A bone-chilling howl tore out from the depths of the cave, rending the stillness of the night!
The tunnel's natural shape amplified the sound, sending it ricocheting off stone walls in waves, each echo more terrifying than the last, as if the roars of a demon loosed from hell had found their way into the waking world.
It was almost impossible to imagine what Melina had become by now.
She was almost certainly a savage she-wolf, covered in coarse black fur, claws like razors, fangs bared and gleaming.
Whatever tenderness and reason had once defined her had been shredded away, leaving nothing but the most primal, blood-deep savagery unleashed.
Fortunately, the chains binding Melina were stout and unyielding. Thick links of refined steel were anchored to boulders weighing several tons apiece. Even transformed into a werewolf, she could not wrench free.
The clang of iron against rock rang out without pause, a relentless clanking that filled the cave and betrayed the violence of the struggle within.
Outside, the four of them kept silent watch by a campfire near the cave mouth.
To endure this full-moon night, they had each slept during the day, guarding against the creep of exhaustion.
Time moved slowly. Night wind swept through the mountain forest, drawing a soft, whispering rustle from the trees.
The four kept their vigil in silence, each lost in private thought.
Then, from somewhere deep in the forest, came the unfamiliar sound of approaching footsteps.
Felix raised his eyes. Figures carrying torches were threading through the trees, moving steadily in their direction.
Sharlock and the others snapped to attention at once, hands closing around their weapons.
At this hour of the night, anyone moving through a dangerous mountain forest was either an adventurer who happened to be passing through, or a bandit operating out of the highlands.
If it was the latter, knowing Felix's disposition, there would likely be bloodshed before the night was out.
Felix steeled himself, though a quiet dread settled in his chest.
On a night as unusual as this one, any unexpected complication could turn deadly.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
As the torchlit group drew nearer, Felix studied them and found nothing in their bearing or appearance to suggest outlaws. Every one of them was dressed in the recognizable gear of working adventurers.
The party numbered four. Their leader was a handsome man with chestnut hair, tall and broad-shouldered, carrying himself with the ease of someone accustomed to command.
He wore a full suit of bright silver paladin's plate, the breastplate emblazoned with a sunburst crest traced in gilt along the edges, catching the moonlight and throwing it back in sharp, eye-catching flashes.
Beneath the armor he wore a white linen undertunic. His feet were shod in black leather boots, and his gauntlets were of soft tanned hide, trimmed to leave the fingertips bare.
One hand rested at his hip, near the hilt of a finely crafted steel longsword that was clearly his weapon of choice.
His bearing was elegant and commanding. He was plainly no ordinary man.
Engraved across his breastplate, the golden sun crest glinted in the moonlight: the holy symbol of Ammanata, god of law and the sun.
The central teaching of Ammanata's faith was "Law is Authority."
Its doctrine demanded strict adherence to the letter of the law, holding that law was the one true instrument for resolving conflict and preserving the order of society.
"Good evening, fellow travelers. I am Alexander, captain of the Order's Edge Adventuring Company, a mithral-ranked adventurer and a paladin by vocation."
He introduced himself with a voice that was resonant and easy, carrying in it the natural authority of a born leader.
The moment the name and title registered, Felix, Orum, and Ronald all felt the same quiet sinking in their chests.
Their expressions grew heavier. A new tension settled over them.
As it turned out, they would have preferred a band of thugs. At least thugs were manageable.
A paladin was a calling defined by the pursuit of good, the defense of law, and the destruction of evil.
Those who answered that calling were typically driven by a fierce sense of righteousness and an unshakeable sense of mission, drawing their power from faith and virtue.
A paladin was bound absolutely to his oaths. Should he violate them, the consequences were severe without exception: conviction would shatter, abilities would vanish entirely.
A paladin who broke his oaths could only become an oathbreaker, condemned to a fallen path of selfish ambition and service to dark powers.
Alexander's arrival had transformed the situation into something far more fraught.
Orum thought quietly, keeping his face unreadable: if this paragon of righteous conviction were to discover that the cave held a transformed werewolf, the consequences would be catastrophic.
Under the kingdom's law, werewolves were explicitly classified as dark creatures requiring eradication. Every paladin was duty-bound to cleanse them.
