Aric woke before the bell.
For several seconds, he remained still, listening to the unfamiliar sounds beyond the guild room. Highglade never truly slept. Even at this hour, the town carried a distant rhythm of wheels, footsteps, and voices slipping through the streets before sunrise.
He sat up, folded the blanket, and reached for the clothes he had laid out the night before.
The room was small enough that three steps carried him from the bed to the table. His spear rested against the wall beside the chair. His sword belt lay neatly arranged beneath it. The hunting bow was secured above the bed, out of the way but within reach.
A habit built over years.
Not because he expected danger every morning.
Because expecting nothing was how people got surprised.
He checked the contents of his pack one item at a time.
Field supplies.
Minor Health Potions ×5.
Minor Stamina Potions ×5.
Flint, cord, food, waterskin.
The silver coins from yesterday's quest reward were in a separate pouch tied beneath his shirt. Five silver was enough to matter, but not enough to make him careless. The established value of money in the kingdom was simple. One hundred bronze made one silver. One hundred silver made one gold. Aric had no intention of spending even one silver coin without a reason.
He fastened the pouch and reached for the spear.
The System appeared as a pale overlay over the room.
[Current Condition: Stable]
[No injuries detected.]
[Recommended preparation: Maintain awareness of route, terrain, and escort formation.]
Aric slid the spear into its leather loop across his back.
"You sound concerned."
[You are leaving the known area.]
"I've left the known area before."
[You were also younger, less informed, and surrounded by people who knew the route.]
Aric glanced toward the window.
"That almost sounded like concern."
[It was an observation.]
"Of course it was."
He left before the guild dining hall became crowded.
The streets were gray with early morning mist. Highglade looked different before the market stalls opened. Without the usual noise, the town's structure was easier to see: broad roads built for trade, side streets pressed between tall stone buildings, and walls that were less defensive than Frosthold's but far more polished.
Aric followed the southern road through the waking town.
He had accepted the caravan escort for more than its pay. The journey would let him observe a route outside Highglade, learn how merchants traveled, and study the kind of threats that ordinary adventurers dealt with every week.
Training in a controlled yard had value.
So did learning what happened when a real problem appeared beyond the reach of one.
The south gate came into view as the morning mist began to thin. Wagons stood in a long line beyond the gatehouse, their canvas covers beaded with water. Drivers checked harnesses. Porters moved crates from one cart to another. Two guards argued quietly over the number of horses assigned to the lead wagon.
Aric slowed as he approached.
He had expected a small caravan.
This was larger than he had imagined.
Six wagons waited in the road, each pulled by a pair of horses. The first carried cloth bundles and sealed wooden chests. The second and third were loaded with preserved food. The remaining wagons appeared to hold mixed goods beneath heavy canvas.
A broad man in a dark traveling coat stood beside the lead wagon, reading from a ledger.
He was not old, perhaps in his early thirties, but the lines around his eyes suggested he had spent more time outdoors than inside. A short sword hung at his hip. His left hand rested on the wagon wheel while he read.
Aric approached.
"Are you the caravan leader?"
The man looked up.
"That depends who's asking."
"Aric Frost. Guild escort."
The man's gaze dropped to the spear, then moved to the sword at Aric's waist. His expression changed slightly when he noticed Aric's age.
"You're the escort?"
"One of them."
The man looked past him.
"No one else?"
"No one assigned to this contract."
A driver nearby gave a low whistle.
The caravan leader closed the ledger. "The guild said they were sending an adventurer."
"They did."
"They failed to mention the adventurer was a child."
"They may have decided not to insult me in advance."
That earned him a short, reluctant laugh.
The man extended his hand. "Garran Holt."
Aric shook it.
Garran's grip was strong and calloused. He did not seem impressed by appearances, which Aric preferred.
"You've done escort work before?" Garran asked.
"Not for a caravan."
"Then what have you done?"
"Hunting. Field work. A few contracts."
"Against what?"
"Wolves. Bears. Other beasts."
Garran studied him for a moment. "You're either confident or foolish."
"I've been called both."
"By people who knew you?"
"Usually."
Garran's mouth twitched.
He gestured toward the wagons. "We're carrying cloth, preserved food, lamp oil, and sealed trade goods. Nothing that should attract trouble, but the road has been less quiet than usual."
"Because of the beast reports?"
"You read the contract."
"I read the important part."
"Then you already know the western hills have had more movement than normal."
"Reports can mean many things."
"They can." Garran leaned closer. "Last week, one of our drivers found tracks near the road. Too large for common wolves. Too narrow for bears. Whatever made them didn't come close enough to attack."
"Did you see them yourself?"
"No."
"Then you don't know if they were connected."
Garran gave him a long look.
"You're very careful with words."
"I try to be."
"That can be useful. It can also make people think you're difficult."
"I'm comfortable with that."
Before Garran could answer, a woman climbed down from the second wagon. She was lean, dark-haired, and carried a short bow over one shoulder. Unlike the drivers, she wore light armor beneath her coat.
"Is this the guild escort?" she asked.
"Yes," Garran said.
She looked at Aric. "You're younger than the last one."
"Was the last one better?"
"I haven't decided."
Her eyes moved to the spear on his back.
"Name?"
"Aric."
"Just Aric?"
"That's enough for now."
She raised an eyebrow but did not press.
"Lysa Venn," she said. "I'm handling the rear guard."
"Then we should agree on signals before we leave," Aric said.
That seemed to catch her off guard.
