We marched North from Sonnst, walking into a wind that stripped the skin from our faces. The King's Road here, in the lands of House Grauwald, looked like a scar on the body of the earth.

  The mood in the squad was... strictly transactional.

  Otwin had the Banner (and a target painted on his forehead).

  Jem had the Lute (and a string made of gut).

  And our new employee had Depression.

  [EMPLOYEE DOSSIER: BALDUR]

  Background: Apprentice.

  History: Worked in a glassblower's shop. Terminated after "accidentally" sweeping a year's supply of vases off a shelf with his elbow. Tried to work for a potter — same result.

  Traits: Clumsy and Huge.

  Problem: Breaks everything he touches. The only thing he can’t break is an enemy — he just makes them laugh.

  Baldur "The Destroyer," our chief specialist in demolition of armored targets, trudged along dragging a massive wooden cudgel. It was a Wooden Mallet — a tool suitable for driving piles or stunning fish, but embarrassing for killing men.

  "This is ridiculous," Baldur whined, kicking a frozen clod of dirt. "I hit a raider in the helmet yesterday. You know what sound it made? 'Bonk'. Like hitting an empty barrel. He didn't even fall down. He laughed. I am losing authority! Even the dead mock me!"

  "Authority costs money," Gunther replied from the wagon, not looking up from counting turnip stocks. "A steel Two-Handed Hammer costs 2000 crowns. Your wooden one — 50. Market value variance: 4000%."

  "But the DPS!" Baldur howled. "The armor damage on this stick is a joke! I need metal. Or bone. Something heavy! I feel the strength, but it goes nowhere!"

  "Gunther," the Sergeant intervened, walking beside the cart. "He's right. We are going North. Barbarians are there. They have hard foreheads. Wood won't cut it. We need a Skull Hammer."

  Gunther sighed and opened the bestiary he kept in the margins of the ledger.

  "'Barbarian Reavers'. Primitive but heavy weaponry. Frequently encountered asset: Two-Handed Skull Hammer. Crude, high blunt damage. Market purchase price — exorbitant."

  "Do we buy it?" Baldur asked hopefully.

  "We execute a Hostile Acquisition," Gunther corrected. "We are declaring a Targeted Headhunt. We will track barbarians not for a contract, but for shopping."

  We tracked them for two days.

  We followed trails in the snow, sniffing the wind (Jem claimed barbarians smelled of "unwashed heroism and sour milk").

  And finally, we found them.

  A patrol of Wild Northerners. Five of them. Dressed in furs, but the weapons — terrifying.

  One of them, a massive brute with a scar across his entire face, held IT on his shoulder.

  The Skull Hammer.

  A crude, ugly thing made of metal and bone, mounted on a club. It looked like it could smash castle walls.

  "Target sighted," whispered Baldur. He was drooling. "He is mine."

  "Belay that!" Gunther hissed. "Listen to the objective! We need the Hammer in Mint Condition. If he hits Dieter's shield with it — durability drops. We don't have the tools for Tier-3 repairs. If you hit him too hard, you might break the haft."

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  "So how do we kill him?"

  "Don't let him swing!" Gunther commanded. "Stun! Net! Knock out his fatigue! But most importantly — we need a Buffer."

  Gunther looked at the fresh recruit standing nervously in the back line. A man who had joined us in the last village, babbling about "heroic destiny" and "death in amber."

  [EMPLOYEE DOSSIER: MATSUGAEKI]

  Background: Ratcatcher.

  Hiring Cost: 30 crowns (Sponsored by an external Angel Investor).

  Traits: Deathwish.

  "You," the Sergeant pointed at him. "Name?"

  "MatsugaeKi," the recruit answered proudly, puffing out his chest. "I seek a death that will be sung in legends! A moment of frozen perfection!"

  "Too long," the Sergeant barked. "I can't shout that in battle. You are Mats. Because you are a Doormat. Get to the front."

  "What is my task?" Mats asked, eyes shining. "Do I slay the leader?"

  "Better," Gunther said, handing him a clipboard (a piece of bark with charcoal marks). "Your position is 'Key Account Manager'. Your KPI is to intercept exactly ONE swing of that two-handed hammer with your face. This will drain the Barbarian's Action Points and preserve the asset for us."

  "A noble sacrifice..." Mats whispered. "A glorious shielding!"

  "Sure," Jem muttered. "Just make sure to fill out the FSO (Final Satisfaction Outcome) survey before you brain check out."

  The battle was strange.

  Usually, we tried to hold the line and take hits on shields.

  This time, we ignored four ax-wielding barbarians and gang-tackled the guy with the Hammer like a rugby team piling on a referee.

  "Don't hit the shield, you idiot!" Baldur screamed, watching the barbarian wind up for a strike against Dieter. "You'll scratch the striking surface!"

  "Mats! Now!" Gunther yelled. "Serve the client!"

  Mats stepped up. No shield. No armor. Just a beatific, idiotic smile and a face ready for impact. He thought he was entering Valhalla.

  The Barbarian swung.

  The Skull Hammer met Mats's head.

  CRUNCH.

  It wasn't a "Bonk." It was the sound of a watermelon meeting a sledgehammer. Mats collapsed instantly, his head now located somewhere between his shoulder blades.

  "Survey complete," Jem commented dryly. "Customer satisfaction: 100% impact."

  The barbarian, having put all his momentum into the kill, stumbled forward. His Action Points were zeroed out.

  "Hostile Takeover window open!" Gunther shrieked. "Take him down! Gently!"

  Baldur threw away his wooden mallet. He didn't strike with a weapon. He jumped on the enemy with all his mass (Trait Huge came in handy), grabbed a rock from the ground, and...

  SMACK.

  "Careful!" Gunther squealed. "Don't get brains on the leather wrapping! It stains!"

  Baldur worked the rock with the surgical precision of a maniac. Bash. Another bash. The barbarian went limp. The Skull Hammer fell from his hands into the snow — whole, pristine, perfect.

  After the fight, we sat in the snow.

  Baldur held the new Hammer. It was heavy, rusty, with hair from the previous owner (and bits of Mats) stuck to it. The handle was wrapped in rough leather that still held the warmth of other hands.

  Baldur ran a finger over the spikes on the striking face.

  "Do you see this, Gunther?" he whispered with reverence. "Base damage... that's nothing. Look here. 180% damage to armor."

  "One hundred and eighty?" Gunther choked on a rusk. He whipped out his ledger. "That is a coefficient of 1.8. That means any mail up to 100 durability is destroyed in one hit. That is not a weapon. That is a Dismantling Tool."

  "Now I won't go 'Bonk'," Baldur smiled, and his smile was scarier than a wolf's snarl. "Now I will go 'CRUNCH'. I will open them like tin cans."

  "Book it," Gunther nodded, hiding his admiration behind a mask of indifference. "Acquisition cost: Zero. Mats's hiring fee was covered by the sponsor. Asset durability: 100%. Shield wear: Zero. A perfect transaction."

  He glanced at the headless body of MatsugaeKi lying in the crimson snow.

  "Write him down as 'Successfully liquidated upon completion of probationary period'. Send the FSO report to the archive."

  "And the old wooden stick?" Jem asked, kicking the discarded mallet. "Firewood?"

  "Are you insane?" Gunther was outraged. "That is an Asset! We will sell it in the next village to the militia as a 'Training Mallet for Recruits'. Five crowns is still money."

  Baldur stood up. In his hands was the Skull Hammer.

  The world around us remained just as cold and cruel, but now it had become much, much more fragile.