Dawn painted the eastern sky in unfamiliar hues of amber and copper as Ethan stirred beneath his new wool cloak—and the considerable weight of Buster, who had somehow migrated during the night to sprawl directly on top of him. One massive paw rested squarely on Ethan’s chest, the other draped across his face like Buster had decided Ethan’s nose was optional.

  “Seriously?” Ethan groaned, trying to extract himself from beneath the furry avalanche. “You have the entire clearing to sleep in.”

  Buster cracked one eye open, feigning innocence despite the loud growl from his stomach that betrayed his wakefulness.

  “You’re warm,” Buster said within the bond. “And you didn’t complain all night.”

  “Because I was unconscious, Buster,” Ethan countered, finally freeing himself with a wince. Despite the bedroll Garrick had provided, sleeping on hard ground outside Virestead’s walls—with a hundred-pound dog using him as a mattress—had left him stiff. He brushed grass from his linen tunic and tugged the wool cloak higher around his shoulders.

  “I miss memory foam,” he muttered, stretching his arms overhead until his back popped in a way that felt both satisfying and concerning. “And coffee. Dang-it, I miss coffee.”

  Pixie had already been awake for hours, judging by the worn patch of grass where she’d been running in circles. She bounded over the second she saw Ethan moving.

  “GOOD MORNING!” Pixie shouted within the bond. “I FOUND SEVENTEEN DIFFERENT BUGS! AND I SMELLED A FOX! AND I CHASED MY TAIL UNTIL I GOT DIZZY!”

  Ethan blinked hard.

  “Good morning,” he said, still half asleep. “I’m awake, Pixie. Give me a second to catch up.”

  Pixie bounced in place, practically vibrating. “OKAY! I can do that. I will be patient. I have more updates whenever you’re ready.”

  Ethan dragged a hand down his face and let out a slow breath. “I’m pretty sure you already gave me the full report.”

  Pixie froze for half a heartbeat, then nodded emphatically. “YES. Mission accomplished.”

  “I’m good,” Ethan said. “Thank you.”

  Pixie beamed like she’d been handed a medal. “GLAD I COULD HELP, ALPHA!”

  Moose, ever vigilant, sat at the edge of their small camp, watching the treeline. His posture was alert but relaxed, a guardian at his post, like he’d been doing it long enough that it didn’t require effort.

  Moose turned his head slightly as Ethan stood, then settled again at the edge of camp, eyes still tracking the forest.

  “What’s the plan this morning?” Moose asked within the bond.

  Ethan rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks. “Back to that boar,” he said. “The Guild notice board had an urgent posting—wild boar threat. It said to return both tusks as proof for the reward.”

  Buster’s stomach growled, loud and indignant.

  Ethan nodded toward the trees. “Eight pieces and four bits. That turns into food, supplies, and maybe a real bed tonight if we’re lucky.”

  “You mean breakfast,” Buster said within the bond, and Ethan could feel the way Buster latched onto that word like it was sacred.

  “Breakfast after we get the tusks,” Ethan said, then looked at Buster’s face and heard that stomach growl again. He exhaled through his nose. “Okay. Fine. We eat a little now. We are not doing a hike on fumes.”

  Pixie perked up like she’d been waiting for permission to celebrate. “YES!”

  Ethan dug into his pack and pulled out what was left of their travel food: a few pieces of hardtack and a small bundle of dried meat wrapped in cloth. He stared at it for a second, doing the kind of mental math he didn’t want to do.

  “This is basically the bottom of the barrel,” Ethan said. “Once this is gone, we’re living off whatever we can buy with that reward.”

  Buster’s ears tilted forward. “So… we should eat it fast?”

  “That is not the lesson,” Ethan said.

  He broke the hardtack into rough chunks, then portioned out the dried meat. Moose got a piece first, then Pixie, then Buster—who took his with the solemn seriousness of a creature receiving a sacred offering. Ethan kept the smallest share for himself and shoved it into his mouth before anyone could argue.

  Pixie crunched loudly, eyes wide. “This is like a ROCK that decided to be FOOD!”

