The rain had thinned to a gentle quiet by first light, a soft hiss of remaining water ran along the straight gutter. The guild yard smelled of wet leather and coal. Kelda walked the short line with her slate, stamp thumping like a heartbeat.
"Unknown den on F3," she said. "Five wolf riders. Forty silver per rider. Expect tighter lanes, mounted charges, and smoke phials. Door discipline is not tolerated. Leave the pride at the door and focus on safety and coming back alive."
Niya stood nearby like a useful shadow, cloak damp, braid high. She signed quick shapes—halt, bend, break, breach—fingers cutting the air like arrowheads.
Trixie tightened her buckler strap and the ladder of her porter harness. "I count for calm," she said, eyes on Taro. "I'll call Roof on overhands. If they rush, I'll break it with the rim."
Taro offered his hands. She wrapped them snug; he checked the sword hanger on her hip. He kissed her cheek, quick and sure. With a grateful blush, she answered back with a quick peck to his own cheek. Both warmed their cheeks at the affection and then focused as their mantra for the dungeon came to the surface.
"Hands up," she said.
"Chin down," he grinned.
They touched buckler rim to his pauldron—their personal small ritual—and stepped into the mouth of the dungeon.
They bypassed the first two floors easily, the other adventurers of the group fighting and sparing the leads of the hunting group from using up their strength.
F3 had its own atmosphere: roots shouldering a low ceiling, stone slick as old soap, however there was a new element lingering in the air. The air now held the sour musk of wolf, metal, and oil. Chalk sigils sat higher on the walls than goblins could usually reach—rider height.
A thin bell line crossed a bend at knee height. Taro let his eyes blur and felt the wrongness as an angle instead of a thing. He breathed out and slid his foot by a micro-angle—Rope-Cut Step—sole kissing dust, not string. The bell stayed silent.
The first whistle cut the dark—double-pitched, push-and-bite.
Two riders rounded a bend, wolves low and fast, short lances leveled. It looked like a panel from a pulp print: wolf jaws wide, eyes like coals; goblin arms wrapped and braced, saddles lashed to coarse fur.
"Line," Niya breathed—don't point, don't insult the world.
The lane was a short straight—perfect for a sprint. The charge came.
Trixie lifted Roof Guard. The lance skittered on steel with a spark and a sound like glass being polite. She snapped a buckler-bash down the wolf's muzzle—thunk—and, in the same breath, riposted into the rider's thigh leather. The stab was quick and neat. The rider pitched, feet scrabbling, saddle strap creaking. She slid back behind Taro's rear shoulder before counter blood remembered to complain. The lance went high with an angry and unfocused stab. Taro ducked under and began his movement.
Taro took a half-step—Snap Step—and arrived before his foot confessed it. He tilted his head off the line, slipped under the second lance, and ran a simple clear combo: body shot, head shot, short right. The wolf's jaw clapped shut on air; legs forgot the idea of "up." The second rider dropped a guard a little too far; Taro went tap-tap on the same bracer seam—Guard Melt—then sent a short, breath-driven Surge across the jaw hinge. Lights out for the rider.
Niya's arrow clicked somewhere behind them and a rein hand went slack. The lane became quiet except for wolf breath leaving bodies.
The hunting group clapped in awe of the trios expert co-ordination and they began to pelt and gather the gear of the goblins and the wolves. Meanwhile Taro was proud of the notifications he heard and read briefly, showing his growth.
Combat Adaptation Registered.
Martial God's Champion — Blessed Growth: +2 to all stats.
Trixie — Riposte (Novice → I): cleaner window after true parry. More power behind the stab due to the motion flowing better.
Taro — Parry-Catch (Concept → Novice): open-palm pat on jabs; sets tight counters.
They reset without speeches. Wedge set. Chalk mark. Forward.
The air changed—pine-bitter, heavier paws.
"Timbers," Niya mouthed.
Two timber wolves skimmed low, coordinated like a drill—one to shoulder-shove, one to bite where your stumble would land you. "Cover!" Trixie called, checked the shove with the buckler and slid exactly one brick sideways with a tidy shoulder bump; the bite slid through where she'd been a heartbeat earlier. Taro half-stepped inside, dropped a short right to the jaw, felt the bones answer, then hooked the ribs—bodyweight through the shot breaking bone and shaking organs from the force and twist of the blow. The second elite lunged; Niya's shaft clipped its muzzle and stole the rhythm; a clean thrust from Trixie slipped between ribs to make the argument end.
Both wolves lay dead and pelted by the group. No one made a move until the looting was done. Then they continued on carefully.
They went meters at a time towards the reported den sighting. No chases when foes ran. No heroics when they were unneeded.
The den was found, and it opened up—a bowl-shaped chamber with a ring path worn into slick stone. Torch niches smoked. The smell of wet fur and leather sat heavy. Three riders circled in a lazy caracole, short javelins ready to jab and peel. A fourth torch guttered over a rough rack of saddles. Far wall: a crude banner—wolf silhouette in smeared black.
