Ragnar was lying on the grass, eyes closed, enjoying the cool breeze on his skin, until Skiff fired three quick shots from his bow. The three arrows narrowly missed the bull's forehead and ended up sticking into the ground.

  “Damn,” muttered Skiff.

  The bull he had aimed at continued grazing as if nothing had happened.

  The hunter closed his eyes, adjusted his posture, pulled three arrows from his quiver, and lowered his bow. Then he opened his eyes and, without aiming, fired three more quick shots, relying on his muscle memory. The first arrow grazed the animal's hide, the second almost hit a leg, and the third flew toward the sun.

  “You're getting better,” Ragnar commented as he watched his friend dodge the bull's horns.

  The druid gazed at the blue sky.

  They had advanced to level 15 because the quest Tanning Leather had rewarded them with a large amount of experience. Since then, the duo had dedicated themselves to completing urgent quests and acquiring more pieces of leather.

  All the leather collected was used by Skiff to make a new outfit for the druid, called the Seven Leaves Set: a brown leather vest with green layers on top in the shape of leaves.

  As for the weapon, Ragnar upgraded the Viper’s Ruin five times, pushing it to its limit. And now, with his energy recharged, Ragnar rose from the ground and restored his friend's life with a Healing Breeze.

  The bull, riddled with arrows, fell to the ground, lifeless. Skiff approached the animal and retrieved the arrows stuck in its hide. Meanwhile, Ragnar descended from the small hill that separated him from his friend, but halfway down, a sudden explosion blew him back.

  His shoulder absorbed the initial impact of the fall. Ragnar’s sharp reflexes allowed him to react by rolling across the grass to reduce the damage from subsequent blows.

  He spat out the blades of grass that had gotten into his mouth. All the green at the site of the explosion was scorched. The impact area was five meters in diameter.

  “F-fireball,” he stammered to Skiff.

  From the rhythmic sound of something dragging over grass, Ragnar realized that more than one opponent was coming his way. He managed to get up in time to arm himself with the Viper’s Ruin and summon Lady Plissken to defend him.

  Ragnar caught a glimpse of a person wearing a large hat and long cape, and carrying a staff taller than himself. But it wasn't the mage he was worried about; it was the two people coming up from behind.

  He spun toward them, using his body movement to guide the spear in a horizontal arc. A metallic clang resounded in his ears. The spear's shaft was parried by the blade of a silver sword.

  “I found you!” said the girl wielding the weapon with both hands.

  The second attacker, however, fell to the ground when the spear grazed his face.

  Ragnar turned his attention to the swordswoman. It was Havoc, the girl who had approached him at the Sinistro's magic item shop.

  “Pay the twenty thousand rubros... or die!” she said, dragging the blade along the spear's shaft.

  “Never!” Ragnar retorted enthusiastically, retracting his weapon and lunging at her chest.

  Havoc changed her stance, raised the blade to eye level, and repelled the attack by striking the spear on the side with an upward cut.

  Then she advanced toward him, sword ready to deliver the next attack.

  Ragnar pulled the spear toward him and let the girl come at him. Meanwhile, Skiff shot a warrior, and Lady Plissken bit the legs of another assassin, who tried to approach them from behind.

  Havoc went on the attack using the Charge skill to get in front of Ragnar, but when she tried to stab him with the tip of her sword, her hands were wrapped in roots coming from the ground.

  Ragnar took the opportunity to stab her three times, but thanks to the difference in levels, each blow took only a small portion of her health points.

  Then the attacks ceased on both sides as the mage in the distance raised a wall of ice between the druid and the swordswoman. Without realizing it, the mage ended up opening a window of opportunity for the druid.

  Ragnar turned his back on the ice block, turned into an iron bear and charged toward the assassin still engaged with Lady Plissken. With the help of Skiff, who had eliminated the warrior a short time ago, they overwhelmed the assassin in seconds despite the healing he received from the cleric in his group.

  The druid turned his attention to the mage, but it was too late; the spell had been cast. A flaming sphere now traveled across the battlefield, coming toward him and engulfing Skiff in a burst of red flames.

