The Magic Missiles stripped the warrior of his last breath; Gauss, ever cautious, followed up with two finishing strokes. Only after he was certain the man was truly dead did he and Alia start putting the ravaged field in order.
"I didn't expect something like this," Alia murmured, taking in the bloodstains and chaos on the snow.
Gauss, by contrast, was unnervingly calm. He'd killed before; out on the road he'd run into his share of witless highwaymen, so this wasn't his first time. The moment they'd sprung the ambush—striking at Alia while she was reeling from a sleep spell—any chance of walking away clean had vanished. He felt little weight on his conscience. Enemies should be wiped out root and branch—whether they're monsters or… humans.
If the weaker side had been theirs, it would be him and Alia lying in the snow being stripped. Had he been a careless, ordinary caster, the fighter's first cheap shot might have ended him on the spot, and Alia could never have held out four-on-one. Start a fight, then try to flee and bargain once you're losing? That's not how this works.
"Will the Guild come after us for this?" It was the first time he'd run into a situation quite like this, so he asked.
Alia shook her head, sure of herself. "They shouldn't. They struck first. Even if they use a rewind spell to replay the scene, it's self-defense. If we'd been the ones to jump them and steal—and got caught—that would be trouble, especially with this being a Guild-run winter hunt…"
After that brief exchange, they set about looting with practiced hands. Off the four still-warm bodies they turned up about twelve gold in coin.
"Kinda poor…" Gauss remarked. "About three each." Even he, not long into Bronze, had more on hand. No wonder they'd taken the risk—they must have been desperate.
"Maybe they sank it all into gear upkeep and skillbooks?"
Besides the cash, there were odds and ends—some gear, potions, and supplies. What really made Gauss's eyes light up was the small storage pouch he lifted off the mage Piero—almost identical to his own.
"Twenty-five gold!"
They traded a look—shared delight.
"Perfect. We needed a shared bag," Alia said, pleased. "Yours is already bursting."
"Only question is, did he buy it outright or on loan—and if it's on loan, did he finish paying it off?" Gauss mused.
"Who cares? It's ours now. If he borrowed from another branch, they can't pin it on us," Alia said cheerfully.
A second storage bag meant more supplies and loot—no adventuring party ever complained about that. Gauss took the pouch, ran magic through his fingertips, scrubbed away the previous owner's trace, then branded it with his own attunement.
He glanced at the sky. It was getting late. They stuffed the haul into the new pouch, dragged the four corpses to an unremarkable snow hollow, and buried them shallowly, then headed for the rendezvous.
On the way back, their mood was good. It had been an ugly surprise, but the outcome favored them. The winter hunt's monster bounties and materials alone would likely net twenty to thirty gold. And "counter-killing" that team had probably yielded north of fifty more. Unfortunately, aside from the storage pouch there wasn't much in the way of high-value hard goods; at this stage most of a first-tier adventurer's earnings get plowed back into themselves, and things like skill scrolls or certain potions lose resale value once used. Otherwise the take would've been even better.
A while later they began passing other squads headed in. The winter-hunt parties kept their spacing and moved quickly and silently toward the rally point. By the time they arrived, a crowd had formed. Gauss didn't see Eberhard, but a Black Iron–rank adventurer was shepherding the group. Once about ten teams had gathered, they set off under his lead toward the camp at the forest's edge.
They ran into little danger—or rather, they were the danger. With several dozen seasoned fighters moving together, ordinary monsters, cowed by that many, didn't even think of attacking; they fled when they sensed the column.
By the time the ring of wagons and pricks of campfire came into view, the sky was fully dark. After a day strung taut, Gauss finally let himself ease. The camp had grown since morning; the rough wooden palisade looked sturdier too. Under the black sky, the fires crackled; amber light beat back cold and dark. Food smells and voices twined together until, for a moment, it felt like being back in town.
The merchants who'd accompanied the hunt had long since raised big tents, turning them into pop-up storefronts. Fresh meat and greens, a mess tent, even a bath tent and other paid add-ons. Gauss and Alia paid for some meat and produce and headed back to their tent.
"Pricey—almost five times town," Alia muttered as she handed a thick steak to the wide-eyed Ulfen. But she knew the price made sense—haul costs were brutal, the environment dangerous. Without margin, who'd slog out to the icy edge of the Jade Forest to serve adventurers? Charity? Please. Not even the adventurers were here for charity; they were here for profit.
Back at their little assigned tent, Alia had a campfire going in no time. Gauss prepped the food—meat chunks, washed vegetables, a handful of spices—tossed into an iron pot to stew. The smell turned rich and inviting fast.
While it simmered, he didn't idle; he kept casting Prestidigitation to clean them both up. Again and again, faint magic ran over skin and clothes like a trickle of clear water, lifting the day's sweat and blood from them. There was a bath tent, yes, but getting in this late meant a line. Prestidigitation would have to do—not as relaxing as a soak, but more than enough to get clean.
Meanwhile, late that night in the largest tent at the center of camp, Eberhard sat alone at a broad wooden table with a map spread before him. Any adventurer who saw it would recognize the marks: the day's operational area for the winter hunt. It wasn't an ordinary map—it was a magical instrument. The big sheet displayed all sorts of data: the lights marking each squad, every flare fired, even the species and rough counts of monsters slain, all annotated in neat script. Touch the quill to a spot and its details blossomed up.
Eberhard's finger drifted over the map; the quill paused on an area with an unusual red blink. He summoned his logistics and intel officer, and soon had in hand a Rewind Stone that had caught his attention. A robed mage activated it. Soft light spilled into the air and replayed, clear as day, everything that had happened in that forest clearing—from Gauss's mop-up, to the strangers arriving, to their sudden attack, and the end: the fight, the looting, the burial.
When it ended, silence hung for a beat.
"Lord Eberhard," the mage ventured carefully. "Do you want us to… send someone to remind this Mr. Gauss to show a bit more restraint? Given…"
Eberhard's red eyes lingered on Gauss's young, preternaturally calm face in the projection; a faint, intrigued smile touched his mouth. "No need," he said, smile fading, voice even.
"And the record—?"
"Erase it." Eberhard tapped the stone. "As for those four overreaching fools, file it as: encountered a CR-2 ogre; fought hard and were wiped out."
The mage bowed low, understanding in his eyes. "As you wish, my lord."
~~~
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