  “It’s fuel,” Moose said within the bond, calm as ever. “We’ll move better with something in us.”

  Buster chewed with visible effort, then swallowed and nodded once. “Acceptable,” he declared. “But I am still going to think about breakfast the entire walk.”

  Ethan took a quick drink from his waterskin, then secured it again. The water sloshed as he lifted the pack onto his shoulders. His belt knife sat at his hip, still a little too clean for his comfort.

  Pixie bounced like her paws couldn’t decide where to land. “TUSK MISSION!”

  Ethan took a quick drink from his waterskin, then secured it again. The water sloshed as he lifted the pack onto his shoulders. His belt knife sat at his hip, still a little too clean for his comfort.

  The morning mist hung low as they set out, retracing their path from the previous day. Dew clung to leaves and brushed against Ethan’s pants as they moved through the undergrowth. Pixie darted ahead, nose working overtime as she investigated every new scent. Buster plodded along beside Ethan, staying close enough that Ethan could feel the dog’s presence even without looking. Moose ranged a little wider, shifting to the side and back again in an easy pattern that kept their flanks covered.

  After a few minutes of walking, Ethan realized how quiet it was out here. Not silent—there were birds, insects, wind in the canopy—but quiet in the way that made him aware of his own breathing and the soft scuff of his boots against dirt.

  “You know,” Ethan said after they’d walked in silence for a while, “I never thought I’d miss smartphones quite this much. A GPS would be really useful right now.”

  “We don’t need maps,” Moose replied within the bond with quiet confidence. “The scent trail is clear.”

  Pixie bounced back to them, practically vibrating with excitement. “I can smell it from here! It’s getting SUPER SMELLY!”

  “How far?” Ethan asked, adjusting his pack.

  “Close,” Buster answered within the bond, his nose twitching despite his attempt to appear disinterested. “Unfortunately.”

  They pushed through a dense patch of undergrowth, and the forest opened into the familiar clearing.

  The boar’s carcass remained where they’d left it, still impaled on the broken tree branch. Overnight, nature had accelerated its work. Flies swarmed in thick clouds, and smaller scavengers had already begun to feast. The air itself felt heavier here, like the smell had weight. It looked and smelled like it had been sitting there for days.

  Ethan stepped into the clearing and his stomach lurched hard. He yanked his tunic over his nose and swallowed, breathing through cloth until the nausea backed off enough that he could think.

  “Oh dang-it,” he managed. “That’s way worse than I expected.”

  Back home, a video game would’ve made this easy. Right-click the boar, loot window pops up, tusks go into inventory. Out here, the reward was still attached to the head, and it was doing its best to make him throw up.

  “It’s MAGNIFICENT!” Pixie declared within the bond, darting forward before Ethan could stop her.

  “Pixie, don’t—” he started, but she had already completed a full circle around the carcass, sniffing with scientific interest.

  “It smells like TWENTY different kinds of gross!” she reported cheerfully. “Maybe thirty!”

  Buster took two steps back, then another, lifting one paw like he was trying not to step on the smell. “I am reconsidering my position on breakfast,” he said within the bond.

  Moose, however, had gone rigid.

  His hackles rose slowly as he scanned the treeline, nose working the air in careful, methodical sweeps. The bond carried a shift in him—attention sharpening into readiness.

  “What is it?” Ethan asked, hand moving to his belt knife.

  Moose’s answer came low and controlled. “Scavengers,” he said within the bond. “Something’s been here before us. The scent is familiar in the way other dogs are familiar, but it’s feral. A pack’s been marking this place.”

  Buster’s demeanor changed instantly. His playfulness vanished as he moved to Ethan’s side, muscles tensed beneath his fur. “He’s right,” Buster said within the bond. “Wild pack. Four, maybe five.”

  Ethan’s grip tightened on the knife. It suddenly seemed woefully inadequate.

  “Are they still here?” Ethan asked.

  Moose didn’t answer immediately. He tested the air again, listening and smelling in a way Ethan couldn’t replicate. “Not in the open,” Moose said within the bond. “But they’ll come back.”