  This time Ragnar was not knocked down by the shockwave, as he had anticipated the effect and conjured his roots around himself, holding him in place.

  Skiff was dead, as the damage of a fireball was naturally high. On top of that, the mage had a six-level advantage over the duo.

  To make matters worse, Lady Plissken was also hit by the explosion. Ragnar felt sorry for his scaly friend as he watched her writhing on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames on her body.

  Despite the desperate situation he found himself in, Ragnar remained calm and studied the battlefield. This would be a three-against-one battle (or three-and-a-half, if Plissken counted).

  The ideal scenario would be to eliminate the cleric first, cutting off the supply of healing and avoiding a lengthy battle, but he was positioned behind the swordswoman, so it would not be easy to reach him. Eliminating Havoc first was out of the question. She was strong, so facing her would take too long and leave the mage free to cast his deadly spells.

  The strategy was clear. Ragnar tightened his grip on the spear and charged forward. Without slowing down, he bent low, grabbed Lady Plissken by the tail, swung her twice in the air, cast Healing Breeze on her mid-spin, and hurled her straight at Havoc.

  The swordswoman’s eyes widened as the snake came flying at her. She raised her sword with both hands, brought it high above her head, and slashed down with all her strength.

  The blade sank into flesh, but it struck the creature's torso. Lady Plissken's head snapped down, and without Ragnar having to command it, the scaly friend bared its fangs and sank them into the girl's arm.

  Havoc tried to move, but her body did not respond to her commands as it was under the effect of the snake's paralyzing venom. Meanwhile, Ragnar sprinted across the grass toward the mage, who was pointing his staff at him.

  But the spell was already cast, and there was no stopping it. A blue glow radiated from the tip of the staff, splitting into three spheres that flew toward Ragnar, leaving a luminous trail in their wake.

  The druid reacted by transforming into a snake. Shrinking caused the first magic sphere to pass straight over his head, but the other two corrected their trajectory, descending close to the ground, and as they were close to each other, Ragnar dodged by lunging to the right.

  The spheres burst upon hitting the ground, causing a luminous explosion that narrowly missed him. The mage's face went from confidence to despair.

  Thirty seconds had passed since the animal transformation, and the ability had just finished recharging. Ragnar transformed into an iron bear and jumped on the poor man, who in a last desperate act, launched another barrage of magic missiles instead of fleeing or trying to dodge.

  The spheres exploded on the bear's chest, but this animal form increased his magical resistance. Ragnar slammed into him, pinned him to the ground, and pummeled him with paws until the mage’s health hit zero.

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  The cleric and the swordswoman remained on the battlefield.

  Ragnar knew that the worst was yet to come. When he turned to face them, he expected the swordswoman to be chasing him—but instead, he saw her drive her blade straight through Lady Plissken’s head.

  The snake was dead, so it could not be summoned until it regenerated all its health points in a process that would take a few hours.

  Havoc lifted her head to meet his gaze. She extended her arm and motioned for him to approach. Ragnar nodded and started walking toward her, spear in hand.

  They stood face-to-face.

  “Who are you?” she began.

  Ragnar pointed to his head, where he imagined his name would appear if she were to analyze him, but the girl ignored the gesture, specifying, “That bear form is too strange for an ordinary druid.”

  “All druids are strange by nature for consciously choosing to be druids.”

  She sighed and drew her sword before saying, “If that's how you want to talk, then let’s finish what we started.”

  “We started?” Ragnar asked, “You're the one who came out of nowhere and tried to kill me.”

  “Fair enough...” A wicked smile formed on her face.

  Havoc advanced with a Charge, but when she got close, Ragnar took a step back and swung his spear to cut her down. Although the cut was not the spear's primary strike, this move was dangerous because of its long range, even though it did not cause the same damage as a thrust.

  The tip of the weapon struck his opponent in the center of her armor's breastplate. The damage was dealt, and the poisoning effect of Viper's Ruin was applied.

  But Havoc was unfazed; she continued her offensive with a Double Strike.

  Ragnar raised his spear to block the incoming attack, reducing the damage taken, but 16% of his total energy was consumed in the process.

