2:38 PM, 5th of December

<4 days, 5 hours, and 22 minutes until departure>

Lin “Linlin” Yuan was a strapping specimen of a woman, even at… well, no one knew how old she was, and no one dared ask.

Wolf still remembered well the Pugilist’s chiselled physique that could give any calisthenics champion a run for their money. Linlin’s muscles hadn’t been just for show, either. Powerful hands that could crush a man’s head within their vise grip. Trunk-like legs that housed the most devastating kick this side of the Albion Channel. Wolf still remembered well the one-woman wrecking crew that was Linlin Yuan, and the trail of destruction and battered foes she regularly left in her wake.

To be fair, Wolf didn’t have to do much remembering, given that she was presently face to face with this very specimen, about to partake in a so-called ‘sparring session’ that she knew could very well end her life.

The two combatants squared off inside the courtyard of the Yuan School of Martial Arts, half-covered in the shadow of a winter-bare oak tree. This decommissioned-factory-turned-Wuguan had been Linlin’s pride and joy for the last thirty years, nurturing a growing host of disciples regardless of age, gender, race, or creed. Yes, there were even several Goblins among their ranks, which absolutely boggled Wolf’s mind… until she remembered that a lot in Franzmark had changed in the three decades she’d spent holed up in Shved Mountain.

The question was… had Wolf herself changed? That was what Sifu Yuan meant to gauge now as she challenged her old Assassin packmate to an unofficial sparring match. They each had access to their respective weapon of choice: the Pugilist’s the entirety of her chiselled body, and the Assassin’s her trusty knife.

Everything about Linlin presented a picture of discipline and decorum, from clean-shaven head to spotless tunic to inch-perfect stance. In contrast, Wolf still wore the same trench-coat from last night, now stained by meat sauce and stinking of Salt Bolton’s cigars. She also didn’t know anything about ‘stances’, opting simply to loosen up her shoulders, stay light on her feet, and keep her [WILD SENSE] peeled.

And good thing too. For as soon as Linlin launched into her first attack—the most devastating kick this side of the Albion Channel—Wolf’s [WILD SENSE] screamed out in alarm. Dodge this, or you will die.

Wolf obeyed her instincts and sidestepped, aiming to round Linlin’s back in the same movement. But she was stopped in her tracks, knocked off-balance by a mighty whirling of air. Of course. [QI WAVE]. The Pugilist-turned-Sifu wasn’t pulling any punches (or kicks, in this case).

Well, two could play at that game. Wolf made the split-second decision to turn aggressor, namely by diving in and out of ‘knife range’ with agile steps. She now dictated the pace and direction of the fight, forcing her opponent to block or reposition with every move.

To any casual observer, it might’ve appeared as though the momentum had shifted—that Wolf now held the upper hand. Both combatants, however, knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. Wolf was quick, but Linlin had dealt with plenty of quick opponents in her time. The Pugilist knew every one of the Assassin’s moves and could keep up with all of them, as long as she had the stamina for it.

And in a war of attrition, Linlin had the absolute advantage. She was bigger, stronger, more ‘match-fit’. Wolf, on the other hand, had never been one for an endurance fight, even back when she was still in her prime. Sooner rather than later, either her aging heart or her arthritic knees would give out, leaving her exposed to a deadly counter.

No, Wolf could never win by wearing down her opponent. Which only meant that she, like any good Assassin, had to win by cunning, trickery, and maybe even a little bit of luck.

The clock ticked down, just enough for the sun to drop a little further. Enough for the shadow of the oak tree to grow a little larger—and cover and connect both combatants in their entirety.

[SHADOWBREAK]. Wolf vanished and reappeared faster than the blink of an eye, now clinging onto Linlin’s shoulder with one hand and holding a knife to her throat with the other.

But the Pugilist knew every one of the Assassin’s moves, including this finisher that was unique only to Wolfhilde von Leid in all the land. Linlin had preempted the move with a counter of her own, having anticipated where Wolf’s head would reappear and sandwiching it with both of her hands. [QI PALM]. A vise grip that could crush anyone’s head.

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Wolf breathed deep through her nose, then let it all out through clenched teeth. Her [WILD SENSE] was still on high alert, but she didn’t need any magic to feel the immense presence that enveloped her skull. On the same token, the point of her knife now dug into her prey’s neck, ready to sever all life in one quick motion.

“What say we call this a draw?” Wolf ventured.

“Agree,” Linlin answered.