Alexander's sharp gaze moved to the cave entrance. His brow furrowed slightly.
Clearly, it was the strange sounds emerging from within that had drawn him over to investigate.
"Is there something wrong, friends? Do you need assistance?" he asked, his tone carrying genuine concern.
Punishing evil and aiding those in need: that was the paladin's nature made manifest.
Orum swept a cool glance over the men behind Alexander.
The three companions standing at the tall paladin's back had arranged themselves in a standard combat formation, watching the Ice Hawks with alert, measuring eyes, the whole group hovering just at the edge of a standoff.
To Alexander's immediate side stood a hulking barbarian, bare-chested, muscles like coiled iron, gripping an enormous two-handed battle axe whose blade caught the moonlight in a cold, hard gleam.
Just behind him was a lean male ranger, long bow across his back, two curved blades at his waist, arms and chest thickly muscled.
At the rear stood a young woman of striking beauty, long black hair tumbling free, dressed in spell-robes and holding a gem-studded staff.
From her looks and presence, Orum guessed she was a sorcerer rather than a scholar-trained mage.
The four of them moved with the quiet cohesion of people who had fought together for years. Their composure was solid as bedrock.
And yet the looks they directed at the Ice Hawks carried their own considerable wariness.
Raygore in particular, standing at Felix's shoulder, two meters and sixty centimeters of fully armored, iron-hard bulk, loomed over the scene like a dark mountain, the sheer physical pressure he radiated making the newcomers instinctively hold their breath.
Felix commanded attention of a different kind. Since advancing to the rank of draconic arcanist, his presence had taken on a quality that discouraged challenge. He read at a glance as a spellcaster of serious power.
Orum, by contrast, standing nearby with nothing remarkable about him, was all but dismissed by Alexander's group. To their eyes he appeared to be an ordinary frontline fighter.
Felix drew a slow breath, letting a calm and natural smile settle on his face.
"Thank you for your concern, Lord Alexander."
Even now, with tension coiled around every word, his voice was steady. His command of his own composure was impressive.
Felix reached into his coat and produced the Ice Hawks' mithral adventurer's badge with practiced ease.
The silver badge caught the moonlight and shone with quiet authority.
"I am Felix, captain of the Ice Hawks Company, also a mithral-ranked adventurer."
He held the badge up so Alexander could read the rank marking clearly.
The moment Alexander recognized what he was looking at, his expression shifted entirely.
The caution left his eyes. In its place came something warmer, something that looked like genuine recognition.
"Fellow mithral adventurers. My apologies for the formality."
Even between equals, Alexander inclined his head toward Felix with unassuming courtesy.
"If I may ask: what's in that cave?"
His gaze moved toward the entrance, which still shuddered with the sounds from within, and he asked the question in a tone of genuine puzzlement.
Felix answered easily, keeping his manner light: "Our quarry. It's contained. Nothing you need trouble yourself over, Lord Alexander."
He kept his voice relaxed, projecting the unhurried confidence of someone tidying up a routine hunt.
Paladins were acutely attuned to evil. They could sense the presence of dark creatures almost by instinct.
If Alexander were allowed direct contact with Melina in her transformed state, nothing good would follow.
Alexander nodded slowly, understanding crossing his face, a glimmer of approval entering his eyes.
"I see. Of course. A sound tactic."
He studied the situation and came to his own conclusion, his tone carrying the weight of accumulated experience.
"A dark creature is trapped inside. It grows stronger on the full moon, so you wait until dawn, when it's at its weakest, and move in then."
He gave a short, satisfied nod. The tactic genuinely impressed him.
Choosing your moment against a dark creature, striking when it was most vulnerable, was exactly the right approach.
For parties that had not yet fully grown into their power, tactics mattered all the more.
A team that fought with intelligence and planning was several times more efficient, and several times safer, than one that charged in recklessly.
"You flatter us, Captain Alexander."
Felix exhaled inwardly. The immediate crisis had passed. The knot of tension in his chest loosened just a little.
Alexander fell into easy conversation with Felix.
The two stood some distance from the cave mouth, keeping their voices low so as not to agitate the "quarry" inside unnecessarily.
"We recently cleared a micro-dungeon," Felix mentioned, allowing a trace of quiet pride to color his voice.