  She kept pressing on, each swing stronger and sharper than the last, but Ragnar parried and dodged every strike, redirecting her blade with precise movements.

  Her expression hardened, then shifted to a frenzied intensity. Her strikes grew faster, wilder, more desperate. Ragnar stayed calm and defensive, deflecting her slashes, thrusts, and skill combos.

  Then he noticed something odd: his spear’s durability had dropped to 20%. He could have sworn it was over 80% before the duel. There was only one possible explanation: her weapon could damage the enemy equipment.

  “How? How?” she wondered. “You're a newbie.” The seriousness on her face gave way to frustration.

  Ragnar decided to make the most of the remaining 20% durability of the Viper's Ruin.

  “Havoc,” he called. She glanced up to meet his gaze. “Get ready.”

  Not quite understanding what he meant, she backed away and raised her guard.

  Ragnar gripped the spear's hilt and dashed, activating Storm's Wrath. The Viper’s Ruin spun in his hand and was thrust forward. Havoc's reflexes allowed her to guide the blade to parry the blow.

  Good girl, he thought, then pulled the weapon back before it reached its maximum range, using the momentum to feint, redirecting the spear toward his opponent's right leg.

  The tip pierced Havoc's thigh, and she let out a frightened grunt, but he didn't stop.

  “Never let your guard down!” He spun the spear in his hands, the sharp tip touched the ground and rose with a quick pull.

  Havoc stumbled back but regained her balance before falling. She pointed her sword at him. “Pay attention.”

  Ragnar was on the move when she came to meet him. Curious about what was to come, he stopped where he was and remained on guard.

  “Now!” Havoc roared, charging forward at full speed, and using Charge to close the distance between them in time to follow up with a Double Strike. Ragnar dodged by twisting his body to the right. She redirected her sword toward him and activated the Crescent Moon Slash.

  In the blink of an eye, the blade's trajectory left a luminous trail in the air reminiscent of its name. Havoc guided the sword to chest height in an upward cut, then spun her body and brought the blade down diagonally at waist height to take advantage of the movement and land a Whirlwind Slash.

  Ragnar had underestimated her in his game of testing limits and ended up letting himself be hit by the blow that afflicted him with the vulnerability status, now receiving additional damage for 15 seconds.

  But when he raised his spear to block the Whirlwind Slash, the weapon's shaft snapped in half. The crack echoed in his ear, heralding tragedy: the durability of Viper’s Ruin had been reduced to zero. With that, the third and final slash of the skill hit him squarely, deducting 60 from the 100 health points he had left.

  Havoc's eyes burned with determination. When her combination of attacks came to an end, she took a step back and remained on guard.

  “Your weapon has been destroyed. It's over...”

  “You're forgetting one thing,” Ragnar said. “I am a druid.”

  “Pay the twenty thousand rubros you owe us. I promise to leave you alone.”

  “I don't have that kind of money,” he lied.

  Havoc took a few steps closer.

  “You can work for us until you pay off your debt. I didn't want to admit it... really, but you're good. I'm sure a druid like you would fit pretty well with us.” She raised her weapon. “See this sword? It was a gift from the guild leader when I was promoted. And because of it, I was able to break your toothpick.”

  “Girl,” Ragnar laughed mockingly. “I already have enough debts in real life. The last thing I need is to take on another one here. Thanks for the offer, but I'm not joining a guild that deals with scammers who take advantage of newbies.”

  “You leave me no choice.” Havoc turned to the cleric behind her. “Keep healing me, don't let my health drop below half.”

  The cleric nodded in agreement.

  This time, Ragnar attacked first. Empty-handed, he gathered electricity in his palm until it crackled and hissed.

  Havoc turned immediately, but as her eyes began to reflect the blue flash, half the cleric's chest was pulverized.

  She swung her sword at the druid coming toward her, trying to hit him with a thrust followed by a Double Cut, but Ragnar skidded across the grass, turned into a snake, and slipped between her legs.

  The swordswoman pursued him for half a minute, and when she was two steps away from him, her body collided with a soft wall of black fur. The impact made her stagger, almost knocking her down, but she managed to balance herself by placing her right hand on the ground.

