Time slipped away faster than Gray expected.

  By the next morning the caravan was ready to move. T

  he smiths had worked through the night, and the repaired wagons now stood steady under the rising sun.

  Guards moved with purpose, checking harnesses and loading the last crates. The merchant who had paid them gave a curt nod as the group prepared to leave.

  Gauis made sure they stayed a careful distance from the main carriages — far enough to avoid awkward questions, close enough to react if something went wrong.

  Only a handful of guards rode near them, the rest clustered around the wagons. Karg, Dren and Vesh rode in silence, their cold posture unchanged. Rorik led from the front, eyes on the road.

  Gray walked beside Tamemoto, pack heavy with the payment and the monster parts they had harvested. The badlands stretched out around them, dry and unforgiving.

  The Tile River had curved away again, leaving them on a dusty trail that wound toward Camp Tile.

  Monsters appeared twice during the day — small packs of gray-skinned scavengers drawn by the noise of the wagons.

  They charged with hungry roars, but the numbers were on the caravan’s side.

  auis, Rorik, and the mercenaries handled them quickly and efficiently. Gray and Tamemoto stayed back, watching, learning. No one needed their help.

  The sun dipped low, painting the badlands in deep orange and red.

  They made camp as night fell, pulling the cart into a defensive circle a short distance from the main caravan.

  Gauis chose the spot deliberately — far enough to avoid the guards’ stares and conversations, close enough to hear if trouble started.

  The fire was small and low. Gauis ate in silence, then lay down with his knife resting on his chest, breathing steady within minutes. He slept like nothing had happened, like the weight of the day had never touched him.

  Gray and Tamemoto sat back-to-back near the fire, blades in their laps. Neither of them could sleep.

  The anxiety sat heavy in Gray’s chest — a cold knot that refused to loosen. Every sound in the dark made his fingers tighten around the hilt.

  Tamemoto’s breathing was shallow and quick beside him.

  The younger boy kept shifting, eyes flicking toward the shadows.

  The night stretched on.

  Dawn came slowly, the sky turning from black to deep gray.

  Gauis’s eyes snapped open.

  Gray’s eyes snapped open at Gauis’s shout.

  “Dodge!”

  The word cut through the gray dawn like a blade.

  Gray was already moving — rolling sideways before his mind fully woke, knife coming up in a reverse grip.

  Tamemoto scrambled beside him, small practice blade flashing out.

  Rorik and the three mercenaries were on them.

  Karg and Dren charged straight at Gauis with heavy axe and bow drawn.

  Vesh came at Gray and Tamemoto, curved blade whistling through the air.

  Rorik hung back a few paces, sword drawn, eyes wide — not attacking, just watching.

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  Gray’s mind raced, cold and sharp.

  Three against three.

  Terrain: small rocks, one big boulder ten paces left, low scrub, uneven ground. Use everything.

  He remembered the topology they had passed yesterday — the slight rise, the cluster of boulders, the way the dust shifted underfoot.

  Gauis’s voice echoed in his head: “The environment is a weapon. Always.”

  “Tamemoto!” Gray snapped, voice low and urgent.

  “Big rock on the left! Get on it! Throw stones and your knife! I’ll hold him!”

  Tamemoto hesitated for half a heartbeat — eyes wide with fear — then bolted toward the boulder.

  Vesh lunged at Gray.

  The curved blade came in fast. Gray stepped inside the arc, using the uneven ground to his advantage. He kicked a loose rock straight into Vesh’s shin. The mercenary stumbled.

  “Argh!” Vesh grunted, pain flashing across his face.

  Gray drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, knife slashing upward in a tight arc — Ashfall Cut. The blade bit into Vesh’s side. Hot blood sprayed across Gray’s wrist.

  “Gaaah—!” Vesh roared, staggering back, clutching the wound.

  Vesh swung again.

  Gray ducked. The blade whistled over his head. He grabbed the mercenary’s cloak, yanked hard, and used the man’s momentum to slam him sideways into a smaller rock.

  “Crack!” Bone hit stone. Vesh grunted in pain, breath hissing through gritted teeth.

  From the boulder, Tamemoto started throwing.

  The first stone cracked against Vesh’s shoulder.

  “Ugh!” Vesh grunted, jerking sideways.

  The second hit his knee.

  “Hngh!” he hissed, leg buckling.

  The third — thrown with surprising force — struck the mercenary’s sword hand. The curved blade wavered.

  Gray pressed the advantage.

  He stepped in close, knife driving toward the armpit — the soft spot Gauis had taught him.

  Vesh twisted at the last second. The blade grazed ribs instead.

  Gray’s mind was ice.

  First kill. Don’t hesitate. He would have killed us.

  Vesh swung wildly. Gray caught the arm, twisted, and drove his knee into the elbow.

  “Aaaah—!” Vesh screamed, the sound raw and broken as bone snapped.

  Tamemoto jumped down from the boulder, knife in hand. His face was pale, tears mixing with dust, but his eyes were determined now.

  Together they took him down.

  Gray pinned Vesh’s good arm. Tamemoto drove his small blade into the mercenary’s throat — quick, desperate, shaking.

  “Gurgh—!” Vesh choked, blood bubbling, body convulsing once before going still.

  Gray stared at the dead man.

  His first kill.

  The blood was warm on his hands. His stomach twisted, but he forced it down. No hesitation. The world doesn’t hesitate.

  Tamemoto dropped to his knees beside the body, breathing hard, tears cutting tracks through the dust on his face.

  He looked at Gray, voice small and broken.

  “I… I killed him.”

  Gray put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You had to.”

  Across the camp, Gauis had already finished Karg.

  The big mercenary lay still, axe beside him.

  Gauis stood over the body, knife dripping, breathing steady.

  There was no visible aura glow on his blade — just that invisible pressure Gray had felt before, sharp and cutting, like the world itself narrowed around the strike.

  Karg never stood a chance.

  Dren had loosed arrows at Gauis, but Gauis had dodged them effortlessly, closing the distance in a blur.

  One arrow grazed his shoulder — Gauis hissed through gritted teeth, “Hss!” — but he never slowed.

  He disarmed Dren with a quick twist and drove the knife into his chest.

  “Gahhh—!” Dren cried out, collapsing, hands clutching the wound as blood soaked his tunic.

  Rorik stood a few paces away, sword lowered, staring.

  He wasn’t attacking.

  He looked… speechless.

  His eyes flicked between the two boys and Gauis. His face had gone pale.

  Gauis wiped his knife and looked at Rorik.

  “You came to talk,” Gauis said calmly. “Not to rob us.”

  Rorik swallowed. “I… I came to warn you. The other three wanted to take the payment and run. I tried to stop them. But then…”

  He looked at Gray and Tamemoto again. “I didn’t expect… this.”

  Gauis nodded once. “The boys are learning. Fast.”

  He turned to Gray and Tamemoto. His voice was quiet but firm.

  “You hesitated,” he said. “Both of you. That hesitation almost got you killed. In this world, when it’s them or us, you don’t hesitate. You end it. Cold. Clean. No mercy. Mercy gets you buried.”

  Gray met his gaze. The knot in his stomach tightened, but he nodded.

  Tamemoto wiped his eyes with a shaking hand. “I… I understand.”

  Gauis looked at Rorik again.

  “The items from the three,” he said. “They’re ours now.”

  Rorik didn’t argue. He simply nodded.

  “Take them. I’ll tell the caravan you handled some bandits. No one needs to know more.”

  Gauis gave a single nod.

  The sun was rising now, painting the badlands in blood-red light.

  Gray looked at the dead men.

  Then at Tamemoto.