Gorren had been taken by surprise. He had kept his mystical senses in alert just to avoid any last-minute surprise, and he hadn’t registered anything out of the ordinary. There could be only one explanation.

He can hide his mana signature?

But he could have still moved out of the way. He could have flooded his system with Mana, increasing his reactions and speed to the point that doing so would have been trivial. But in exchange, he would have risked being detected by the mysterious field. He had done his best just to avoid such a chance and even now, with a giant wolf and his crazy rider bearing down on him, he adamantly refused to spoil his efforts.

Instead, he used the brief moment he had left to knock Trich and Krik out of the way, the two lithe assistants yelping as they tumbled away. Then, he tried to get out of the way.

But he wasn’t nearly fast enough.

The spear of the young man reached for his throat. Gorren was halfway through the incantation to dissipate his faux-body and return to his original one when it stopped. The surprise was such that he barely managed to stop the flowing energy.

The young man’s gaze could match in ferocity the snarl of the massive beat he rode. Still, neither moved, the spear of the rider barely an inch away from Gorren’s throat.

Gorren narrowed his eyes, not averting them by his, He saw a desperate kind of hatred in there, like that young man - no, a boy, he had looked bigger in the distance - wished to rip out his heart and eat it raw but something kept him from it.

Uselessness?

The boy sharply turned away and started to shout.

“I got your leader! Stop the fight!”

He had an impressive voice for someone so small and soon every Gremlin had his attention grabbed. With the wolves, roving in their midst, the soldiers had been struggling to recover some semblance of order. They immediately froze at seeing what was going on and, almost as one, they let out a shout of outrage. One thing was to risk their life and limb, to see their comrades cut down before their own eyes. But the Master being threatened? For them, it was the ultimate blasphemy. So much that Gorren had to throw warning glances to keep some of the most rage-addled to just run in to try and save him, damned be the consequences.

Gorren watched his captor with a measured look. He calculated that he would need a few seconds to return to his body. All the time to find himself with a hole in the throat. If that boy angled it well, death in a single stroke wasn’t unlikely.

Anger rose, flame flickering from beneath the ashes of his soul. He smothered it under an iceberg of cold blood.

“Who are you?” Even as he asked, he already knew the answer. Gus and his lackeys had long talked of the Boy and his wolves. Still, the quartermaster had informed him as well of the number of Dire at his disposal. With those killed during the battle, he had considered an assault to be highly unlikely.

It seemed like he had been mistaken.

A savage swing came instead of an answer. The Gremlins exploded into a horrified chorus. Gorren staggered, bleeding from his right temple. His mask flew away.

Even as he processed the pain, his mind searched for an explanation for the situation he found himself in.

A quick glance around told him what he already knew: the wolves were barely a fistful; enough to mount a hit and run attack, but only if the commander didn’t care about losing them all. Definitely not enough to remain. Even counting the fact he had taken him as hostage…

Has he come here to die?

It seemed like he had underestimated the foolishness of the young. It had been his own fault, of course. If only he had been more attentive in scanning the area, he’d noticed that someone was hiding. The Boy’s ability to hide his and his wolves’ presences from mystical senses was unexpected but that was no excuse. He had overestimated his soldiers’ level of attention at the end of the day and not put enough effort of his own in.

He had to repress a grimace from showing. This is frustrating.

Gorren threw a hand out. The Gremlins rushing in stopped abruptly. The few wolves stalking between them tried to growl threateningly but were ignored or had their voices drown by a wave of animalistic snarls. Even the great wolves were somewhat cowed.

Gorren noticed Sarissa jogging into view. The Hero stopped as she took the scene in, clear eyes widening in alarm. Her expression shifted to a sneer of frustrated concern.

Gorren noted. She knows him, and knows what he’s capable of. Good to know.

He straightened himself up, finding the spear back at his throat.

The boy watched him, wide, bloodshot eyes full of that mixture of despair and absolute hatred that made them almost glow in the gloom of the evening. His chest rose and fell quickly.

“Murderer,” he hissed, with such a venom into it that Gorren was almost impressed.

Gorren recalled Gus’ words: the boy cared not about the bandits, or, if he did, he kept it very well hidden. All his concerns went to his wolves.

Gorren weighed his options.

“Why have you come here, boy?” He asked after a moment.

There was a twitch of indecision in the boy’s expression. Gorren guessed that it was a surprise for him seeing his supposed hostage looking so calm. Good.

He recovered, standing a bit taller on his steed.