  “Too bad,” Ethan said, approaching the carcass with determination. “We killed it first. And we need those tusks.”

  The tusks jutted from the boar’s head like curved ivory daggers, still intact despite the scavengers’ work. Steeling himself against the stench, Ethan knelt beside the carcass and pulled out his belt knife.

  “This is going to be disgusting,” he warned himself, pressing the blade against the base of the first tusk.

  It was worse than disgusting. The knife was sharp enough, but Ethan had never butchered anything larger than a fish back in his world. The sounds as he worked the blade around the tusk base made his stomach turn. Thick, half-congealed blood coated his hands within seconds, and the flies buzzed angrily around his face.

  “This would be so much easier with proper tools,” he muttered, sawing through gristle and tissue that fought the blade.

  He glanced at the tusk, then at his knife, then back at the tusk like he could bully it into cooperating.

  After a moment’s thought, he rummaged in his pack and pulled out the strange metal tool Garrick had sold him—the crowbar-hammer-whatever thing with the flat prying end. He really needed to learn what it was actually called. Tools had never been his strong suit—unlike coding or fantasy novels, where he’d memorized every function name and character backstory.

  He wedged the flat end between the tusk and skull, using it as a lever.

  “You’re doing GREAT!” Pixie encouraged within the bond, bouncing in place just far enough away to avoid the worst of the mess.

  “Sure he is,” Buster commented within the bond from his safe distance upwind. “Just like that time he tried to fix the garbage disposal with a wooden spoon.”

  “That was different,” Ethan grunted, prying at the loosening tusk.

  “You flooded the kitchen,” Buster reminded him.

  “At least this won’t electrocute me,” Ethan said, and then the tusk came free with a sickening pop.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  He nearly fell backward, the curved ivory finally in his grasp. It was bigger than he remembered—almost two feet long, heavy and sharp at the point like it had been designed for stabbing things that didn’t want to be stabbed.

  “One down,” he said, examining his prize. The base was jagged where it had connected to the skull, but the rest was smooth and solid. “This could actually be useful.”

  He slid the tusk through his belt and started work on the second one, his movements more confident now that he knew what he was doing. The process was no less disgusting, but it went faster with the improvised tool.

  Moose paced restlessly nearby, stopping occasionally to test the air. “Hurry,” Moose warned within the bond. “They might return to this place.”

  The second tusk finally came free. Ethan straightened up, both tusks now secured at his waist, and wiped his bloody hands on the grass. The blood mostly smeared. His hands felt worse.

  “Okay,” he said, looking down at his gore-spattered clothes with distaste. “Let’s get back to town before—”

  A long, chilling howl cut through the forest.

  It came from close enough that Ethan felt it in his teeth.

  Buster’s head snapped up. The fur along his spine rose in a hard line. “They’re back,” Buster said within the bond.

  Ethan’s grip tightened around one of the tusks at his waist. The metal tool on his belt felt suddenly small, like it belonged in a toolbox instead of a fight.

  Shapes slid between the trunks.

  Five wolves stepped out of the treeline with the quiet confidence of animals that had done this before. Gray-brown coats. Heavy shoulders. Long legs built for running something down and tearing it apart once it got tired.

  They didn’t rush. They fanned out.

  Two angled wide to the left. Two drifted right. The biggest stayed in the center, head level, eyes fixed on Ethan like he’d already been measured and categorized.

  A scar cut across the wolf’s muzzle, pale against dark fur. Faint blue text appeared above his head:

  [Alpha Forest Wolf – Level 4] [Status: Territorial – Aggressive]

  Ethan swallowed. “That’s the leader,” he whispered, though he didn’t need to speak aloud.

  Moose stepped forward half a pace, not aggressive, but claiming space. His posture tightened in a way Ethan recognized from a thousand walks back home: calm on the surface, readiness underneath.

  “They want us boxed in,” Moose said within the bond. “They’re making sure we don’t get an easy path out.”