The erstwhile ‘sparring’ partners let go of each other, and Wolf proceeded to dust off the day’s first sprinkles of snow. She was still in an agitated state—still high off the thrill of the hunt—which put her in a more talkative mood than usual.

“Seen enough, O great Sifu?” she called out, sounding perhaps a tad more smug than was warranted. “You reckon I’m still good enough to get the job done?”

Linlin considered this for a moment, but her politely neutral expression never changed, as she commanded by way of answer, “Follow me. Continue inside. Hot tea. More questions.”

Wolf frowned, more puzzled than annoyed. Then she shrugged and trudged after her companion, as Linlin led them into one of the buildings that lined the courtyard.

The room was high-ceilinged, and nearly as spacious as the courtyard they’d just left behind. Wolf guessed this used to be a warehouse or some such, and took a moment to admire the warmth and character with which Linlin had infused the place: raised and straw-matted floor, generous and practical furnishings, art and trinkets from Linlin’s home country.

At Linlin's behest, Wolf sat down at one of the low tables, inwardly cursing at having to fold her knees atop a floor cushion. The two of them sat facing each other across the table, with the Pugilist seemingly stuck in silent contemplation, while the Assassin could only wait in mild bemusement.

Soon, a third figure entered the room, a rather scrawny man dressed in the same uniform as Linlin. At a glance, Wolf guessed him to be about the same age as her, and she silently judged his flimsy frame and overfamiliar smile. Until now, she’d fully expected the disciples of the Yuan School to be made of sterner stuff.

In the man’s hands was a tray with two steaming cups of tea. He approached their table with shuffling steps, knelt, and directed his smile at Wolf as he set down the cups. Then, as Wolf watched in amazement, he slid over to Linlin and kissed her. On the lips. Reciprocated by the Sifu herself.

The man left just as quickly as he’d come, shutting the door behind him as he did. Wolf continued to gape across the table at her companion, who’d already started in on her tea. She’d known Linlin was married, but somehow, she’d pictured the husband to be someone a little more—

“George is good man,” the Pugilist finally spoke, as if in response to the Assassin’s private thoughts. “Kind. Principled. Happy. I’m happy because George. Three children. One grandchild on way. Is girl, we think. Happiness.”

Wolf nodded slowly, mouth still hanging slightly open.

“Fight show me much,” Linlin continued, now eyeing Wolf rather pointedly. “I know now. I know you can still kill. The best Assassin for job. But I still need know… if you can live.”

Wolf’s frown returned in a flash, this time more annoyed than puzzled. Then she let her frown speak for itself.

“I know this job important,” Linlin explained. “I know Urlking needs stopped. But I also know… this job not worth for me—not worth for anyone—if we don’t come back alive.”

“What’re you saying?” Wolf cut in, giving voice to her rising temper. “You’re worried, is that it? You’re worried I’m going to cock it up, again. Like I did last time.”

“No.”

“Then what? Come out and say it, Lins. I can take it. I’m a big girl.”

Wolf spat out this last part, along with a hollow and humourless chuckle. Then she waited for this great pearl of wisdom courtesy of Linlin Yuan—the latest of a procession of her old packmates who all seemed to believe that they knew Wolf better than she knew herself.

“Eddie Hofstra grow her business over thirty years,” Linlin said. “She build many orphanages. Is not married, but she is mother and grandmother to many many children. Still is, after job is done. Salt and Pepper Bolton. Their circus act… maybe not permanent arrangement. Maybe can take or leave. But no matter what, they have each other. Salt always with Pepper, and Pepper always with Salt, after job is done.”

“And you have George,” Wolf interrupted again, this time with a snarl she hadn’t intended. A snarling rage that only made her resent herself more. “You have your school and your disciples. Children. A grandchild on the way. A pack to return to and protect. Whereas I…”

Linlin nodded, with just the hint of sadness—or was it pity? God, don’t let it be pity—clouding her politely neutral expression.

“You, Wolf von Leid, hide in mountain for thirty years. You don’t build. You don’t connect. You don’t live. After thirty years, you finally come out of hiding… to do what? To kill, yes. You can kill. Better than anyone. I know you. You never let same prey get away twice. But after kill, then what?”

Linlin took another sip of her tea, then held the cup to her chest. Steam rose from the cup and wafted across her face, just as the smoky tendrils of a nightmare spread from the periphery of Wolf’s consciousness.

“Do you, Wolf, do this job so you can move on with your life,” an old packmate’s knowing question cut through a haze of memories and regrets, “or are you only looking for a place to die?”