Our party of five moved slowly down the sixth floor corridor, with me out in front pointing out traps, doing my best to tune out the noise of our leader's clanking armour while listening for any wolves ahead. Even though we were all rank two now, these wolves posed a significant danger, and we needed advance warning of any upcoming encounter. I held up my arm to signal to those behind me; I could hear the scraping of claws on stone and the low-pitched breaths of the wolves coming towards us. Two enemies. I heard the rest of the party get themselves into position, as I fell back into the centre of the formation and grasped my bow.

The pair of wolves and their goblin riders came round the corner, but we were ready for them. A [Fireball] streamed past me towards one wolf, while I launched a [Piercing Shot] towards the other. Both impacted, stunning the wolves as our front-line fighters charged forwards. The encounter was going perfectly. At least, until I heard the agonised scream from behind me.

Another pair of wolves had snuck up behind us, one of which had our healer grasped in its jaws, shaking her around like a rag doll as blood spattered across the dungeon walls. I saw our mage drop to his knees, a spear running out of the front of his throat, caught completely by surprise. I saw the fear in his eyes as he fell to his side, still alive, but paralysed, knowing full well there was no way he could survive the injury.

I heard a wet sucking noise, and our healer came flying towards me. I dodged out of the way, not even having had a chance to draw another arrow. The wolf stared at me, unmoving, crunching up the arm that was still in its mouth. The goblin rider atop snickered, pointing its spear at me, as if to say I was next. I took a couple of steps backwards, bringing the tattered, half-eaten remains of our healer into view, her glassy, dead eyes staring up at nothing.

I awoke in our new home in a quiet village, gasping for air, doing my best not to scream as I reminded myself there were no monsters here, waiting for the after-effects of my recurring nightmare to fade. It was a rare night in which I didn't relive those few minutes of pure hell at least once, as if I wasn't seeing enough of those haunting eyes during the day. A second group of wolves had come up behind us, completely unnoticed, and taken out our mages. I should have noticed them. It was my job to notice them... I'd failed, and the remaining three of us had run, not being a match for four wolves and their riders, even if two were already injured.

The wolves were fast, but struggled with the sharp corners. I could outrun them. Our party leader, in his heavy armour, could not. He was the next to fall, his screams echoing behind me as I ran on. Only myself and Warren had made it to the boss room doors, waiting in the safe antechamber where the wolves would not enter, hoping for another party to cross our path; the two of us could never deal with the boss on our own.

Warren tells me that we were waiting for a couple of hours, but I can't say I remember them. Nor do I remember who turned up and carried us through the boss, or much of the next few weeks. It was my fault. I'd killed them. Why did I survive when they didn't? Warren was the one who dragged me through those darkest weeks, when I apparently couldn't even eat or drink by myself, although why he continued to help me when I'd just got his friends killed, I'll never know. It was him who arranged our new home here, too.

The same thoughts, repeated again and again. I'd never come up with any answers, but that didn't stop the thoughts from coming. Wondering why Warren had stayed with me. The memory of those dead eyes; belonging to the ones I should have protected... But today was destined to be different from our usual pattern here in the village; I heard a commotion outside of the bedroom, followed by a shout from Warren. "Angus! Grab a weapon and get out here!"

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

Why? What good would I do? I didn't know what was going on, but Warren would be better off going on his own, whatever it was. Alas, regardless of what I thought, his voice sounded urgent and my body reacted on its own, whether I wanted it to or not. Apparently, some of my old training had yet to wear off, and I found myself outside, a dagger in hand. I didn't have my armour or my usual bow. I wasn't even sure where they were any more, and nor did I care. I never wanted to use them, to even see them again. All I wanted was to go back to sleep, undisturbed by dreams, and never wake up. But these villagers were nice and had made us feel welcome. Even someone as useless as me... I should at least pay them back a little. Warren was already running ahead, so I chased after him.

Warren explained as we ran, insofar as less than a dozen words could be considered an explanation. We didn't have much to go on. Peter was fighting a 'giant monster'. A kornakouneli? They could be aggressive, but from what I'd seen of Peter, he could handle one bare handed, and it wouldn't qualify as 'giant' either. A saliazo would be bigger, but the only danger one of those would pose would be drowning someone in slobber. Certainly Cluma wouldn't have charged into our house so distraught. She sounded like she thought Peter was dying out here. Some sort of monster? But monsters didn't come out of nowhere. Even if another mana field had appeared, it shouldn't have been possible for him to run into anything dangerous. At least, nothing he couldn't escape from.

As well as not knowing what exactly had happened to Peter, we also had little idea as to where. The forest was a big place. As we got closer, I was able to use my [Tracking] skill to follow Cluma's trail into what was hopefully the correct section of woodlands, but as we got further in, my confidence wavered. If a fight was going on nearby, we should be able to hear something, but it was silent. Did I get it wrong? Was my uselessness going to get Peter killed now, too?

"Over there! Look at the branch!"

Warren was pointing at a tree a distance away, outside of my [Tracking] range. Running over, my skill picked up a gouge in the ground; some sort of large and heavy impact. It wasn't just the one broken branch either; there were many. Something big had come through here, over two metres tall. Then my skill picked up the footprints.

"Orc!"

Warren's eyes opened wide in surprise, and I agreed with him, but there was no doubt that it was true. However inept I may be, my skill wasn't that bad. I knew the footprints of an orc. I knew the smell of an orc too, and now that I know what to look for, I could detect the faint but disgusting scent on the air. I ran onwards again, easily following the trail of destruction that was far more obvious than Cluma's light footprints had been.

There was another scent on the air too, one that got stronger the further we ran. Blood. But there was still no noise. If there was an orc here, we would know; orcs and stealth were not two words one would typically associate together. We ran into a patch of flattened ground and broken wood, and the smells got stronger. Both of them. I saw the orc first, lying unmoving in a pool of its own blood.

"PETER!"

Warren was running over to a much smaller but equally unmoving body. His whole left side was caved inwards and his left arm was curved in a way that made it clear the bones inside had been completely shattered. His skin was deathly pale and his lips were blue. Laying there, he looked more like a broken doll than a human. So we were too late after all... Once again, I'd proven myself useless and let someone I was supposed to be protecting die.

Warren drew out a potion and forced it into Peter's mouth, as if that would do any good. I could see from here that he wasn't breathing, and no potion would work on the dead. Warren could keep his fool's hope; I'd take care of the other side. The orc, still clinging to life, gurgling quietly as bubbles escaped the hole in its throat. I plunged my dagger into the wound and tore a deep gash through its throat and neck. The motionless orc didn't even twitch as the last of its blood drained and the gurgling came to a stop.

As the orc fell into silence, I heard a splutter from behind me. I spun to see Peter twitching as Warren forcibly fed him a second potion. He... He was alive? We were in time, however barely? We saved him?

If I hadn't been here... If I hadn't had [Tracking]...

Perhaps... It would be worth me living here for a little longer after all.