  Pixie crouched low, tail twitching like she was fighting the urge to bolt forward and start chaos early. “I can be chaos,” she offered within the bond, sounding proud of the concept.

  Buster’s attention flicked left, then right, tracking the two wolves circling wide. “They’re going to hit from the sides,” Buster said within the bond. “They’re waiting for us to panic.”

  Ethan’s pulse hammered in his throat. He stared at the wolves and willed the system to give him more details.

  Nothing else appeared.

  Of course.

  He could feel the Pack, though. Their positions. Their focus. Their readiness. It came through the bond like a shared map.

  Ethan pulled in a breath and forced himself to think the way he did back home when everything went wrong at work: don’t freeze, pick priorities, execute.

  “Moose,” he said, voice low and steady. “Guardian Stance.”

  Moose lowered his center of gravity. His paws spread slightly, claws digging into the dirt. Something subtle changed in the way he held the ground, like the earth decided to cooperate.

  A faint shimmer settled around Moose’s shoulders and chest. It wasn’t a bright shield or a bubble. It looked more like heat haze, like the air got thicker where he stood.

  Buster shifted closer to Ethan’s side. “Finally,” Buster said within the bond, and Ethan felt the eagerness in it like a spring being compressed.

  “Buster,” Ethan sent, keeping his voice controlled. “Body Check when you get a clean line.”

  Buster’s agreement came back sharp.

  “Pixie,” Ethan sent, and felt her attention snap to him. “Evade. Stay moving. Quick Strike only if you have a clean opening.”

  Pixie’s excitement surged and tangled with fear. “I am extremely good at moving,” she said within the bond, like she’d invented the idea.

  Ethan lifted the tusk off his belt and held it two-handed. It wasn’t a sword. It wasn’t balanced. It was a curved chunk of bone that happened to be sharp.

  He looked at the alpha.

  If the wolves were coordinated, the alpha was the anchor point. Breaking the anchor changed the whole fight.

  He made the decision before he could second-guess it.

  “Command Surge!” Ethan shouted.

  The skill hit like a tightening of invisible threads.

  The bond snapped into crisp clarity. It didn’t add a new connection. It made the existing one faster, sharper, shared in a way that made Ethan’s brain feel like it had extra bandwidth. He could feel Moose’s grounded stability, Buster’s raw power coiling like a spring, Pixie’s speed as something electric and impatient.

  Ethan moved.

  He lunged straight at the alpha, and the wolves hesitated for a fraction of a second. Humans didn’t charge wolf packs. Humans tried to climb trees or scream or die.

  Ethan crossed the distance with Pixie’s speed in his legs, and he swung with Buster’s strength in his shoulders.

  The tusk slammed across the alpha’s shoulder, slicing deep through fur and muscle. The wolf snarled, twisting to snap at Ethan’s arm.

  Moose hit him like a wall.

  Moose growled out loud, “Guardian Stance!” and Ethan felt the skill lock in through the bond as Moose absorbed the alpha’s counterattack. The alpha’s jaws closed on Moose’s shoulder instead of Ethan’s arm, and Moose didn’t fold. He held, weight anchored, stance unbroken.

  The rest of the wolves committed.

  One gray male charged Ethan, coming in low and fast.

  Two broke toward Buster as a pair, trying to drag him into a split-angle attack.

  One larger female went for Pixie, head down, teeth bared, intent on ending the smallest threat quickly.

  Ethan saw all of it. Not because he’d suddenly become a warrior. Because Command Surge made the fight feel shared. The Pack’s awareness fed into him, and his focus fed back.

  The gray male wolf lunged at Ethan’s legs.

  Ethan swung the tusk, but the curve worked against him at this range. The point bit air. The wolf’s teeth snapped close enough that Ethan felt the rush of breath across his shin.

  He dropped one tusk without thinking, freeing his hand.

  His fingers found the metal tool at his belt and ripped it free. He brought the hammer end up as the wolf lunged again.

  Crack.

  The blow caught the wolf high on the snout. The sound echoed through the clearing. The wolf yelped and staggered, head shaking hard, then recovered with an angry snarl and started circling, looking for a better angle.

