The three of them trudged down the stairwell into the Guild’s main hall, but the place was already packed.

  All the tables had been shoved against the walls, leaving the center of the hall clear for around fifty adventurers to crowd the open space. Leather-clad delvers were still half in their mining gear, robed casters were clutching their staves nervously, and a few plate-armored vanguards looked like they’d rolled straight out of a battlefield and into the Guild. The three reception automatons had stepped away from the counters as well, polished brass faces expressionless as they stood before the job board.

  At the front of the Guild, a dark-haired man in iron armor stood on a wooden block by the doors, rising just high enough above the crowd to be seen. His breastplate carried the standard Braskir etchings of pickaxes and watchtowers, but his right pauldron bore a stylized mountain goat picked out in blackened steel.

  A high-ranking man in the local townsguard.

  The three of them slipped off the stairs and merged with the back of the gathering, letting the flow of bodies pull them closer. The bells outside still thundered in the three-three-three pattern, but the noise inside dimmed as more adventurers realized something important was about to be said.

  The armored man waited a few more breaths—gaze sweeping the hall calmly—and when the last clump of adventurers finally shuffled into place, he squared his shoulders and spoke.

  “I am Mountain Marshal Rashan of the Braskir townguards,” he announced. “I stand here representing Braskir’s governorship and the wall garrisons. Hear this, all registered adventurers: our scouts have reported a large herd of magic beasts stampeding toward the northern town walls. The herd consists of silthide bisons, galehorn rams, and cyclone ibexes, numbering at least a few hundred strong—enough to demand full mobilization of the townguards and the northwall mercenary companies.”

  A low wave of whispers rolled through the hall. Dain caught a few scattered phrases—’silthide hides pay well’, ‘cyclone ibex horns’, and ‘galehorns can crack stone’—from various pockets of adventurers.

  Rashan lifted a hand to quiet everyone.

  “There is no danger to the citizenry while you stand behind Braskir’s walls. The northwall ballistas are loaded, the wallcrest casters are in place, and the townguards will hold the gate,” he said. “However, the townguards recognize that many among you seek coin, fame, or even both. Therefore, all adventurers registered with the Guild may volunteer to assist in the defense of the northwall. Remuneration will be awarded based on confirmed magic beast kills, and your contributions will be recorded by our scribes.”

  A few grins appeared in the crowd. Someone muttered ‘that’s my rent for the month sorted’, and another laughed nervously.

  Dain crossed his arms loosely, cane pressed against his leg.

  Wall defense, huh?

  Plenty of beasts, plenty of loot, and plenty of excuses for some bored adventurer to ‘accidentally’ cut off a stranger’s ear, too.

  Rashan’s gaze hardened. “In addition to the northwall defense,” he added, “I am also recruiting a smaller, separate party.”

  That caught more attention than the promise of kill payouts.

  Rashan waited just long enough for curiosity to peak, then continued. “Our scouts also reported a sudden spike in mana flow from the northern Brumeval Forest. It registered with their Mana Detection Orbs just before the herd began stampeding towards Braskir, so we have reason to believe this stampede is not natural. Someone—or something—has provoked the beasts, perhaps deliberately, so I am recruiting a small group of adventurers to ride out with me and my men to investigate past the stampede.

  Dain felt something cold and familiar stir in his gut.

  “The pay for this mission will be higher than the northwall defense, but so will the danger be,” Rashan said bluntly. “You will not be shielded by Braskir’s walls, and you will have only your skills, your relics, and those at your side. This is a strictly volunteer mission, so if you are willing to ride north with me… raise your hand.”

  Silence.

  Of course no one moved. Wall duty meant safe kills, clear pay, and a nice, solid barrier between you and whatever lunacy was throwing herds around the area. The small group that’d be heading into a mana spike, though?

  That was bait. Obviously.

  So Dain’s hand went up.

  “I’m in.”

  Rashan’s gaze snapped to him, and the Mountain Marshal evidently looked taken aback at the sight of his double right pupils. He still didn’t have a good explanation for it, though he was lucky that nobody had really pressed him about it yet—and he was lucky now again, because Rashan quickly reset his expression back to neutral.

  “What is your name, adventurer?”

  “Dain Sorowyn.”

  “Grade and expertise?”

  “Common-9. I have wind-type and fire-type Elementum Class relics. I also recently led and completed a request for the eradication of a steelplated scorpion swarm in Mine Kormuhan.”

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  That stirred the crowd. Several adventurers turned to stare at him properly, whispers flaring up again. “That was him?” someone mumbled. “The Mine Kormuhan clearing?” Another voice muttered. “Thought that was an Uncommon-5 townsguard operation.”

  Rashan’s brows rose a fraction. “I have heard of you,” he said, and there was a small, small bit of respect in it. “I read the report on the scorpion swarm in Mine Kormuhan. Well done. I assume you and your party of… seven will be taking me up on my special mission as well?”

  “No, I’m only volunteering myse—”

  A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Anisa pulled him back.

  “Not a chance,” Anisa whispered sharply at his side, voice low enough that only he and Yasmin could hear. “We are going with you.”

  “It’s the one-eyed lady,” he whispered back. “It has to be. She lured me out once, and she’s luring me out again. If I ignore this—”

  “You’re not. But you’re not going alone,” Yasmin said, glaring at him. “And did I not already say protecting my lady is my duty?”

  …

  After a brief pause—with both Anisa and Yasmin fixing him with that stubborn, unblinking look he’d come to recognize far too well—Dain exhaled through his nose. They had gone in circles about this more times than he could count.

  No point reopening the same argument.

  So he simply turned back to Rashan and said, “These two are coming with me as well.”

