The rain of the night had thinned to a hush by first light, the straight gutter whispering the last of the fall along its honest line. The guild yard smelled of wet leather and coal. Kelda walked the short muster with a slate, her stamp thumping like a heartbeat.
"Unknown den on F3. Deeper than last time," she said. "Seven wolf riders now. Forty silver per rider bounty is still the same. Expect tighter lanes, mounted charges, smoke phials, chain nets, and maybe a trident for charging. Door team needs discipline and safety. Leave your pride here."
Niya stood nearby like a shadow ready to move; her cloak was damp from the nighttime scouting, but her braid remained high and tight. She signed quick shapes that all there knew by heart—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 beats," she said, eyes on Taro. "I'll call Roof on high attacks. If they rush, I'll break it with the rim and my follow-up strike."
Taro offered his hands. She wrapped them snug; he checked the sword hanger on her hip and the strap on her buckler, ensuring they would remain tight against her body. He kissed her cheek, quick and sure. She returned the peck, both of them warming, then letting the dungeon voice settle in.
"Hands up," she said.
"Chin down," he grinned.
They tapped buckler rim to his pauldron—their small ritual now a habit and prayer at the same time—and stepped into the mouth of the dungeon.
They dropped past F1 and F2 on good legs. F3 had its own feel to it once agian: roots shouldering a low ceiling with thick pillars holding its weight, stone slick as wet moss, the sour musk of wolf and oil. Chalk sigils were drawn in, the Iron tooth clan had receded but their stragglers remained.
A hair-thin bell line sulked across a bend at just below knee height. Taro let his eyes blur and saw it all as one scene. He breathed out and slid his foot with his usual movement step—Rope-Cut Step—his sole kissed dust and stone, not string. The bell kept silent and unmoved in the gust of his movement.
The first whistle sliced the dark—double-pitched, push-and-bite.
Three riders rounded a bend, wolves low and fast, short lances leveled. It looked like a pulp print: gaping jaws, coals for eyes; goblin arms wrapped and braced, saddles lashed to coarse fur. A rider gob with a chain net lurked behind with its trusty trident in its hands.
"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 the slow of combat activated in her movements. She snapped a buckler-bash down the wolf's muzzle—thunk—and in the same breath riposted into the rider's stomach armor. The stab was quick and neat, sliding in and out even through the tough leather over their organs. The rider pitched, a stirrup biting his ankle as he tumbled to the side. Trixie's rim clipped his knee—down—and she slid back behind Taro's rear shoulder before counter-blood remembered to complain.
Taro took a half-step—Snap Step—and arrived before his foot confessed it. He tilted his head off the line having the lance blade whizz past his head, slipped under the second lance, and ran a clear combo: body shot, head shot, short right. The wolf's jaw clapped shut on air; front legs forgot the idea of "up." as it crashed down hard. The rider's guard dropped a finger too far; tap–tap on the same bracer seam—Guard Melt—and a breath-driven Surge across the jaw hinge turned his helmet into a gong of victory over the opponent.
The chain net arced. Trixie angled her buckler and skated the links so they hissed off steel and ate stone instead of people. Niya's arrow stapled the thrower's wrist to a post. As the trident rider tried to rip out of the pin, Trixie and Taro were there, a quick slash ended his wolf with barely a whimper, and a four hit combo: Liver blow, Kidney blow, short right, and hook to the jaw. Ended the goblins complaints about its wrist as it slumped down unable to form a follow-up as an arrow flew into its throat, silencing it further. Quiet returned in one long exhale.
Combat Adaptation Registered.
Blessed Growth: +2 to all stats.
Riposte (Novice → I): cleaner window after true parry.
Parry-Catch (Concept → Novice): open-palm pat sets tight counters.
They reset without speeches. Wedge set. Chalk mark. Forward.
The air turned pine-bitter.
"Timbers," Niya mouthed.
Two timber wolves skimmed low, coordinated like a drill—one went high, the other low aiming for arms and legs.
"Cover!" Trixie called, checked the high bite with the buckler, and slid exactly one step to the side and came up with a stab, the blade slipped between ribs and hit something important as the wolf coughed out blood, its body losing strength as she slipped back from under it. Taro half-stepped inside, dropped a short right to the ribs—bones answered—then hooked the other side of the ribs, bodyweight through the shot breaking bone and rattling the organs. The second elite lunged trying to recover and revenge on the shield girl; Niya's shaft pierced its muzzle and stole the rhythm snapping jaws shut; Trixie's clean thrust slipped between ribs and into its heart to end the argument.
