The mud on the Old Road was churned deep, mixing with splintered wood and scattered cloth.
Kael knelt by the wreckage of the wagon. It wasn't a military transport; it was a merchant's cart.
Smashed crates of salted fish and cheap linens were thrown across the ditch.
"How long?" Elric asked from the saddle.
Kael touched the mud. "Rain filled the tracks an hour ago. So... three hours?"
"Four. The mud is drying on the rim."
Elric dismounted, his boots landing heavily. He walked past the wreckage, eyes scanning the treeline. "What else?"
Kael looked closer. He saw the drag marks. Wide, wet streaks where bodies had been pulled into the brush. No blood.
"They took them alive," Kael said, his stomach tightening.
"Or for later," Elric corrected. "Stragglers. A raiding party that fell behind the main horde. They hit this cart, ate what they could, and took the rest."
Elric drew his sword. The sound was sharp in the damp air. "Tracking lesson is over. Now comes the other part."
Kael stood up. He reached for the sword at his hip—not ironwood anymore. A real blade. It was old, pitted with rust, and heavy, but it was steel. Elric had given it to him that morning.
"We're hunting them?" Kael asked.
"You are. I'm watching."
Elric pointed into the dense thicket where the drag marks vanished. "Three of them. Wolf-kin. Probably young, or they wouldn't be straggling. Go."
Kael swallowed dryly. He stepped into the brush.
The woods were silent here. The birds knew better than to sing where monsters had passed. Kael moved slowly, testing every step before putting his weight down, just as Elric had drilled into him.
Heel, toe. Roll the foot. Don't snap the twig.
The drag marks were easy to follow. They led to a small depression, a natural bowl shielded by brambles.
Kael smelled them before he saw them. That rancid, wet-dog stink mixed with metallic copper.
He parted a fern frond.
There were three.
Two were hunched over a pile of cloth—the merchant, or what was left of him. They were tearing at the body with jagged teeth, snarling quietly. The third was standing guard, sniffing the air. It was smaller than the ones Kael had seen at the village, its fur patchy, its armor just a few scraps of leather.
A runt. But a runt with claws the length of daggers.
Kael's heart hammered against his ribs. Three.
He looked back. Elric was gone. Vanished into the shadows.
Kael was alone.
Acceptable loss.
No. Not this time.
Kael didn't scream. He didn't charge. He remembered the math.
One guard. Two distracted. Take the guard first.
He crept forward. The wind was in his face—good. They couldn't smell him. He got within ten paces of the guard. Five.
The guard stiffened. Its ears swiveled.
Kael lunged.
He didn't swing for the head. He thrust low, driving the rusty tip of his sword under the creature's ribs, just like the dummy.
The steel hit flesh. It didn't feel like the dummy. It felt... wet. Resistance, then a pop, then a slide.
The Wolf-kin didn't roar. It wheezed, a bubbling, wet sound. Kael shoved, driving the blade deeper, and the creature collapsed, twitching.
The other two spun around.
They were fast. Faster than Kael expected.
One leaped over the corpse of the merchant, jaws snapping. Kael tried to rip his sword free, but it was stuck in the ribs of the first one.
Math. Let it go.
Kael released the hilt and threw himself backward. The leaping wolf missed his throat by an inch, its claws shredding his tunic.
Kael hit the dirt and rolled. He grabbed the only thing he had—his belt knife.
The second wolf was on him. It pinned him, heavy and hot, its breath smelling of carrion. Kael slashed wildly. His knife bit into a forearm, but the monster didn't care. It snapped at his face. Kael shoved his forearm into its throat, holding the jaws back. Drool dripped onto his cheek.
He was going to die. It was too strong.
The Oath.
He didn't pull on the anger. There was no time. He just pulled on the will to not die.
Kael screamed and drove his knee up into the creature's groin. It yelped, its grip loosening for a second.
Kael didn't hesitate. He drove his knife into the creature's eye.
The wolf thrashed, howling—a sound that was terrifyingly human. It rolled off him, clawing at its face.
Kael scrambled up. The third wolf—the one that had leaped first—was circling back. It looked at its dying packmates. It looked at Kael.
And then it ran.
Kael stood there, chest heaving, blood that wasn't his soaking his tunic. He looked at the wolf with the knife in its eye. It was still twitching.
He walked over. His hands were shaking so bad he almost dropped the knife when he pulled it out.
He finished it.
Silence returned to the woods.
Kael dropped to his knees. He looked at the carnage. The smell hit him all at once—bowels, blood, and fear.
He retched. He vomited until his stomach was empty, heaving into the moss.
"Clean kills," a voice said.
Elric stepped out from behind a tree, sword still sheathed. He looked at the dead wolves. He looked at Kael.
"You lost your primary weapon," Elric criticized. "And you let one get away."
Kael wiped his mouth, spitting bile. "I'm alive."
"For now. That hearing check? You were too loud. The third one heard you before you struck. That's why it ran."
Elric walked over to the first wolf and yanked Kael's sword free with a sickening squelch. He tossed it to Kael.
"Clean it. Steel rusts."
Kael caught the sword. It was slippery. He looked at the bodies. They looked smaller now that they were dead. Just meat.
"Does it get easier?" Kael asked, his voice raspy.
"The killing?" Elric shook his head. "No. But the vomiting stops eventually."
Elric turned back to the road. "Grab the merchant's coin pouch if there is one. We need supplies."
Kael looked at the merchant's corpse. Then he looked at his sword.
This was the job. This was the knighthood.
He wiped the blade on the dead wolf's fur and sheathed it. Then he stood up.
"Yes, Ser."