Alexander's brows rose: "A micro-dungeon. That's no small feat."
He offered the praise with sincerity, then added with a self-deprecating wave, "We've only just finished clearing a gnoll warren ourselves. Not quite the same level."
"A gnoll lair? Those places are brutally dangerous. I can't believe you took one on, Captain Alexander."
Felix let genuine admiration into his voice.
"Gnolls are ferocious, but they're not clever. Nothing like the traps and magical constructs you find in a real dungeon."
Alexander shook his head and laughed, a pleased glint in his eye in spite of himself.
Listening to the two captains trade stories and compliments, Orum felt the tension in his shoulders ease by degrees.
At least there was no longer any immediate danger of Melina being put down on the spot.
Then, midway through their light exchange, Orum caught something in Alexander's words that brought him to full attention.
"We're headed to Roen City, actually. For the annual Blazing Sun Tournament."
Alexander said it in an easy, expectant tone, the anticipation of someone looking forward to what was coming.
Felix tilted his head: "The Blazing Sun Tournament. I've heard the name, but I don't know the details."
Alexander looked genuinely surprised, his eyes lighting up: "You haven't heard of the Blazing Sun Tournament?"
He leaned in slightly: "It's the grandest martial competition in the kingdom's southern reaches. Held only once a year. Any adventurer, knight, or warrior can enter. The prizes are extraordinary."
"This year's rewards are especially rich," he continued, enthusiasm plain in his voice.
"The champion doesn't just win enchanted equipment. They also get to select one item from a list of rare and precious magical materials. On offer this year: soaring wood, a unicorn horn, mithral, diamond, and dragon scales."
Even Felix could not quite keep the surprise from his voice: "Those materials are almost impossible to come by."
Nearby, Orum went still, something sharp and alert moving through him.
A unicorn horn.
That was exactly what Skull Sis needed. It could restore her soul's strength.
He turned the question over quietly: what was the actual level of competition in this tournament?
If the opponents were too formidable, even he might not be able to reach the top.
While Orum was still turning this over in his mind, Alexander continued: "Any of those materials would be all but impossible to purchase, even with unlimited gold. They simply don't appear on the open market."
"What are the rules of the tournament, Captain Alexander?" Felix asked.
Alexander smiled as he explained: "Primarily one-on-one combat, organized by rank. One bracket for pre-professionals, one for professionals. The champion of each bracket receives the corresponding prizes."
After a few more exchanges, Alexander gathered his companions and took his leave, setting off toward Roen City at a brisk pace.
"We'll be staying at the Sunbright Inn in Roen," he said before departing, turning back with a broad, genuine smile.
"It's a fine establishment run by the Ammanata order. I recommend it without reservation. You won't want to leave."
"Thank you for the recommendation, friend," Felix replied warmly. "We'll see you in Roen."
Alexander's arrival had been an interruption, tense and full of unexpected turns, but in the end it had not escalated into violence. It passed without incident.
Throughout the entire encounter, Alexander had never once sensed Melina's true condition.
The four of them watched the Order's Edge Company disappear into the trees, and let out a long, collective breath. The tightness in their nerves began to ease.
"The Blazing Sun Tournament," Felix said, genuine interest kindling in his eyes as he looked to his companions. "Are any of you thinking of entering?"
Raygore's answer was wordless: a slow nod, one massive fist closing at his side.
He said nothing. He didn't need to.
The tight coil of his muscles and the light in his eyes said everything. A stage where he could face real opponents head-on was exactly what a warrior of the Karak-ak clan lived for.
Ronald pulled a long face, creasing his brow: "One-on-one combat isn't exactly where a cleric shines."
The dejection in his voice was plain. Clerics were built for the rhythm of group combat, for support and healing.
Stripped of that context and matched alone against an opponent, they fared considerably worse than most other vocations.
Finally, Felix turned to Orum, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth: "And you, Orum? Will you enter? If you join the pre-professional bracket, I'd say the champion's title is yours unless a magical tyrant wyrm decides to sign up."
Orum blinked, feeling the weight of three pairs of very intent eyes fixed on him, and said with some awkwardness, "That's a bit of an exaggeration."
Felix, Ronald, and Raygore replied in perfect unison: "It really isn't."