Taro made one last debate to the surviving wolf, launching a one two combo, hitting the jaw twice and cracking the nose and eye bone. The wolf leaped back, only for his movement skills to come in handy as he never lost it, and weaved into a triple hit: Liver shot, hook into the broken ribs, and upper cut into the cracked jaw. The wolfs own bones became needles to its organs as it fell down dead.
With a quick pelt removal and fang collection they began their hunt again.
They moved on, meters at a time. No chases. No heroics.
The den opened like a repeated bad idea that never learned from the first draft: bowl-shaped chamber with a grooved ring path, two root arches like gate frames, tack racks and pitch braziers smoking along the wall. Far banner: black wolf tooth on gray. Five riders circled in a lazy motion, short javelins ready to jab and peel. Behind a low fence, a Beast-Handler crouched with a whistle box and a smoke wand. A timber wolf paced inside the ring, restless and overfed.
"Break the circle," Taro said.
Trixie planted a wedge at the first arch to narrow the path. A rider skimmed past—"Roof!"—she caught an overhand with the dish, then rolled the buckler to bind the weapon arm and sliced the rein with a quick cut-over; leather parted with a high, embarrassed squeal. The goblin spilled, one foot catching in the stirrup—worse for mounted folk than any curse, he hit his head on the ground once, twice, then the third landed him an arrow through the eye. Trixie's pommel bumped his wolf's jaw—dizzy beat—then a short, kind cut across the neck ended future arguments from the beast.
Another rider came fast. Taro cut the inside lane with a half-shoe slide—Snap Step—and arrived early. Body shot, head shot, short right—the wolf folded like a rug being shaken. The goblin got his guard up; tap–tap–tap on the same seam—Guard Melt II—the bracer collapsed and staggered his balance. A Surge to the chin pressed the period at the end of the sentence with the ugly snap of his neck bending too far back to accommodate the force.
The last three in the rider squad tried a feint–feint–stab each lance choosing a foe—jerk the wolf's head to fake a lane and then flip the javelin home. Taro watched the hitch where habits go to die and Counter-Tempo pinned that half-beat open. He parry-caught the javelin with an open palm, turned it aside, and answered with a shovel hook to the liver and an uppercut that lifted the goblin clean off the saddle. With a follow up using a pile down fist, he crushed the wolf's head into the stone slabs causing the skull to dent and the brains to crumple. The goblin he chased down and punched three times in the air with a triple hit combo that was so quick his arms were a blur. But the damage was brutal and final with breaking the ribs and piercing lungs.
The other two found little luck as Trixie came under and slashed two legs on the wolf's inside tendons, making it collapse with a whimper, her buckler came up and deflected a desperate counter lunge from the lance, and allowed her inside the guard to Riposte with a sharp stab through the throat. The wolf died quickly with all her weight in a neck breaker smash using her buckler rim.
Niya was no slouch, she fired off a skill, Power Arrow, followed by her Triple Shot skill, the wolf had an arrow in each eye, and the goblin suffered heart attack by arrow shaft flying into it afterwards.
A smoke phial shattered near the rack, coughing gray.
"Seam!" Trixie laid cloth low; cadence slid through the fog like music: "In two… out six." The world shrank to what could be managed. No one chased. No one got clever.
Niya's arrow zipped under the smoke, chest-height for a wolf. It stumbled. Trixie finished it with a thrust and a clean withdraw.
The Beast-Handler kicked a brazier. Pitch mushroomed into greasy smoke; the floor tried to become treachery.
"Back to air," Taro said. He limited himself to two Surges, herded foes with short body shots and elbow bumps, and let the smoke make them stupid instead of heroic.
A captain rider burst from the tack shadows—a better saddle with a high cantle, braided mane, laminated bracers. He came in on a feint-feint-hook, trying to bully past the wedge.
Taro stole the lane with a tiny heel pivot, rear foot turning him just enough. Liver shot → temple tap → straight right, clean, not cute. The overhand came wild. "Roof!" Trixie sang, but added a trick Sen would like: she bound the weapon arm with the dish, slid steel, and carved the stirrup strap. The captain dropped like a sack.
On foot, he was uglier. Taro parry-caught a jab and sent a shovel hook into the body; Trixie rim-checked the collarbone and snapped a thrust home. Niya denied a sapper with an arrow through the wrist. The banner over the far wall sagged like it had learned something.
Silence arrived like water after a break—first a rush, then a decision to be still.
Combat Adaptation Registered.
Blessed Growth: +2 to all stats.
