Three days of travel through dense forests and over rugged terrain had brought Lucian and the mercenary team to the outskirts of a small, weary village. The journey, though demanding, had given Lucian time to reflect on the mission ahead, the lessons of his training still fresh in his mind. Though words were sparse among the team, there was an unspoken understanding between them—each of them knew the dangers that lay ahead.

  As they neared the village, signs of hardship became evident. Fields lay neglected, homes bore hastily patched repairs, and the villagers who noticed them stood cautiously, whispering among themselves. Wariness and hope mixed in their gazes, as though they could not believe help had finally arrived.

  At the village’s center stood an elderly man, his frame worn by time and burden. He leaned on a gnarled walking stick, but his sharp, knowing eyes revealed the wisdom and experience of someone who had long fought to protect his people.

  Captain Elara stepped forward, her posture composed and authoritative. "Elder, I am Captain Elara, and we are the mercenaries who accepted your request. We are from the Emberfang Legion."

  A stunned silence followed her words. The villagers exchanged glances, murmurs rippling through the small gathering that had formed. The elder’s eyes widened in disbelief before settling on Elara with a look of astonishment.

  "The Emberfang Legion…?" he echoed, his voice carrying a mix of awe and confusion. "You mean to say that a company of your renown has answered our call?"

  Elara gave a slight nod. "We did," she affirmed, her tone steady. "We received word of your troubles and accepted your request for aid. I understand others turned you away, but that is not the way of the Emberfang Legion."

  The elder exhaled a breath that seemed to carry the weight of his people's struggle. "For months, we have pleaded for help, only to be ignored or rejected. No other company would risk themselves for a village as small as ours," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I had nearly given up hope."

  Lucian watched the scene unfold, sensing just how much this meant to the villagers. This was not just a mission; this was a lifeline to people who had been abandoned by others. It only strengthened his resolve—this was his first true test, not just as a fighter, but as a protector.

  Elara’s voice was firm but reassuring. "You will not face this danger alone any longer. We are here to ensure the Grellocks do not threaten you again."

  The elder straightened as best he could, determination flickering in his aged eyes. "Then you have the gratitude of every soul in this village. Please, come. We must speak of what is to come."

  With that, Elara turned to her team, motioning for them to follow. As they moved toward the elder’s hall, Lucian felt a shift in the air—not just in the village’s mood, but within himself. The battle ahead was no longer just a test of his skills; it was a fight to prove that their strength could bring hope to those who had been abandoned.

  The wooden doors of the elder’s hall creaked open as Captain Elara and her team stepped inside. The interior was modest but sturdy, built for function rather than grandeur. Simple wooden beams lined the ceiling, and a large hearth sat at the far end of the room, though its fire was dim, as if reflecting the village’s dwindling hope.

  Inside, a gathering of villagers stood in anxious silence, their faces weary but attentive. Men and women of varying ages had come to witness the exchange, some clutching their children close, others standing with arms crossed, their expressions hardened by weeks—perhaps months—of suffering.

  The elder moved to the center of the room and gestured for the mercenaries to stand before him. He leaned on his staff for support, his voice steady but carrying the weight of too many sleepless nights.

  “You wish to know what we have suffered,” he began, his eyes flickering across the faces of Elara’s team before settling on her. “Then you must hear the full extent of what these monsters have done.”

  A heavy silence fell over the hall as the elder inhaled deeply, his weathered hands tightening around his staff.

  “It began with missing livestock,” he explained. “At first, we thought it was just wolves or some desperate thieves from another village. But the tracks were different—too large, too clawed. Then the disappearances grew worse. Not just sheep and cattle, but entire stores of grain, barrels of water, even tools.”

  He gestured to a man standing nearby, his face gaunt and lined with worry. “Torvin was the first to see them. He caught sight of the creatures lurking at the edge of the woods one night. He swore they were watching, waiting, as if testing us.”

  Torvin stepped forward, nodding grimly. “They were hunched, but they moved with purpose. Not like animals scavenging for food. They knew what they were taking. And they weren’t afraid.”

  Murmurs passed through the gathered villagers, whispers of fear and anger stirred by the memory.

  “At first, we did what we could to deter them,” the elder continued. “We set traps, kept watch at night, tried to make it clear that we were not easy prey.” His voice darkened. “It only made them bolder.”

  Lucian frowned, listening carefully. He had expected the Grellocks to be vicious, but this level of calculated hostility was unsettling.

  “They stopped stealing and started harassing,” the elder went on. “They would come close to our homes at night, throwing stones, howling like beasts. Sometimes we could see them—watching from the tree line, just beyond the reach of our torches.”

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  The villagers stiffened, some lowering their heads, others clenching their fists.

  “Some of our people grew restless, frustrated,” the elder admitted. “We are not warriors, but neither are we cowards. A few of our men decided to fight back, to drive the creatures off once and for all.” His voice dropped lower. “None of them returned.”

  A hush fell over the room.

  “The next morning, we found their bodies,” the elder continued, his voice thick with restrained grief. “What was left of them. They had not just been killed—they had been tortured."

  Lucian swallowed hard, feeling the air in the room grow heavier.

  The elder’s grip on his staff tightened, his gaze dark and unwavering. “That was the moment we knew—this was no mere pest problem. The Grellocks were not just here to take from us. They were making a statement.”

  Captain Elara remained still, absorbing every word, her expression unreadable.

  “Now they come whenever they please,” the elder finished. “They take what they want, and we are powerless to stop them. We fear that if this continues… there will be no village left to save.”

  A tense silence settled over the hall. The fear in the villagers’ eyes was raw, but beneath it, Lucian could see something else—desperation. These people had endured far more than they should have, and they were on the verge of breaking.