“Shut up,” he growled. “You kill my pack mates. I kill you and all your dogs.”

The scarred beast acting as his mount let out a low growl like he was agreeing. Gorren looked briefly in those yellow, bestial eyes before turning back to the boy.

“You first,” the savage one said. “I cut off your skin. Make you scream. Cut your arms and legs. Then kill you. Paint earth with blood.” There was a savage relish in his words.

A murderously hostile shift passed amongst the Gremlins. Hands clenched around weapons’ handles. Teeth were gritted until they creaked.

Through the bond that connected them to him, Gorren perceived his servants’ emotions as a bundle of red-hot coals. Even with his standing order, he couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t do something stupid.

The boy didn’t seem to notice. “Couldn’t reach in the camp. Fire keeps my pack away. Cowards!” He spat.

Gorren exhaled through his nose at feeling the spear nick his throat. He felt blood drip down.

“But different here.” The boy’s eyes blazed with fierce satisfaction. “We strong in the trees. Stronger than you. None can stand against us. Now we kill you.”

Gorren didn’t miss the faint edge of uncertainty. That boy was trying to convince himself just as much as he was speaking to them. Not like it was strange. As big as they were, the wolves were outnumbered enough to mean that any true combat would see them overwhelmed in but a few moments.

Gorren creased his brow, irritated frustration growing inside of him. This young fool…

“Say name,” the boy demanded. “I want to know who i kill.”

The only killing that night would be of a bunch of wolves and their stupid handler. The moment that fool did something more than just graze him would see even his control over the Gremlins snap. And then, wolves and boy would end as food for worms. And of course, there was also the very real danger of him suffering badly from that thrice-cursed spear.

Gorren could still see that despairing hatred underlying the boy’s bravado. It’s despair that brought him to this. He wanted revenge so much that he believed his own lies…

The boy was an open book for him. But that was nothing to be relieved about. If anything, it only angered him. Such a stupid way to throw one’s life away…

Could something be done?

Gorren felt that he needed to try. He hid his concern behind a wall of cold blood and prepared himself.

“You’re wrong…” He said.

Surprise flashed in the boy’s expression. He didn’t expect that answer. Gorren had his attention.

“The only thing you came here for is to die.”

He saw him stiffen, his eyes going wide. Good. He had touched the right spot.

“Look around you, boy.” He commanded.

Almost mechanically, but making sure to keep an eye on him, the boy obeyed.

“Look at how many soldiers are here. See how few of your packmates remain. The moment you strikes me down, you and they will be overwhelmed and ripped apart.”

Gorren gave him a moment to take in the situation. He saw a series of emotions pass through his expression. Realization, that gave way to dawning horror.

“It’s obvious,” he pressed on calmly. “Anyone would see that the odds are too stacked against them to try something like this. And that leaves only one answer,” his eyes narrowed into two slits, “you came here to die, boy.”

He was panting now, a pallor covering his face.

“N-not call me… that.”

The jig was up. Whatever illusion he could have nurtured had been blasted away by the same person he wanted to kill. And still, Gorren didn’t foresee how stubborn the boy could be.

His expression hardened into an almost savage sneer. Denial. Refusal. Gorren could see it as plain as day.

He understood that he’d need to change tactics.

“Look how few remain of your pack,” he said carefully. “Even if you win, how many more will die? You’ll remain alone, boy…”

The boy’s eyes blazed with fury.

This time, Gorren was ready for the blow. He stepped forward, and the swipe that should have taken his throat turned instead into a hard whack to his head. Almost as one, the Gremlins gasped in outrage.

“It’s all your fault!” The boy howled. “You kill them! My pack mates! Murderer! Your fault!”

“It is so.” Gorren stumbled, shaking his head to clear it from the ringing. “I am responsible for the death of your pack mates. It‘s my fault and nobody else‘s”

The confession stopped the boy straight on his tracks, his features turning to absolute surprise.

“But if you strike me down, you’ll become responsible for the deaths of those that remain. You’ll become just like me.”

The boy looked like he had just been slapped. Color, that rage had brought back, drained from his face. His grip on the spear trembled. He opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to speak a single word.

“You’ve already made a mistake,” Gorren continued, ruthless. “When you allied your pack with those bandits. What did you think it was going to happen, you fool? Those men were preying on honest travelers! Didn’t you realize that it was only a matter of time before someone came to wipe them out? And that when it happened, your pack was bound to get involved just as well? Did you think that some bandits could really stand against a city? A Kingdom?”

