The road stretched endlessly beneath a washed-out sky, sun glaring down on the cracked earth.
The wagon creaked with every bump, Lynx pulling it lazily in her beast form, tails swaying like silver ribbons.
Cass leaned out from the back, chewing on a straw. "You ever notice how every road we take looks like the last one?"
Rowan adjusted his revolver's holster, squinting ahead. "That's because it's the same road. We're broke, remember?"
"Hey, I'm not broke. You're broke."
Rowan shot him a glare. "You owe me twenty gold pieces."
Cass grinned. "And yet you still let me live. Friendship is beautiful."
Lynx flicked her tail, smacking him lightly. "Less talking, more scanning. I smell something ahead."
The tone in her voice made Rowan straighten immediately.
They'd learned to trust her instincts.
They crested a hill, and below them lay a small town — or what was left of one.
Roofs torn apart, wells cracked, and the faint scent of ash clung to the air.
A battered sign read "Brimvale."
Cass whistled low. "Looks like a warzone."
"Or worse," Rowan muttered, hopping off the wagon. "Monster tracks."
The dirt was scarred with claw marks the size of dinner plates, some still smoking faintly with mana residue.
Lynx crouched, pressing her hand to the ground. "Class C. Probably swamp wyverns. They shouldn't be this far from the marshlands…"
"Guess they didn't get the memo," Cass said, loading his revolvers.
As they entered the town, a few survivors peeked out from behind broken walls — gaunt faces, dusty clothes, fear in their eyes.
One older man stepped forward, clutching a pitchfork like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
"You three ain't locals. Turn back. The beasts still roam near the well."
Rowan tilted his head. "How long's it been like this?"
"Three days," the man rasped. "Adventurer's Guild sent word they'd dispatch a hunting squad, but no one came. Guess we're not worth the gold."
Cass leaned on his gun. "How much we talkin', old-timer?"
The man blinked. "You're mercs?"
"Depends on the pay," Cass said with a smirk.
Rowan sighed. "We'll handle it."
Cass groaned. "See, that's why we're broke. You do charity work every time someone looks at you sad."
"Put it on the tab," Rowan said, walking toward the square.
They passed burned wagons and shattered mana lamps. Near the well, the air shimmered — the signature distortion of high-mana beasts.
A low growl echoed, deep enough to rattle teeth.
Then it lunged out of the shadows — a wyvern with scales that looked molten, eyes glowing crimson.
"Cass," Rowan muttered, drawing his revolver. "Remember the trick you mentioned? About channeling mana through bullets?"
Cass grinned. "Oh, the 'try not to explode' one? Yeah, go for it."
Rowan took a deep breath, feeling the hum of mana in his veins. He aimed, focusing on the bullet.
Cass's voice guided him: "Picture your mana as smoke — it flows where you tell it to. You just gotta keep it steady."
The revolver's chamber glowed faintly blue.
The wyvern roared, charging.
Rowan fired.
The bullet cracked the air — a streak of blue lightning — and slammed into the beast's neck.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then—
BOOM!
The wyvern crashed into a building, dust exploding outward.
Cass whistled. "Well, damn. You didn't explode yourself. Progress!"
Rowan exhaled, smoke rising from the barrel. "I was aiming for the head."
"Close enough!"
Lynx leapt forward, claws flashing silver, finishing the job with a clean strike.
The villagers stared in stunned silence.
Rowan holstered his gun. "Town's clear."
The old man stepped forward, tears in his eyes. "We don't have much to offer, but—"
Rowan shook his head. "Just tell me where I can find a map to the Capital."
The man nodded quickly. "Innkeeper's got one. Take it. You're doing the gods' work."
Cass snorted. "If the gods are payin', I'll start prayin'."
As they walked away, Lynx muttered, "You did well today."
Rowan smiled faintly. "Yeah… but I'm still not good enough."
Above them, the sky rumbled — faint, distant thunder.
The road to the Capital had only just begun, and the storm was waiting.