  Ethan didn’t chase it. He held his ground and tracked it, tool in one hand, remaining tusk in the other, trying to keep his feet planted and his breathing under control.

  Buster took his moment.

  “Body Check!” Buster roared.

  He dropped his shoulder and drove into the nearer wolf with a brutal burst of speed. The impact lifted the animal off its paws and launched it into a tree trunk hard enough that Ethan heard the crack over the snarling.

  The wolf crumpled and didn’t get back up.

  The second wolf snapped at Buster’s neck in the same breath.

  Buster twisted, taking the bite on thick shoulder fur, then shoved forward, forcing the wolf back and keeping it from getting behind him.

  Pixie was a blur on the right side of the clearing.

  The female wolf tried to corner her with wide, sweeping movements, herding Pixie toward a fallen log.

  Pixie refused to be herded.

  She dipped under a snapping jaw, pivoted on her back paws, and slid sideways like her feet didn’t have the usual rules. Ethan could see Evade working in the way her body moved: tiny adjustments at the last possible second, angles that turned “caught” into “almost.”

  Pixie darted in and snapped at the wolf’s hind leg, then sprang away again, eyes bright with wild confidence.

  “Quick Strike!” Pixie shouted within the bond, and she hit the wolf’s flank like a thrown stone—fast, straight, and harder than her size had any right to be. She was already gone before the female could turn, paws skimming over leaves as Evade carried her out of the bite’s path.

  “This is FUN!” Pixie shouted within the bond, and Ethan could feel the tremor of adrenaline underneath it.

  The gray male wolf lunged at Ethan again, aiming higher this time.

  Ethan brought up the tool’s handle and took the impact on wood instead of flesh. Teeth scraped and snapped. Ethan shoved forward, using Moose’s steadiness through the bond to keep his footing, and drove his remaining tusk in with Buster’s strength behind it.

  The point sank into the wolf’s throat.

  Hot blood spilled over Ethan’s hands. The wolf collapsed, thrashing for a moment, then went still.

  Ethan’s breath came fast. His arms shook from effort and fear.

  “Behind you!” Moose warned within the bond.

  Ethan spun.

  The wolf Buster had slammed into the tree was back on its feet, moving on pure rage and pain. It was limping, but it still launched itself at Ethan’s leg with jaws wide.

  Ethan tried to step aside.

  He was a fraction late.

  Teeth raked his calf. Linen tore. Pain flared sharp and bright, and his body reacted like it wanted to fold.

  Moose’s fortitude held him up.

  Ethan brought the hammer end down hard, aiming for spine the way every instinct screamed to end the threat fast.

  Crack.

  The wolf collapsed. Its legs kicked twice, then stopped.

  Moose and the alpha were still locked together.

  The alpha fought like he knew exactly where to bite and when to twist. He went for Moose’s throat twice, trying to slide past the stance and get under it.

  Moose refused to give him the line.

  Every time the alpha lunged, Moose shifted, turning the bite into shoulder or chest, letting Guardian Stance soak the worst of the impact. Moose’s movements stayed grounded and deliberate, and Ethan could feel the patience in him through the bond. Moose wasn’t trading frenzy for frenzy. He was waiting for leverage.

  The alpha overcommitted on a snap.

  Moose took the opening.

  Moose clamped down on the alpha’s neck and twisted with his whole body, using his weight and stance like a lever anchored to the ground.

  There was a dull, final crack.

  The alpha went limp.

  Moose staggered back, blood matting his fur, breathing hard through his nose.

  On the right side of the clearing, Pixie’s luck finally ran out.

  The female wolf got her angles right and drove Pixie backward until the fallen log blocked her escape. A snapping bite caught Pixie near the brow. Pixie yelped, stumbling, one eye blinking hard as blood ran down her face.

  “Get her off me!” Pixie shouted within the bond, and the fear in it punched straight through Ethan’s ribs.

  Buster was already moving.

  He hit the female at full speed.

  “Body Check!” Buster bellowed.