  But he didn’t even get the chance to gesture toward them before more hands from the opposite end of the crowd raised—four of them—followed by an elf’s too-loud voice cutting through the murmurs.

  “We’re in too.”

  Dain spun around to find Ilvaren, Kargun, Sahlir, and Rena all standing on their toes and smirking at him.

  He groaned inwardly.

  “You don’t have to come with me, you know?” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Our partnership ended. Just go enjoy your payout and—”

  Ilvaren waved that off like it was smoke. “Please. I’ve grown fond of you, human, and if this job pays as well as it sounds…” She shrugged with exaggerated innocence. “Seems you’re a lucky charm we ought to follow.”

  Kargun thumped his fist against his chest. “Aye. An’ besides, boss, yer last job had excellent smashin’. Could use more o’ that.”

  “Yep,” Sahlir added pointlessly.

  Rena, at least, smiled kindly before speaking directly to Rashan. “I can’t fight like my three companions, but I’m stronger than I look. I can be everyone’s porter.”

  Rashan absorbed all of this with a slow, considerate nod. “Seven of you, then. Good. The more hands, the better.” He glanced around the hall one last time. “Anyone else?”

  Not a single adventurer lifted a hand.

  “Very well,” Rashan said, voice carrying easily over the restless murmurs. “All other adventurers, report to the walls immediately. You will be assigned your positions for the coming stampede.” Then he turned back to Dain. “The seven of you, gather your relics and meet me at the stables. We ride north in thirty minutes.”

  Dain didn’t need thirty minutes to prepare. Ever since the whole ordeal with the gargoyle golem, he hadn’t really been an arm’s length away from any of his relics—except for his silverplume owl this time, he supposed—but the same couldn’t be said of the girls.

  He accompanied them back to their room so they could strap on their new, higher quality adventuring gear, and while they did, he carefully approached the sentient owl on the table.

  The owl didn’t peck at him this time. It merely watched him with a curious gaze as he held his arm out, clicked his tongue at it, and beckoned it to hop on.

  It didn’t.

  “... Should we not at least tell Mountain Marshal Rashan and his men what we may be dealing with before we ride out?” Anisa said, pulling on her leather armor straps.

  He didn’t turn, continuing to make cooing noises at his owl. “You mean tell him we might be riding into a one-eyed’s trap?”

  “Yes.” Her tone sharpened just a little. “If they knew they might be facing someone capable of sinking an entire town, they would be better prepared, and if they knew she might be targeting you specifically, they would—”

  “For all we know, one of the townsguard is in league with her. They might be complicit in luring the stampede over to Braskir, and they might even try to kill me while we ride out to investigate so they can write off my death as an accident.”

  Yasmin frowned. “You think there’s a traitor within the townsguard as well?”

  “An accomplice like Denkesh, maybe.” Sighing, he left the owl on the table and trudged over to the balcony, pulling in the curtains. He winced when the little motion made his shoulder hurt. “So if there is another accomplice within the townsguard, it’s best I let them be comfortable. They’ll make a move the moment they think my guard is lowered, and then I’ll be able to catch them off guard.”

  He walked back to the table, snapping his fingers and clapping his hands in an attempt to get the silverplume owl to hop on again.

  No use.

  “Besides, whether Rashan’s men know she’s a one-eyed or not doesn’t change what’s waiting for us anyways,” he muttered. “We don’t know the one-eyed’s skillset. Or her relics. We can only fight as hard as we can, and that’s all we can do.”

  Anisa was quiet for a long moment, fastening the last clasp of her armor with a furrowed brow before glancing over.

  “Then… are you ready to face her?” she asked. “She must be rather strong to have been able to sink Corvalenne, yes?”

  Dain didn’t answer right away. After trying for what must’ve been the tenth time—unsuccessfully—to coax his owl into looking at him instead of obsessing over scratching the table, he gave up, closed his fingers around his cane, and turned fully toward her.

  He hoped his expression was sharp.

  “I’ve gotten stronger, too,” he said. “This may be my one and only chance to take her down, so I have to go, no matter what relics she has and what tricks she’s got up her sleeves.” He tapped his cane lightly against the floor. “Last chance, princess. If the uncertainty scares you, you can still step away.”

  Anisa’s anxious smile twitched into place, but it was more insulted than fearful. “The Princesses of Obric do not cower from the field of battle. My elder sister had faced far worse odds in the war, and I will do no less. I will see this one-eyed specter with my own two eyes and live to tell the tale.” She lifted her chin, looking at him pointedly. “But you must not lose yourself when you face her, too. Do not be reckless. You must not kill her outright. Capture her first—make her confess and bring her faction’s crimes into the light—and then you can have your vengeance.”

  Her words hung there in the dim room, mixing with the faint rustle of his wingcloak.

  “... You don’t have to remind me,” he muttered. He reached for the silver owl mask resting on the table—cold silver, the left eye sealed—and rolled it once in his palm. “I, of all people, want to see justice served for Corvalenne.”

  He raised the mask towards his face—and paused.

  A strange suction pulled gently from inside the metal, like breath from a cavern.

  “Well… alright, then,” he murmured.

  He brought the mask to his face slowly, and it suddenly latched on, hugging the upper half of his face with a soft metallic click. The weight was lighter than he expected, but the moment it settled, the silverplume owl twitched sharply on the table.

  Then it hopped—one neat leap—onto his shoulder, metal talons tapping against his wingcloak as it cooed.

  Dain grinned up at it. “I’ll give you a name someday.”

  The owl clicked once affectionately, as if now, and only now, it finally recognized its master.

  “... Now let’s go get the one-eyed bastard.”