  A heavy silence lingered in the elder’s hall, thick with unspoken grief and desperation. The villagers' eyes remained fixed on Captain Elara, waiting, hoping for an answer that would end their suffering.

  Elara, unfazed by the weight of their gazes, stepped forward and met the elder’s eyes directly. "Where do the Grellocks usually come from?" she asked, her tone calm yet unwavering. "Or better yet, where did the men who fought back go? If we are to put an end to this, we need to know where to strike."

  A few villagers murmured uneasily at the directness of her question, but the elder did not shy away. His grip on his staff tightened, his gaze flickering between Elara and the rest of her team. "They come from the deep woods," he answered, his voice slow and weary. "Beyond the northern ridge, past the old riverbed. That is where our men went when they swore to drive them away."

  His jaw clenched as he continued. "That is where we found their bodies."

  Lucian exhaled quietly, glancing at his companions. Even among seasoned warriors, there was no dismissing the grim reality of the elder’s words.

  "You should not go there," the elder warned, his tone heavy with fear. "It is their land now. The deeper into their territory you go, the more dangerous they become. They are not just beasts that can be cut down. They are watching. Waiting. You will not return unscathed… if at all."

  A quiet chuckle escaped Elara’s lips. It wasn’t mocking—more of an amused confidence, as if she had heard such warnings many times before. She crossed her arms and smiled, though her eyes remained sharp with resolve. "Elder, we are not afraid of danger. We are mercenaries of the Emberfang Legion. If we feared death, we would have chosen a different life."

  Her words were neither arrogant nor boastful. They were simply truth.

  The elder stared at her for a long moment, his aged eyes searching her face for any trace of hesitation. He found none.

  Then, his expression trembled, and his lips parted in a shuddering breath. His body sagged slightly, the burden of hopelessness finally lifting. Tears welled in his eyes before spilling down his weathered cheeks. He lowered his head.

  "Thank you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He bowed.

  The villagers, watching the exchange, followed suit without hesitation. One by one, they bowed their heads, their bodies trembling with quiet relief. Some clasped their hands together, others let out hushed prayers, but all of them radiated the same overwhelming gratitude.

  Lucian felt his chest tighten at the sight. He had seen people kneel before the High Clergy in the church, bow in reverence to nobles, but this was different. This was real. These people had been abandoned, ignored by those who could have helped them. And now, standing before Elara and her team, they finally saw something they had long lost—hope.

  Elara stood firm, unmoved by the overwhelming display of gratitude. So did the rest of the mercenaries.

  To them, it was normal.

  Lucian, however, didn’t know what to do. His body tensed awkwardly, unsure if he should bow back, if he should say something, anything.

  He looked to Fey, but she simply rolled her shoulders as if this were just another mission. Renn stood with her arms crossed, eyes as distant as ever. Holt rested a hand on his axe, unmoved by the display. Even Isla, the kindest among them, simply lowered her head in acknowledgment, as if this moment, this act of reverence, was something they had all seen before.

  Lucian swallowed hard.

  Was this what it meant to be part of the Emberfang Legion?

  He had trained for battle. He had prepared for pain, for war, for bloodshed. But he had never considered this.

  What it meant to be the last hope for those who had nothing else.

  As the elder’s whispers of thanks echoed through the hall, Lucian felt a shift deep within himself. He wasn’t just here to prove himself anymore.

  He was here to earn the faith these people had placed in them.

  As Elara and her team stepped out of the elder’s hall, the weight of the villagers’ reverence still lingered behind them. The elder and his people remained where they were, heads still bowed, as if unwilling to lift their gaze until the mercenaries had fully departed.

  The cool evening air met them outside, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere within the hall. The village was quiet, save for the distant rustling of trees and the occasional creak of wooden homes settling in the wind. The sky had begun to darken, streaks of deep orange and purple marking the coming night.

  Just as Lucian was taking it all in, a sudden presence appeared beside Captain Elara.

  He instinctively tensed, his hand twitching toward his sword—only to realize that it was Tarek.

  The scout had moved so silently, so seamlessly, that Lucian hadn’t even noticed his absence before now.

  “You were gone?” Lucian muttered in disbelief, barely containing his surprise. He had been so focused on the elder’s tale, so absorbed in the intensity of the moment, that he hadn’t registered that Tarek had never entered the hall with them.

  Tarek didn’t even glance at him. His focus was solely on Elara as he delivered his report.

  “I found their main camp,” he stated, his voice quiet yet clear. His breathing was steady, his composure completely unfazed by whatever dangers he had just encountered.

  Lucian’s eyes widened. Already?

  Elara turned slightly toward him, her expression unreadable. “How far?”

  Tarek’s answer was immediate. “About two hours north of here, beyond the ridge the elder spoke of. They have scouts patrolling the outskirts, but I avoided them. Their numbers are greater than we expected.” He exhaled lightly. “They are prepared for a fight.”

  The weight of his words settled between them.

  Lucian barely contained his astonishment. Not only had Tarek disappeared the moment they arrived, but in the time it took them to speak with the elder, he had already scouted the enemy's camp.

  The efficiency. The precision. The sheer deadliness of it.

  It finally clicked for Lucian.

  This wasn’t just a team of mercenaries.

  These people were monsters of their own kind.

  Elara absorbed Tarek’s report in silence. Then, slowly, a small smirk played on her lips.

  “Good,” she murmured, her voice carrying an unsettling calm. “Then we strike first.”

  Lucian felt his heartbeat quicken—not in fear, but in anticipation.

  The mission had truly begun.