  The collision sent both animals tumbling, fur and limbs tangled. Pixie scrambled free, shaking, breathing too fast, ears pinned back, but still upright.

  Ethan rushed toward them with his tusk raised, but the female wolf had already disengaged. Blood ran from her flank where Buster’s shoulder had hit. She limped into the underbrush, leaving a dark trail behind her.

  “She’s getting away!” Pixie cried within the bond, adrenaline pushing her forward.

  “Let her go!” Ethan snapped, and the command carried weight through the bond.

  Pixie halted, frustrated and shaking, but she listened.

  The clearing quieted fast after that.

  Four wolves lay dead around them. The fifth was gone into the trees, wounded and bleeding.

  Ethan bent, retrieved his dropped tusk, and forced his hands to stop shaking. Then he moved to the Pack, checking them the way he’d done a hundred times in shelters and at the vet, except this time the injuries came from teeth and claws meant to kill.

  He went to Moose first.

  Moose stood steady, breathing hard through his nose, blood darkening the fur along his shoulders and neck. Up close, it looked worse than it was. Ethan parted Moose’s coat with careful fingers and wiped away what he could with the edge of his tunic. Most of the cuts were shallow scratches that had bled freely and made a mess without digging deep. The bite mark on Moose’s neck was a crescent of punctures, but it hadn’t torn into anything vital.

  Moose held still while Ethan checked him, calm coming through the bond with a faint edge of irritation at being fussed over.

  “Mostly surface,” Ethan said quietly. Relief made his chest feel lighter. “Still needs cleaning.”

  The thought that followed hit harder. Ethan didn’t know what “cleaning” meant here. Back home, he’d flush wounds, use antiseptic, wrap what needed wrapping, and call the vet if something looked wrong. In this world, he didn’t know if the system handled healing with rest, if there were potions, or if he needed to find someone in town who did this for a living. He had to figure it out fast, because guessing wrong and letting something fester was not an option.

  He moved to Buster next. The big dog’s shoulder was bruised and marked where teeth had caught him, but the damage looked like torn fur and soreness more than anything that would stop him from walking.

  Pixie’s cut above her eye was ugly, and her ear was bleeding, but she stayed on her paws, vibrating like she refused to admit she was tired.

  Ethan’s calf throbbed where the bite had grazed him, blood running down into his boot. The pain was real, but it wasn’t the kind that stole his legs out from under him, and he knew Moose’s fortitude in the bond was keeping him functional.

  Ethan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Everyone was still on their feet, and that mattered, but it didn’t answer the questions he couldn’t see—deep bruising, cracked ribs, the kind of injury that waited until you stopped moving to start screaming. He still didn’t know how this world handled healing beyond “keep going,” and guessing wrong could get one of them hurt later.

  “Check in,” Ethan said, pushing the thought through the bond. “Tell me what feels wrong, even if it seems small. I can see blood, but I can’t see everything.”

  Buster flopped down dramatically, tongue lolling. “I’m hungry again,” he said within the bond. “Violence makes me hungry.”

  Ethan was relieved that was the first thing he heard after he asked if anything was truly wrong.

  “You are always hungry,” Moose replied within the bond, licking at his foreleg like bleeding was an inconvenience.

  Pixie bounced once, winced, then bounced again like she was trying to convince her own body to cooperate. “That was AMAZING,” she said within the bond. “We can do it again later. I need a minute. Moose is leaking.”

  Ethan’s mind spun—did people here heal with magic, potions, skills, or actual healers in town, and how much did any of it cost?

  Ethan then crouched near the nearest wolf to make sure it wasn’t going to get up.

  That’s when he saw it.

  One of the dead wolves, smaller than the alpha, lay on her side with a belly that looked slightly distended. Teats lined her underside.

  Ethan’s stomach dropped.

  “She was nursing,” Ethan said quietly, gaze fixed on the body. “She had pups somewhere.”

  Moose’s head turned toward the direction the wounded female had fled. His voice stayed low and certain. “The one that ran was limping,” Moose said within the bond.