The next morning found the Iron Wolves assembled early at Blackstone's guild hall, scanning the quest board for new work. A few unremarkable postings hung there: escort a merchant caravan, hunt oversized cave rats in a storehouse, serve as guards for a minor noble. Finn sighed and ran a hand through his sandy hair, clearly underwhelmed. "Slim pickings. Hardly the glorious adventure I was hoping for to start the day." He shot a wry grin at Erik. "Unless you fancy a grand rat hunt, my friend."
Erik chuckled softly, but before he could answer, Darius stroked his beard and spoke. "The caravan escort could keep us fed. Three days to Highpass with steady pay." Ever the practical leader, Darius tapped the parchment describing the route toward the capital.
Finn made a face. "Walking a snail's pace for a few silvers a day? Pass. I'd rather tangle with the rats." He nudged Lyra gently. "What do you say, shall we become legendary exterminators?"
Lyra rolled her eyes, a few auburn strands escaping her neat braid. "Highpass is nearer the capital. We might hear news about the Tower Challenge or the uptick in monster attacks if we go that way," she pointed out in her soft voice. Even as she spoke, her grey eyes drifted over the notices, ever mindful of the broader world beyond coin rewards.
Erik was nodding along, travel might broaden their knowledge, when the guildhall's double doors banged open with sudden violence. A young man staggered in, dust-covered and panting, clutching a stitch in his side. He wore the livery of a long-distance messenger, and one broken arrow shaft protruded from his leather spaulder.
"Help… we need help!" he gasped, voice cracking with urgency and exhaustion.
All conversation in the hall died in an instant. Nearby adventurers exchanged looks, hands going to weapons out of habit. Lady Marienne, the guildmaster, emerged from her office at the commotion. Her sharp gaze fell on the messenger. "Easy now, catch your breath," she instructed, guiding him to a bench. The lad couldn't have been older than twenty, and he looked ready to collapse.
The messenger gulped air, each word ragged. "Monsters… attacked Graystone Village… a horde... Undead," he managed to rasp out. A collective hiss of concern passed through the hall. Graystone was a small settlement only a day's ride north, near one of the old dungeon sites. Something like this was highly unusual. "The villagers are holding out behind barricades, but they won't last. They sent me at first light… to beg for aid."
Erik felt a chill run through him. Undead? In a living village? He exchanged a glance with Lyra, whose face had gone pale. Undead attacks on remote hamlets were rare; mindless skeletons and ghouls usually lurked in cursed ruins or prowled near dungeon entrances, not launch organized assaults. Darius's jaw clenched at the news, his veteran instincts likely already sizing up the situation.
Marienne's expression turned grim. "What kind of undead, and how many?" she asked briskly.
"Skeletons, zombies… and worse, ghouls," the messenger replied, shuddering as if reliving a nightmare. "Dozens of them. They came from the old hill ruins at dusk, all at once. We… we think a necromancer might be leading them." A murmur of dread rippled through the listening adventurers. The young man continued, voice wavering, "Graystone barricaded the village as best they could. There were casualties during the night. They sent me riding at dawn to get help."
A heavy silence fell. Erik's heart thumped; he could picture the terror, families fending off corpses that felt no pain, clinging to hope that help would arrive in time. Darius stepped forward without hesitation, steel in his voice. "The Iron Wolves will answer this call." He didn't even glance back at the rest of them for confirmation, but Erik found himself moving to Darius's side immediately, chin raised.
Why did I move? The question surfaced even as his feet carried him forward. The part of him that was Marcus screamed that this was a foolish, emotional decision. Charging into an unconfirmed undead horde to save strangers was illogical. But another part, a deeper current of memory that wasn't his own, felt an unshakeable bond with the people in this room. Darius. Lyra. Finn. The phantom feeling of shared campfires, of battles won, of laughter in a dingy tavern… it was a ghost limb, an echo of a life he hadn't lived but now inhabited. And Marcus, the man who had died with nothing, recognized the value of this. These people were a key. They understood the rules of this brutal world, its monsters, its magic, its Guilds. To abandon them would be to abandon his only source of information, his only hope of understanding what had happened to him, what these runes meant. Logic and loyalty, for now, pointed down the same bloody path.
Lyra and Finn flanked him a heartbeat later. None of them would abandon Graystone to such a fate.
From the corner near the bounty ledger, a scoff sounded, sharp and dismissive. Edward, commander of the Brave Blades, sat at his customary large table near the hearth, surrounded by his lieutenants. He leaned back in his chair, casually swirling amber liquid in a silver goblet. "An undead horde, you say? In Graystone?" he called out, his voice carrying an amused, condescending tone. "Sounds like a rather dire affair for a Steel-ranked team."
