Franklin stopped a few steps from the group.
"All right," he said, voice carrying easily across the small training ground. "This is the last addition to the mission." His gaze flicked briefly to Osric, then back to the others. "You can introduce yourselves. I have work to do."
He paused only long enough for the words to settle.
"Good luck," Franklin added. "And come back alive."
Then he turned and walked away, already pulling his attention elsewhere.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then a man stepped forward.
"I'm George," he said, extending the courtesy without forcing it. "Captain of the D-rank party. I'll be leading this mission."
He looked to be in his early forties, his body trained in the way that came from repetition rather than pride. Scars lined his forearms and hands—old ones, clean ones. A longsword rested at his hip, worn but well-maintained.
Unlike the others, George smiled faintly.
He turned and gestured to the woman beside him.
"This is Erica."
She was light-skinned, slim but clearly strong, her movements economical even while standing still. A spear was strapped across her back, its shaft rising just above her shoulder. She looked to be in her mid thirties.
Erica met Osric's gaze for a brief second, then nodded once.
Nothing more.
George shifted and motioned to the man on his other side.
"Roman."
Broad-shouldered, late twenties. Shield and sword. His stance was rigid, jaw tight. Roman didn't look at Osric at all—his eyes stayed fixed somewhere past him, expression set in quiet irritation.
George didn't comment on it.
Instead, he turned toward the remaining two.
"And these are the other additions," he said. "Go ahead."
The first man stepped forward without hesitation.
"I'm Laurent," he said.
Early thirties. Average build. A spear in hand. His face was flat, unreadable, voice cold and efficient. That was all he offered.
Then the last man stepped up.
"I'm William," he said with a grin that felt out of place in Ashbrook. Mid twenties. Muscular. An axe rested across his shoulder with casual familiarity. "F-rank for now, but close to moving up. Glad to be working with you."
His eyes flicked toward Osric briefly, friendly and curious.
Osric stepped forward last.
"My name is Osric."
Nothing more.
No explanation. No reassurance.
Three of them had buried comrades.
This wasn't the moment for small talk.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—but it wasn't welcoming either.
George nodded once, accepting the introductions.
"All right," he said. "We leave shortly. Stay close, follow orders, and don't try to be a hero."
His eyes lingered on Osric for a fraction longer than the rest.
Osric didn't react.
He stood quietly among them, feeling the weight of the group settle around him—not as support, not as threat, but as reality.
This wasn't a solo path anymore.
And whether he belonged here would be decided soon enough.
George clapped his hands once, sharp and efficient.
"Thirty minutes," he said. "Check your gear. Clear your head."
No one questioned it.
The group spread out slightly, each retreating into their own habits. Osric stayed where he was, hands resting loosely near his sword, and watched.
George moved first—checking straps, adjusting the balance of his longsword, testing the edge with a practiced thumb. Everything he did was economical, the motions of someone who had done this hundreds of times and survived to repeat it.
Erica was the same.
She unstrapped her spear briefly, checked the bindings along the shaft, rolled her shoulders once, then resecured it. Her expression never changed, eyes steady, breath controlled.
Laurent inspected his spear in silence, movements minimal. He didn't rush, didn't linger. When he was done, he simply stood still, already half-elsewhere.
Roman was different.
He checked his shield and sword thoroughly, but there was tension in it—too much force in his grip, jaw clenched hard enough that Osric could see the muscle twitch. He wasn't just preparing.
He was stewing.
When Roman noticed Osric watching, his eyes snapped up.
"What are you looking at, rookie?" Roman snapped. "Don't expect us to protect you out there. You better keep up."
The words were sharp, edged with something rawer than hostility.
Osric didn't flinch.
"Sure," he said.
Nothing more.
That seemed to irritate Roman far more than an argument would have. He scoffed and turned away, grip tightening around his sword as if it had offended him personally.
Osric's gaze lingered on him for a moment.
That's not about me, he thought.
Before William could say anything, he stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly.
"Don't mind him, man," William said with an easy grin. "Most veterans are like that with newbies."
Osric shook his head faintly.
"I don't think that's the reason."
William blinked. "Huh?"
He was about to ask more when George straightened and raised his voice.
"If everyone's done, listen up."
The group turned toward him.
"Assignments are simple," George continued. "We move together through the forest until we reach the last reported location." His gaze swept over them, steady and assessing. "When we find the target, Erica, Roman, and I engage the hobgoblin directly."
No hesitation.
"Laurent, William, Osric," he went on, "you stay back. Watch our flanks. Watch the forest. If goblins show up—or are already there—you handle them. Keep them off us. Keep them off the hobgoblin."
He paused.
"Any questions?"
No one spoke.
"Good," George said. "Then we move."
They left Ashbrook together.
The city faded behind them quickly, stone and noise giving way to dirt paths and thinning traffic. George led at the front with Erica beside him, the two murmuring quietly—short exchanges, professional and restrained.
Roman walked a few steps behind them, shoulders tense, eyes forward but unfocused. His hand never left the hilt of his sword.
Osric and William followed just behind.
William talked as they walked—about old missions, close calls, near misses—his voice animated, enthusiasm spilling out as if movement loosened his tongue. Osric listened, offering only the occasional nod or brief response, attention split between the conversation and the surroundings.
Laurent brought up the rear.
Silent.
Watching.
When they reached the forest edge, the air changed.
The light dimmed, sounds softened, and the familiar weight of the trees settled in around them.
Osric felt it immediately.
Then the pressure returned.
Blue light flared across his vision.
[Challenge Activated]
Osric's steps slowed for half a heartbeat.
Whatever this mission was about to become—
The system had decided it mattered.