. The elf was still resting, and Muradin was too drained to think straight.

  Muradin approached, eyes glassy from exhaustion.

  “My name’s Muradin Bromir, son of Thrain,” said the dwarf warmly, his thick beard bouncing as he extended a calloused hand.

  “I’ll take this,” I said, ignoring the handshake as I stooped to lift a twisted scepter from the ground. Carved from blackwood, its tip was crowned with a pale yellow fang etched with intricate tribal carvings. Smaller fangs jutted around it like a crown of teeth, giving it a feral presence.

  “Plus, half of the Mana Stones,” I added casually, “and both Gnoll Tails.”

  The dwarf blinked, confusion crossing his soot-streaked face.

  “That’s too much,” he said, grin fading into a scowl. “You only mentioned the scepter before.”

  “Well,” I replied coolly, “I changed my mind. Those potions I used weren’t exactly cheap.”

  “You only joined near the end of the fight!”

  “Doesn’t matter. I saved the elf’s hide not once, but twice.” I gestured toward the resting elf. “Besides, you’ve got Mordok’s Battleaxe. That alone’s worth more than everything else combined.”

  He hesitated, and I knew I had him.

  Boss weapons always carried higher stats, and Mordok’s wasn’t just rare. It came with a unique skill. Any adventurer would kill for it.

  Finally, the dwarf sighed. “You can take the staff and the Gnoll Tails,” he said gruffly. “Consider it my thanks.”

  I tilted my head. “You do realize I saved you from Mordok’s ultimate attack, right?”

  Muradin froze, avoiding my gaze.

  “I’ll take that as agreement,” I said cheerfully, crouching to scoop up the monster parts scattered across the blood-soaked ground.

  “Wait, hey! You said just the Gnoll Tails!” he protested, stomping over.

  “Arguing with you just made me realize I deserve more,” I said with a smirk. “Relax. I’ll only take what I need.”

  Of course, by what I need, I meant the most valuable parts.

  Muradin groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Alright, alright. We owe you our lives anyway.” He trudged over and snatched a few items before I could reach them. “Leave those Mana Stones! We’ll count them together later!”

  I chuckled and kept sorting through the loot. The air reeked of iron and smoke. Muradin busied himself lining up the corpses of his fallen allies.

  I breathed through my mouth to dull the smell, eyes fixed on the glimmer of dropped items. I wasn’t used to this kind of carnage, at least not yet. Maybe someday I would be. That was the part that scared me most.

  Still, I’d made the right choice.

  Mad-Eye Mordok, the Gnoll Chieftain. One of the rarest spawns in Gnashfang Warrens. Too rare, really. Encountering it this early meant either the universe had a cruel sense of humor… or it was handing out early death certificates.

  Muradin’s team hadn’t planned this fight. They’d just gotten unlucky. Horribly unlucky.

  And a Field Boss never came alone. By the time I arrived, its entire warband was already dead, replaced by a glittering carpet of loot.

  Three reasons had driven me to step in.

  First, Mordok was nearly dead, already in its final phase.

  Second, they weren’t human. Unlike humans, dwarves were honest, straightforward, and bound by their oaths. Especially the ones sworn under their father’s name.

  And third… the loot.

  The Fangbone Scepter from the Fangbone Sorcerer, and the Gnoll Tails I’d been hunting for long.

  Was it selfish? Maybe.

  But in this world, where one wrong step could end your story for good, hesitation was just another way to die. You calculated. You moved. And when fate handed you a golden egg wrapped in chaos?

  You grabbed it before someone else did.

  ***

  I waited while Muradin and Darwyn paid their last respects to their fallen comrades, half-buried under bloodied stones and shattered weapons. From their faces, it was clear they’d fought together for a long time.

  When it was finally over, Darwyn approached me. “This is the first time I’ve met a druid,” he said, his emerald eyes gleaming with curiosity. “And I owe you my life. I won’t forget it.”

  “Well, at least we paid him handsomely for his troubles,” Muradin said with a grin. He had wiped the grime off his face, and his black hair was now slicked back. With his broad nose, dark eyes, and tanned, muscular frame, he looked more like a blacksmith than a warrior. Rugged, but somehow friendly.

  I smirked. “If that was handsome, I’d hate to see what you call pocket change.”

  Muradin let out a hearty laugh, slapping his armored thigh. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for a nature lover.”

  “Nature’s full of thorns,” I said.

  “Alright, you win,” he chuckled. “But you still haven’t told us your name.”

  “Sorry about earlier,” I said, feeling slightly guilty. “I’m Eryndor Leafshade.” I offered him my hand.

  “No need to apologize, Erondyr,” he said, shaking it firmly.

  “It’s Eryndor,” I corrected.

  “Hah! Sorry for that. Strange name, though,” he laughed.

  “Yeah, unusual one,” Darwyn chimed in. “I’m Darwyn Vonn Gwydion, but just call me Darwyn.”

  He was the embodiment of elven grace: tall, athletic, with sharp features and emerald eyes that gleamed like forest light.

  “So, Erydon,” Muradin began, grinning wide, “let’s count the stones.”

  I sighed. “You’ve got it wrong again.”

  I wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

  “Not to take his side,” Darwyn said with a smirk, “but your name’s tricky. Ern-dor, right?”

  “Close enough,” I said in defeat. “Just call me Erynd.”

  It seemed my name was hard for non-druids to pronounce.

  “Okay, Erynd,” Darwyn chuckled, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “We’re heading to the second floor. Why not join us?”

  “If I get a fair share,” I replied flatly.

  “Fair share?” Darwyn grinned. “You mean split three ways, or are you planning to rob us again?”

  I lifted a brow. “Fine by me, if you’re into that.”

  “Whoa, whoa, I’m kidding! We’ll split it evenly,” he said, hands up in surrender.

  “Good,” I said. “But I still got business on the first floor. It’s on the way to the portal anyway, so we can go together before splitting up.”

  “No problem for us, right Muradin?”

  “Yep, I’m good,” the dwarf said quickly, still adjusting the straps on his armor.

  “Great. I know a perfect resting spot nearby. Follow me,” I said, motioning ahead. The hidden burrow was only big enough for one person, so we couldn’t stay inside, but the surrounding area was still safe enough to rest.

  As we walked, I turned the newly acquired scepter in my hand, feeling the hum of power pulsing through the dark wood. The Fangbone Scepter was heavier than it looked and was filled with magical power. Every flicker of light along its carved fangs made my fingers tingle.

  A slow grin crept across my face. I’m getting much stronger now.

  [Eryndor Leafshade]

  [Soul Capacity: 1

  Vitality: 4

  Strength: 4

  Agility: 5 → 7

  Wisdom: 24 → 39

  Wind Magic Penetration: 0 → 10

  Mana Regen: 9 → 14

  Willpower: 134]

  [Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride, Wind Cutter

  Passives: Enlightenment]

  Eryndor correctly on the first try?

  Erynd. Thanks for reading!

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