The carriage rolled forward with a steady creak, wheels crunching softly against the dirt road.
James sat across from Ren, hands resting on his knees, eyes drifting toward the passing treeline. The further they traveled from the village, the heavier the air seemed to grow. Not oppressive—just… charged.
He broke the silence.
"Ren," James said carefully, "can you tell me more about the Guild?"
Ren blinked, then broke into an easy grin. "Sure! Figured you'd ask sooner or later."
Elder Han sat beside him, eyes closed, posture relaxed. If James didn't know better, he would've thought the man was asleep.
Ren leaned forward slightly. "Azure Fang isn't like the other guilds. We're not tied to nobles, and we don't take escort jobs unless there's a real threat involved. Monsters, corrupted zones, frontier exterminations—that's our specialty."
"So you don't protect caravans?" James asked.
"We do," Ren replied, "but only when there's a high chance of beast contact. If it's just bandits, Iron Standard usually takes those jobs."
James nodded slowly, filing the name away.
"The Guild itself is split into divisions," Ren continued. "Combat teams, scouts, support, logistics. Most members rotate early on, but once you specialize, that's usually where you stay."
"And the ranks?" James asked.
Ren's grin widened. "Ah, the important part."
He held up a finger.
"First are Recruits. That's anyone who passes the entrance exam but hasn't been officially assigned yet."
"Then Initiates. They've started mana circulation and can take low-risk missions."
Ren raised a second finger. "Above that are Disciples. That's where real work starts—solo missions, Bronze and Silver-tier beasts."
James frowned slightly. "And after that?"
"Veterans," Ren said. "Experienced fighters. Reliable. Most people stay there their whole lives."
Ren lifted another finger. "Then Elders. Like Elder Han."
James glanced instinctively toward the older man.
Elder Han hadn't moved.
"Elders lead divisions, handle high-risk missions, and act as judges when things get complicated," Ren said. "Above them is the Vice Leader, Leader, and then the Grand Elder."
Ren said that last title with obvious respect.
They rode on in peace for the next few hours.
The carriage wheels rolled steadily over the dirt road, the forest stretching endlessly on either side. Ren had long since run out of things to say and was now snoring peacefully next to James, even the horses seemed subdued.
Elder Han, who hadn't shifted his posture once since they'd departed, opened his eyes.
"We have company," he said.
The moment the words left his mouth, James felt it.
A faint pressure ahead—subtle, but unmistakable. Five… maybe six presences, lingering roughly half a mile down the road.
His chest tightened.
The sensation was familiar.
It was the same feeling he'd sensed four months ago, standing amid shattered carriages and scattered corpses.
Beasts.
James's eyes drifted forward on instinct.
Elder Han noticed.
The old man's gaze sharpened as it flicked toward James.
He sensed them,
Han's fingers twitched once against the carriage bench.
From this far away? Impossible.
And yet…
Elder Han spoke again, his voice light, almost idle. "What do you think, kid? You feel up to handling them?"
James took a slow breath
"Shouldn't be a problem"
Elder Han watched James closely.
No tension in his shoulders. No change in breathing. A calm and confident gaze.
Let's see what you can do boy. he thought.
*4 Months Ago*
The beast moved first.
James barely had time to register the blur of soft orange fur before something slammed into him from the side. The impact ripped the air from his lungs and sent him skidding across the dirt.
Pain flared.
Sharp. Immediate.
He rolled instinctively, just as claws tore through the spot where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. The ground exploded into dust and splinters.
James gasped, scrambling to his feet.
The beast circled him.
His legs trembled.
Too fast.
Too strong.
This thing would tear him apart.
The beast lunged again.
James raised the sword on pure instinct.
Metal shrieked as claws raked across the blade, the force nearly ripping it from his hands. His arms went numb, shock traveling up to his shoulders.
Move.
The thought wasn't conscious. It was a command.
James twisted, letting the force slide past him instead of meeting it head-on. His feet shifted. His weight along with it.
The beast overextended.
James slashed.
The blade bit into fur and flesh, carving a shallow line along the beast's flank.
It snarled, leaping back.
Seemingly more out of annoyance than pain
James' ears filled with the sound of his heart banging against his chest.
The beast didn't give him time to think.
It charged again, faster this time, jaws snapping wide. James ducked under the bite by inches, felt hot breath rush past his neck. He stumbled, barely keeping his footing as claws tore into his shoulder.
Pain exploded.
He cried out, staggering back.
Blood soaked into his sleeve.
The beast pressed the advantage, relentless, driving him backward with snapping jaws and raking claws. James retreated step by step, barely parrying, barely surviving.
He was losing.
His breaths came ragged. His vision blurred at the edges.
Then he tripped.
The ground vanished beneath his heel, and he fell hard onto his back.
The beast lunged.
Time slowed.
James raised the sword crosswise just as the beast came down on him. Its jaws clamped onto the blade, teeth screeching against metal as its weight crushed him into the dirt.
His arms screamed.
The wolf shook its head violently, trying to tear the weapon free.
James gritted his teeth, muscles burning, vision swimming.
You'll die if you let go.
The thought came with cold certainty.
His left hand slipped from the hilt.
For a split second, terror flared.
Then his body moved.
His right arm twisted sharply, angling the blade—not up, not down—but in.
Straight into the beasts' open mouth.
James shoved with everything he had.
The rusted blade slid past teeth and into flesh. Hot blood spilled over his hands. The wolf convulsed violently, thrashing, claws flailing uselessly.
James screamed and pushed harder.
The sword punched through the back of its throat.
The beast collapsed.
Its weight crushed the breath from his lungs as it went still.
For a long moment, James didn't move.
Then he shoved the carcass off him and rolled onto his side, coughing violently. He sucked in air like a drowning man, chest heaving, hands shaking.
The sword clattered from his grip.
He lay there, staring at the sky, blood—his and the beast's—soaking into the dirt beneath him.
Alive.
Barely.
After a while, he sat up.
The carcass lay motionless beside him, amber eyes already dull.
James stared at it in disbelief.
"I… killed it," he whispered.
His hands trembled as he looked down at them.
He didn't know how he'd fought.
He didn't remember learning to move like that.
But when the moment came—when death had been inches away—his body had known exactly what to do.
James reached for the sword and pulled it free.
The blade was still sharp.
Still steady.
He looked down at the rusted weapon, then at the dead beast.
Whatever he was…
Whatever he'd been before losing his memories…
It had saved his life.
And he had a feeling—
This was only the beginning.