His companions, all clad in their signature gleaming plate, shared subtle, superior smirks. The message was clear: this was beneath them.
Edward gave an insincere shrug, a gesture of feigned consideration. "We'd love to help, truly. But my Blades are on retainer, preparing for a high-value contract with the Merchant's Guild. We can't very well divert a Platinum-ranked company to chase down every shambling corpse on the frontier, now can we? It wouldn't be cost-effective."
His tone was oily and pragmatic, and everyone knew what he was truly saying: the mission was too dangerous for too little reward. Erik felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest. This wasn't about flimsy excuses; it was about a cold, calculated dismissal of innocent lives.
Darius pointedly ignored the taunt, his focus entirely on Guildmaster Marienne. "We'll need holy water from the armory," he said, all business, "and any spare healing potions. Perhaps a couple more fighters if any will volunteer." He raised his voice, turning to the hall at large, his gaze sweeping past Edward's table as if it were empty. "Who else will stand with Graystone? Innocent lives are on the line."
For a moment, only uneasy shuffling answered. Some adventurers avoided Darius's eyes. It was one thing to hunt monsters in a dungeon for treasure; it was another to charge into a warzone of clawing undead with no promise of reward. Erik's lip curled in disgust at the reluctance he saw. His hand tightened around the haft of his great axe. Before he could speak out in anger, another voice rang out.
"I will go." A tall, dark-skinned woman with her hair in a tight crown braid stepped forward, leaning on a long steel-tipped spear. Erik recognized Zara, a bronze-ranked solo adventurer known for her fierce courage. She inclined her head to Marienne. "Graystone gave me shelter last winter when I was injured. I'll not abandon them now."
A burly man in a blacksmith's apron, Holt, stood up with a grim look. Soot stained his arms and face, and he hefted a large double-handed warhammer. "Count me in. I hate the undead," he growled. "Time to smash a few bones."
Lady Marienne exhaled, her stern features softening at the small surge of bravery. "Thank you. All of you." She motioned to a clerk. "Gather the stock of holy water vials, issue two to each person here. And our reserve healing potions as well." Marienne then knelt slightly to meet the messenger's eyes. "You've done well. Graystone will not be left to the wolves." She caught herself and managed a tiny reassuring smile. "Figuratively speaking, of course."
The young man nodded weakly, relief in his eyes, and finally sank fully onto the bench, legs giving out as adrenaline left him. A guild medic hurried over to tend to him.
Within the hour, two horse-drawn wagons were prepped at the outpost gates. The first was piled with crates of supplies: bandages, food, water, and spare weapons for the villagers. The second wagon was left half-empty, intended to carry any wounded on the return trip. The volunteer fighters made their final preparations. Erik double-checked the straps on his leather armor and the edge of his axe, Erythrael. As he swung it onto his back, he felt a subtle thrum from the blade, like a horse eager for the charge.
Nearby, Darius was digging into his saddlebag. The seasoned knight pulled out a silver amulet etched with a rising sun motif. Lyra's eyes widened as she recognized it. "A charm of Palador, the Dawnfather," she said hopefully.
Darius nodded, clasping the amulet's chain around his neck. "An old keepsake… It has seen me through dark places before." He then took the small leather wolf-head pendant that Erik and Lyra had given him two nights ago and tied it securely to the hilt of his sword. Erik couldn't help but smile at that. Darius caught his gaze and managed a rare smile of his own. "For courage," the knight said simply. The morning sun gleamed on his plate armor, making him look every bit the knight of stories.
Erik clapped a hand to Darius's shoulder in solidarity, then moved down the line. Finn was restlessly twirling one of his daggers, his usual cocky grin nowhere to be seen. Erik laid a hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "Hey. You alright, Finn?"
Finn sheathed the dagger. "Yeah… yeah, I'll manage," he replied, trying for a bit of humor. "Just not a fan of fighting things that are already dead. Hard to make a corpse laugh at my jokes, you know?" He chuckled weakly.
"We'll get through this. I'll make sure of it," Erik said firmly. Finn let out a breath and nodded, the tension in his frame easing a little.
Lyra was distributing small vials of holy water to each person. When she got to Erik, she pressed two glass vials into his palm. "Throw these on any ghoul or big cluster of skeletons," she advised. "And… be careful." She hesitated, then lightly touched the back of Erik's gauntlet. "If you feel afraid… it's normal. The Light is with us, and I'll be right there too."
Erik swallowed, the earnest concern in Lyra's expression a novel feeling. In his old life, he'd been completely alone. He managed a crooked smile. "As long as I've got you watching my back, I'll fear no evil, right?" She squeezed his hand once and then moved on.
Soon, they were ready. Darius gave the signal and the convoy departed, heading into the wilds toward a village under siege.