"Break the loop," Taro said.
Trixie planted a wedge with her shield to narrow the path. A rider skimmed past—Roof! She caught a club overhand, slashed the saddle girth on the pass; leather parted with a high, embarrassed squeal. The goblin spilled, one foot still in the stirrup—bad idea on any floor. Trixie's buckler rim clipped his knee—down—and she finished with a short, kind cut across his neck, ending any future arguments.
Another rider came in hot. Taro cut the inside lane with a half-shoe slide—Snap Step—and arrived early. Body shot, head shot, short right, clean and fast, and the wolf folded like a rug being shaken. The goblin raised his guard; tap-tap on the same bracer seam, one breath—Guard Melt—then Surge to the chin. His helmet made a poor bell. But that bell rang the end of the goblin and Taro's victory over it.
The last rider tried a feint-feint-stab pattern, jerking the wolf's head to fake a lane and then flip the javelin. Taro watched the hitch—where habits go to die—and Counter-Tempo III pinned that half-beat open. He slid inside and turned the javelin aside with a small Parry-Catch, answering with a short hook and an uppercut that lifted the goblin clean off the saddle. He hit the stone with a loud crack and stayed there.
Somewhere to the left, a runner yelped. A stray rider had hooked him with a strap, dragging him toward the ring path. Taro saw the gap like a door that wanted opening. He went Formation Breach through a shield-width lane, shoulder to strap, Surge to the jaw. The goblin's grip unlaced and the kid got his hands back. He met Taro's eyes with that wide, terrified gratitude that turns into loyalty years later.
A smoke phial shattered near the rack, coughing up gray. Trixie tossed seam cloth low; cadence came through the fog like music: "In two… out six." The world shrank just enough to be manageable.
Niya's arrow zipped under the smoke, chest-height for a wolf. It stumbled. Trixie's thrust finished it. The last goblin tried to limp; Niya's second arrow clipped his rein. He made a choice, tripped over it, and paid for the choice with the rest of his morning.
Silence arrived like water after a break—first a rush, then a decision to be still.
Combat Adaptation Registered.
Martial God's Champion — Blessed Growth: +2 to all stats.
Weave Engine II (progress ↑): longer thread chains under mounted pressure.
Guard Melt I (refinement → 96%): repeated seam persuasion under stress.
They didn't make speeches. Proofs went into the pouch with Trixie's neat hands: rider tokens, javelin heads with marks, wolf ears if tidy. Niya mapped loops and wedges in charcoal, arrows marking where good ideas had died politely, and made notes of what to come back with to destroy the den and avoid future wolf riders appearing in the floor. Taro reset the wedge and chalk so the next team wouldn't trip over pride.
They pulled out clean. The corridor gave them back to air that had been scrubbed to silver by yesterday's storm.
Kelda listened, wrote tight, and only then let a breath escape. "Five riders," she said, counting tokens. "That's 2g flat. Wolves and ears… call it 54s. Mapping stipend 10s. Total 2g 64s." She looked over her slate at their new gear. "Bring this boring to the door team tomorrow."
"Breath before doors," Taro said.
"Always," Trixie echoed, and bumped his pauldron with the buckler rim. Their small ritual echoing their bond.
They split a water skin on the walk like people who had learned not to talk during drinking. He checked the wrap at her thumb; she straightened his face guard with exact movements. Niya drifted past and bade them a small smile, telling them great job without words. As Niya does.
At the townhouse, the gutter held its line like a friend with sense. Home smelled of tea and leather that intended to last. They put numbers by the window.
Ledger — Wolf Riders Den
Start (post-gear): ~1g 49sTurn-in: +2g 64s → ~4g 13s on hand(Party fund target for crafter/repairer: 6g 40s — Trixie colored a tidy corner square.)
He reached to adjust the strap on her new buckler; his knuckles brushed her hip. She set her hand against his chest plate, palm warm on reinforced leather. A look passed between them that belonged to future chapters.
"Today," she said.
"Together," he answered.
They rested by the hearth. The training bag swayed once in the draft and from a weight adjustment, then decided to be still. They massaged the limbs used most, her feet popping under his care, his hands twitching with gratitude. And they fell asleep, with a kiss, and her feet rubbing his shins. her ears up against cheeks as he held her close, a warmth spreading through them both at the closeness, and at the crushes they carried for each other.
They woke up the next morning to see something new at the guild.
On the guild board outside, fresh chalk had already dried hard:
F4 expedition team needed for orc sightings, any available, one gold payment on sign up. Extra rewards for monsters hunted
Trixie tapped buckler rim to pauldron.
"Breath," she said.
"Then doors," he answered.
They entered the guild, ready to focus on strength and growth.