  Ragnar reached the cleric in time, using his large bear-like body to knock him to the ground. With his enemy immobilized for a few seconds, he took the opportunity to bite his face and tear him apart with three swipes to the chest.

  The sound of boots rustling through grass reached his ears. Ragnar stopped attacking the cleric and turned toward the noise just in time to see the swordswoman running toward him.

  She jumped, sword raised high for a killing strike—but Ragnar reverted to serpent form. The blade plunged into the dirt, and he seized the chance to coil around her right leg.

  “No, no, no!” Havoc repeated in despair. “Get off me. Stop! No. Stop! Get off!” She tried to wield her sword to attack him as he climbed up her body, but her hands trembled beyond control.

  Ragnar wrapped around her body, coiling up her torso, and squeezed with all his strength. Then, from the corner of his reptilian eye, he saw the cleric readying a healing spell.

  He slithered up to Havoc’s shoulder, launched himself toward the cleric, and turned human again, midair, firing a Lightning Bolt straight from his open palm. The bolt exploded against the healer’s face, canceling the spell and drawing a scream of pain.

  Ragnar grabbed the cleric’s arm and flung him into Havoc, just as she charged again. The man’s shoulder smashed into her chin, staggering her. And before she could recover, roots burst from the ground, wrapping around her leg and arm, while a third caught both of the cleric’s hands.

  A perfect cast. Three roots, three immobilized targets.

  Ragnar approached them in iron bear form, rising onto his hind legs. He raised one paw and brought it down on the cleric’s face, silencing him for good.

  “How?” she said in a heavy voice. “How did you manage to defeat me? I trained so hard.”

  “Will you leave me alone?”

  “Yes. I admit defeat.”

  The thorny roots that imprisoned her crumbled in a second, carried away by a brief, gentle gust of wind. Havoc dropped to her knees on the ground, her gaze turning to the grass between her fingers.

  “Will your friends leave me alone too?” Ragnar wanted to know.

  “No. Our boss doesn't usually let humiliations like this go unpunished.” She sighed deeply. “I'll be demoted, I'll lose my sword.”

  “There's nothing I can do about that. You were the ones who attacked me.”

  “I know.” She raised her face, then said, “Come on! Kill me. Get it over with.”

  The sword lay in the grass beside its bearer. Ragnar crouched down in front of her, his gaze turning to the silver hilt of the sword. His curiosity made him ask, “May I see your weapon up close?”

  Her lips tightened in anger, her teeth gritted as she said, “Why?”

  “It’s beautiful,” he said. Her confused gaze met his. “I’ve never seen such a gorgeous low-level sword. Its design rivals high-tier weapons.”

  Havoc picked up the blade, opened the game menu, and shared its stats.

  “It’s an incredible weapon for being only level 19. I get why it means so much to you.”

  Havoc let out a long sigh. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

  “Because that wouldn’t solve my problem,” he said. “I’m trying to think of a way to make your guild leave me alone for good.”

  “Impossible.” She shook her head. “Either you pay the twenty thousand rubros or you come to work for us.”

  An idea came to Ragnar's mind.

  “How many players does the Black Paw have?”

  “Over a hundred, most of them play daily. So, you'd better think carefully before...”

  “That’s not so many,” Ragnar interrupted, rubbing his chin. “Maybe we can make a deal that benefits both of us.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’ll join the Black Paw.”

  “Really?”

  Ragnar nodded. “I don't intend to pay the twenty thousand I owe, nor do I want to continue being ambushed by your friends, so the obvious solution is to join you.”

  In fact, his plan was to take advantage of the benefits of a guild to reach level 20 first and win his bet with Artic and Niki.

  This turn of events left the swordswoman speechless, trying to understand what could have motivated him to change his mind, but in the end, she said, “Great... I'm embarrassed. But thank you for making my life easier.”

  Ragnar shrugged and decided to stroke her ego a bit more. “Can’t be helped. You’re the biggest guild in the new province. Like they say: if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”

  Havoc showed her happiness with a radiant smile, and Ragnar approached and extended his hand to help her up from the ground. Now standing face to face, they settled their differences with a handshake.

  Or so Havoc believed.

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