Guard Melt II (refinement ↑): third tap staggers light targets under pressure.
Weave Engine II (progress ↑): thread chains under mounted pressure.
They worked like experts on a time limit. Trixie's neat hands took rider tokens, javelin heads with maker's marks, and handler tools the Scriptorium liked to thump on a desk. Niya sketched ring, arches, braziers, tack racks, and marked the phial cache with a charcoal tooth. Taro reset wedge and chalk so the next team wouldn't trip over pride.
They pulled out clean. The corridor gave them back to air scrubbed to silver by yesterday's storm.
Kelda listened tight, wrote tight, then counted with the satisfaction of numbers behaving.
"Seven riders—two gold eighty silver. Wolves and ears… call it fifty-four silver. Handler tools and notes—fifty silver. Mapping stipend—ten. Total: three gold, eighty-four silver."
She eyed their new gear. "Bring this boring to the door team next time and you have a future in dungeon divers as an adventurer career."
"Breath before doors," Taro said.
"Always," Trixie echoed, and bumped his pauldron with the buckler rim. Their small ritual sounded louder after good work.
They split a waterskin on the walk like people who knew not to talk while drinking. He checked the wrap at her thumb; she straightened his face guard with exact fingers. Niya drifted by with half a smile, which was Niya shouting.
At the townhouse, the gutter kept its line like a friend with sense. Home smelled of tea and leather that intended to last. They put numbers by the window.
Ledger — Far Den
Start (post-appraisal): ~4g 13s
Turn-in: +3g 84s → ~7g 97s on hand
Party fund (crafter/repairer target 6g 40s): Trixie colored a tidy corner square.
He reached to adjust the new buckler strap; his knuckles brushed her hip. She set her palm on his chest plate, warm on reinforced leather. A look passed between them that belonged to later chapters.
"Today," she said.
"Together," he answered.
They ate hot things and did the unglamorous work: oil on straps, wax on a rim, chalk re-wrapped, rope flaked free. The training bag swayed once in the window draft and decided to be still. With a foot massage, gentle kisses to her toes and soles, thanking them for their hard work, she blushed and enjoyed his care. She returned it with a back walking massage that left him groaning knowing he needed this as much as possible.
A knock: two short, one long. A guild runner, rain freckles on his cap from a gentle mist coming down, held a chalk slip under the eave.
Taro wiped a thumb across the line. The handwriting was a clipped, familiar blade.
Dawn. Wall. Ki in the hand; guard in the breath. Bring the girl. Her shield sings; her edge should learn to dance. —S.
Trixie's tail betrayed her with one quiet sweep before discipline caught it. "Brother Sen, the one you told me about," she said, trying not to smile and failing.
"Tomorrow," Taro said.
"Together," she answered, and set the note by their ledger where plans liked to sit.
They banked the hearth.Slept cuddled, her toes gripping his shins in promise an affection, his hands gripping her with warmth and comfort. Their smiles bright in their sleep after three goodnight kisses that showed their feelings growing.
Under the bell, the guild board took dew around two bright words:
Door team.
Status — Taro
Class: Monk I
Guild Rank: D
Title: Combatant Prodigy (disguised) True title: Martial God's Champion
HP: 860 base (10× END 86) → 1360 effective (END 136 during combat/training)
Ki: 79
Base Stats (post-appraisal → after Far Den)
STR: 86 → 90
END: 84 → 86
AGI: 82 → 86
SPIRIT: 63 → 67
MIND: 60 → 64
LUCK: 59 → 63
Ki: 77 → 79
Key Techniques
Guard Melt II (refinement ↑), Snap Step I, Ki Pulse Step (Novice), Parry-Catch (Novice), Weave Engine II (progress ↑), Counter-Tempo III, Load-Bearing Breath II, Rooted Frame (Novice), Rope-Cut Step (Novice), Formation Breach (Novice).
Team Passives: Call-and-Breath II, Cover Call I, Heartbeat Sync I (with Trixie).
Trixie — Plate Read (D-rank)
STR: 74 → 78 | END: 78 → 82 | AGI: 72 → 76 | SPIRIT: 56 → 60 | MIND: 50 → 54 | LUCK: 48 → 52
Notes: Roof Guard (Novice), Riposte I under pressure, Shield Shoulder (Novice), Porter Brace I. Buckler + tempered sword registered.
Planner — Dawn
Wall with Sen: Ki Punch (concepts → form), Ki Guard timing; parry-catch links; pulse-step chains.Trixie: roof→bind flow; cut-over/moulinet recoveries; buckler-blade combinations.