Osric descended into the tunnels beneath Ashbrook alone.
The smell hit him first—thick, sour, layered with rot and stagnant water. It clung to the back of his throat and refused to fade, no matter how steadily he breathed. To most people, it would've been unbearable.
To Osric, it was familiar.
The slums had taught him early that filth wasn't dangerous on its own. Panic was.
He adjusted his grip on the iron sword and stepped forward, boots splashing lightly through shallow water as the tunnel swallowed the daylight behind him. The entryway matched the description on the mission parchment exactly—collapsed stone reinforced with crude wooden beams, a narrow passage leading deeper underground.
A small nest.
That meant close quarters.
Osric kept his pace slow and even, counting his steps, letting his senses stretch outward. The walls pressed close, damp and uneven, sound carrying strangely in the enclosed space.
Then his Combat Instinct stirred.
Not violently.
Just enough.
Osric unsheathed his sword a heartbeat before something moved.
A blur burst from the darkness ahead.
A giant rat—nearly reaching his knees in height—launched itself at him with shocking speed, yellowed teeth snapping wide. Osric reacted on instinct alone, angling the blade sideways just in time.
The rat's teeth clamped down on iron instead of flesh.
The impact jolted his arms, but the creature lacked the weight to overwhelm him. Osric shoved forward hard, knocking it off balance, and stepped in immediately.
His sword came down in a clean, vertical strike.
The blade cut deep, nearly splitting the rat in half. The body hit the stone with a wet thud and stopped moving.
They were fast—but weak.
No real strength.
No endurance.
Osric exhaled slowly, tightening his grip.
For that moment, he was grateful for Combat Instinct.
He wouldn't be for long.
Osric moved forward again, slower now.
The tunnel narrowed slightly, the ceiling dipping low enough that moisture brushed his hair when he passed beneath it. Water dripped somewhere ahead, the sound echoing oddly through intersecting passages. The air felt heavier the deeper he went, carrying not just rot—but movement.
After a few minutes, his Combat Instinct stirred again.
Stronger this time.
Osric tightened his grip and shifted his stance, blade already angled forward.
Something skittered from the darkness.
Another giant rat lunged at him, just as fast as the first.
Osric blocked immediately.
Iron met snapping teeth, the force pushing into his arms as the rat clung for a heartbeat longer than the last. He shoved it away hard—
And felt something else move.
Too close.
A second shape burst from the darkness behind the first rat, leaping higher, faster, timing its attack perfectly.
Osric twisted sharply, barely in time.
The first rat was still being forced back when the second collided with him from the side. His blade deflected it halfway, iron scraping against bone instead of meeting it cleanly—but not enough.
Claws raked across his arm.
Pain flared.
Not blinding.
But real.
Osric grunted and planted his feet.
Pain Resistance dulled the edge, keeping his focus intact even as blood welled beneath torn cloth. He didn't retreat. He couldn't.
The second rat landed awkwardly behind him.
Osric spun.
His sword swept in a brutal horizontal arc, catching the creature at the neck. Its head tore free and bounced wetly across the stone floor.
He didn't stop moving.
The first rat had already recovered and charged again, squealing, teeth bared wide.
Osric stepped into it and drove the sword forward.
The point punched through its skull.
The rat collapsed instantly, twitching once before going still.
Silence returned to the tunnel.
Osric stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, arm stinging where claws had torn skin. Blood dripped slowly, dark against the damp stone.
"…Two," he muttered.
He lowered his sword slightly and frowned.
Something about that had felt wrong.
Not the speed.
The timing.
His Combat Instinct had warned him—but it had framed the threat as singular. His body had reacted as if only one enemy mattered.
That was dangerous.
He looked down at the scratch on his arm.
Shallow.
But it could have been worse.
Much worse.
If those had been goblins instead of rats—if they'd been smarter, stronger, armed—the mistake would've cost him far more than blood.
Osric exhaled slowly and adjusted his stance again.
Combat Instinct wasn't a replacement for awareness.
It was a tool.
And tools failed when relied on blindly.
He raised his sword once more and moved deeper into the tunnels—eyes wider now, senses sharper, no longer expecting threats to come one at a time.
The nest wouldn't make that mistake again.
And neither would he.
Osric moved again, slower—but not hesitant.
The tunnels narrowed further, the ceiling low enough that he had to hunch slightly. Water dripped steadily now, the sound no longer echoing but absorbed by packed dirt and old stone. The darkness felt different here—not deeper, but denser.
Then he heard it.
A sharp scrape.
A sudden rush of air.
Osric didn't wait for his Combat Instinct to finish forming a warning.
He swung.
The iron blade cut through the dark just as something leapt from the side tunnel. The rat's momentum carried it straight into the strike. There was no resistance this time—no jolt, no struggle.
The giant rat was cut nearly in half mid-air.
The pieces hit the ground separately.
Osric didn't pause.
His arms were already rising again as another shape burst forward from behind the first, teeth snapping where his chest had been a moment earlier.
Iron met bone.
The second rat slammed into his blade, its weight pushing him back half a step. Osric held firm, bracing properly this time, letting the force bleed into his stance instead of his arms.
He shoved hard.
The rat skidded backward, claws scraping uselessly against stone.
Osric stepped in and brought the sword down cleanly.
The head came off in one decisive stroke.
Silence returned.
Osric stood still, breathing controlled, blade steady in his hands.
"…That's better," he murmured.
He realized then that his movements had changed.
He wasn't reacting late anymore.
He wasn't overcorrecting.
His eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness—not perfectly, but enough that he could make out movement sooner. Shapes separated from shadow. Motion stood out against stillness.
The rats weren't appearing out of nowhere anymore.
He could see them coming.
Osric shifted his grip slightly and continued forward, shoulders relaxed but ready.
He wasn't relying on Combat Instinct alone now.
He was anticipating.
And in a place like this—tight, dark, crowded—that difference mattered more than strength ever could.
Deeper in the tunnels, something skittered again.
Osric didn't slow.
This time, he was ready for it.