Garran folded his arms. "You have suggestions?"
"Three. One signal for stopping, one for regrouping, and one for an immediate threat. If the road narrows, the front and rear should know before the wagons enter it."
Lysa studied him more carefully.
"You've thought about this."
"I had time while walking here."
"Anything else?"
"Keep the horses from bunching if something approaches from the side. Panic spreads through animals faster than people."
Garran glanced toward the drivers.
"Good," he said. "We'll use the system you suggested."
The System appeared again.
[Observation: Your advice has increased your perceived reliability.]
Aric ignored it.
Garran climbed onto the first wagon and called the drivers together. Aric stayed near the middle of the caravan while Lysa moved toward the rear.
The arrangement was sensible. Garran rode with the lead wagon. Aric traveled beside the center carts where he could move forward or back. Lysa watched the rear, supported by one of the older drivers who carried a crossbow.
The caravan began moving just after sunrise.
Highglade's southern gate opened onto a broad road lined with low stone markers. For the first hour, the route passed through farmland. Green fields stretched on both sides, broken by irrigation channels and scattered farmhouses. Workers moved between rows of crops, and smoke rose from distant chimneys.
Aric watched the road more than the fields.
A safe route was not one without threats.
It was one where threats had fewer opportunities.
He noted the width of the road, the distance between the trees, the slopes beyond the fields, and the places where a group could hide without being seen from the wagons. The terrain changed gradually as they moved west. Flat farmland gave way to rolling ground, then to low wooded hills.
The caravan slowed near a narrow bridge crossing a shallow stream.
Garran raised his hand.
The drivers stopped.
"What is it?" one of them asked.
Garran pointed to the road ahead.
A section of the bridge rail had been torn away.
It was not old damage. The wood still showed bright splinters.
Aric dismounted and approached the edge of the road.
The stream below was shallow enough to cross on foot, but the bridge was the only practical route for the wagons. The damaged railing did not make passage impossible, but it would leave the outermost cart dangerously exposed if one wheel drifted.
He crouched near the bridge entrance.
Tracks marked the mud beside the road.
Not wagon tracks.
Animal prints.
Aric studied them without touching the ground.
Four toes. Deep impressions. The stride was uneven, as if the creature had been moving quickly over unstable ground.
The print was larger than an ordinary wolf's.
Not large enough for a bear.
He stood.
"Something crossed here recently," he said.
Garran came closer. "Can you identify it?"
"Not from this."
Lysa joined them from the rear. "There are more tracks on the other side."
Aric looked across the bridge.
The mist had fully lifted now, leaving the hills sharply visible beneath the morning sun.
The tracks continued into the trees.
Garran swore softly.
"Can we repair the railing?" Aric asked.
"One of the drivers can brace it," Garran said. "But it will take time."
"Then do it."
The caravan shifted into position. Two drivers unloaded rope and spare timber while the others kept the horses steady. Aric walked the perimeter, checking both sides of the road.
The System remained silent.
That was not reassuring.
It meant there was no immediate data worth converting into a warning.
Or that whatever danger existed had not revealed itself yet.
A branch cracked in the woods.
Every head turned.
The sound came again, farther uphill this time.
Lysa lifted her bow.
Garran drew his sword.
The drivers pulled the horses tighter together.
Aric slipped the spear from his back and settled into a balanced stance at the side of the lead wagon.
The road was too open for an ambush from the front.
The trees were thick enough for one from the flank.
He listened.
Another crack.
Then silence.
One of the horses stamped nervously.
"Hold," Aric said.
Garran glanced at him. "You hear something?"
"Not yet."
A low growl rolled out of the trees.
The sound was too deep for a common wolf.
Something moved behind the brush.
Then another shape shifted farther uphill.
And another.
The caravan had not yet crossed the bridge.
Aric tightened his grip on the spear.
The System appeared.
[Multiple hostile entities detected.]
[Estimated threat: Moderate.]
[Recommended response: Prevent encirclement.]
Aric looked toward the narrow road, the damaged bridge, and the forested slope.
The wolves were not attacking yet.
They were positioning themselves.
That was the part that mattered.
"Garran," Aric said quietly, "keep the wagons where they are."
"Why?"
"They're trying to draw us into the trees."
Lysa's gaze sharpened.
From the forest, a pair of pale eyes appeared between the branches.
Then another pair.
Then a third.
Garran raised his sword.
"How many?"
"Enough."
The first wolf stepped into the open.
It was larger than the Fang Wolves Aric had fought near Highglade, with darker fur and a scar running along its muzzle.
The others followed slowly, spreading across the slope.
Not rushing.
Testing.
Aric lowered the spearhead.
The caravan drivers had no room to retreat. The broken bridge blocked the road behind them, and the forest limited movement on both sides.
If the wolves attacked, the fight would begin at the worst possible place.
Which meant they had only one chance to make the position favorable.
Aric shifted his feet.
The broad sweep of the spear would work well in the confined space beside the wagon.
But only if he controlled the first few steps.
He glanced toward Garran.
"Give me ten seconds."
Garran stared at him. "For what?"
"To stop them from surrounding us."
"That's not a plan."
"It's the part of the plan that matters first."
Before Garran could argue, the lead wolf crouched.
Aric moved.
He stepped into the open space between the wagon and the road, turned his hips, and drew the spear in a wide horizontal arc.
The movement was not yet perfect.
It did not need to be.
It only needed to claim the ground before the wolves did.
The spear cut through the morning air as the first beast lunged.