I woke slowly.
The first thing I noticed was the ceiling—plain, unfamiliar stone. For a brief moment, I wondered if I had died.
Then the pain answered that question.
My entire body ached. Not sharp pain—deep, overwhelming soreness, as if every muscle had been torn apart and stitched back together poorly. I tried to move a finger.
Nothing.
Even breathing felt heavy.
The door opened.
Two people entered.
William was the first—broad-shouldered, relaxed, his war hammer resting casually against the wall. Behind him came Shana, her expression tight, eyes sharp with irritation.
I tried to sit up.
Both of them stopped me instantly.
William laughed.
"This is how the north fights," he said proudly. "Until the body gives out."
Shana struck him on the head without hesitation.
"Idiot," she snapped, then turned to me and bowed slightly. "I'm sorry. That hill is part of the gray wolf territory. Candidates are warned to avoid it—especially because of the pack leader."
She glared sideways at William.
"And this moron forgot to mention that."
I swallowed. My throat felt dry.
"How… did I get here?" I asked. "I didn't use the flare."
William answered easily.
"You set fire to part of the forest near the hill. Dry bushes and trees. The flames weren't large, but the smoke rose too high."
Shana continued, calmer now.
"At first, we assumed it was a normal campfire. But the smoke was too thick, too deliberate. Given the location, we investigated."
William's grin faded slightly.
"When we arrived, you were still fighting. The pack leader had already engaged you."
I hesitated.
"Did I… kill it?"
"No," William said honestly. "You wounded it. Stabbed its leg. It retaliated—slashed you and bit your shoulder. If we hadn't intervened, it would have finished you."
Shana crossed her arms.
"That wolf is intelligent. Blue eyes. It will remember you. Avoid Lavian Forest for a while—it's known for medicinal herbs, but also for monsters that don't forget."
They also told me my mentors had been informed.
Rathen and Bharam had accepted the report calmly.
Siena hadn't.
Apparently, she nearly beat the messenger for failing to give proper warnings—and was still demanding to know who allowed rookies near the hill.
Finally, I asked the question that mattered most.
"Did I pass?"
Shana exhaled slowly.
"Normally? You would have failed. Outside interference invalidates the trial."
Then she looked at me again.
"But you survived alone. You killed multiple gray wolves. You held your ground against a pack leader."
She nodded once.
"You pass."
The healer confirmed my bleeding had stopped. I was ordered to rest for several days before collecting my mercenary badge.
When they left, the silence settled in.
My body was wrecked. I couldn't even lift a finger properly. The pain wasn't just physical—mentally, I felt hollow. Drained.
Miasma backlash, I realized.
A reminder.
That power was a last resort.
Lying there, eating thin porridge meant for recovery, my thoughts returned to the fight.
In the north, battles didn't end cleanly.
They ended when one side stopped breathing.
I hadn't won.
I hadn't lost.
I had survived—barely.
And that survival had been helped by luck as much as effort.
Duracal visited the next day.
He studied me silently, then sighed.
"Why become a mercenary? You could have stayed a blacksmith."
"I need to become stronger," I said simply.
He didn't argue.
"Strength isn't only forged through heat," he said. "Rest matters too."
Then he shook his head.
"Your mentors aren't impressed. Apparently, you've already been beaten badly enough to earn another training session."
I almost laughed.
After four days, I could move again.
Slowly.
I walked. Jogged lightly. Stretched my limbs so they wouldn't stiffen. When I changed my bandages, I saw the truth written across my body.
Scratches. Bite marks. Slashes.
Not the marks of a veteran.
But proof that I had faced the north—and lived.
I was still a rookie mercenary.
Just one who understood what survival truly cost.