The boy’s expression was one of dazed horror. Gorren didn’t let go. The anger for all that foolishness surged out.

“And why didn’t you just escape when the attack came?” He accused. “Why didn’t you just led your pack away when you had the chance?”

“Y-you… don’t speak like you know everything…!” The boy seemed to be struggling between horror and fury. “For Mother, i did…” he mumbled quickly, like he was trying to explain his choices to himself rather than him. “For revenge… they needed to pay for what they did to her… they all needed to pay…! And, and i couldn‘t go… i couldn‘t leave him…”

“You’re a fool,” Gorren sentenced, pinning him where he was with a glare. Now he could see him clearly for what he was: a small boy, wounded, lost in his own fury and despair and grief. What had happened that made him become like that? A mother, he said. What tragedy had befallen her, that the son would search for revenge in such a chaotic, foolish way? And what kept him from just recalling his wolves and walk away when things became dire? What bond had been formed that kept him there, even if it meant the risk of his siblings’ lives?

Gorren felt something clench inside of him. He pushed it back.

“It’s not too late,” he said, clear and firm.

The boy’s gaze snapped back to him, and he nodded.

“Your mistake is grave, but it has been made without fully realizing the consequences. Now you can choose to repeat it, and this time it will be fully knowing what these consequences are going to be” , he held his stunned gaze with his own, “don’t do it. You can still walk away with those that remain.”

He could have him killed. At any moment, he could try his luck, push away that trembling spear and try to regain distance. He would need only a few seconds advantage, then his soldiers would swarm and any hope the boy had to catch him again would end in dust.

And still, he found himself unwilling to. How could he? Even if he held him at spear point, he was just a boy; a stupid, lost, wounded, grieving boy.

He saw a faint hope appear in the boy’s eyes, a small flame for things that still could be saved. The spear lowered of the tiniest bit.

For a moment, the boy wavered.

But then, a shadow fell upon his face.

“No,” he whispered. “No returning now. Lost, all of them. He’s lost. Mother’s lost. No more. No more…” He didn’t even seem to be speaking to him anymore. His eyes were lost and unfocused.

The spear came close, spilling a red drop.

Gorren set his jaw. No! He’s too far gone!

There could be no other recourse. He would need to try and push him away. It would be a split second action, and there would be no other chance. Yes, he could flood his body with Mana, but if he could avoid being detected, even a bloody hole in his neck was a price he was ready to pay.

The boy turned dead eyes upon him. His fingers gripped the spear more tightly, readying a killing blow. Gorren held his breath, preparing to move out of the way.

“Stop!”

Sarissa forced her way through the Gremlins, dragging one of the prisoners behind her. It was John, the big man crying out something in despair.

Eyes devoid of light that had barely glanced toward the Hero immediately snapped to fix themselves on the bandit, filling themselves with astonishment.

Gorren didn’t waste his chance.

He hit the spear with a palm, sending it aside. The boy yelped in surprise. The wolf, already made nervous by his rider’s emotions, swept with a large paw.

Too late. Gorren was already out of distance. As one, the Gremlins swarmed in an avalanche of furious eyes and cries.

“Don’t kill them! Capture them!”

Rushing through the bond, his order pierced through even the red mist that had enveloped his servants. Barely.

There was a confused struggle, that ended just as quickly as it had begun.

In the end, all the wolves were subdued, not even their sheer ferocity enough to resist the absolute fury of the Gremlins, and the boy with them.

Sometimes during the fight, John managed to slip away from Sarissa, leaving his armband in the hands of the surprised Hero. Still, instead of trying to escape, the bandit waded through the melee, reached a Boy dazed by being violently thrown from his mount, and threw himself over him, shielding him with his body. No matter how much the Gremlins tried to pull him away or jabbed him with the butts of their weapons, the man wouldn’t be dislodged. Even as the fight ended, he kept his stubborn vigil, the boy weakly pawing at him from underneath.

The Gremlins would have still separated the duo if not for Gorren’s command to let them be.

Bound and tied, battered but alive, the wolves were dragged aside and dumped unceremoniously on the ground. Under the furious surveillance of the Gremlins, they were put to await the fate the Master decided for them.

And on that Gorren thought.

Surrounded by his officers, the old mage stood with his chin resting against his chest, his arms folded before it. His throat still stung, but he ignored it.

Even if he had been the one to ask for them, he only half-listened to the opinions of his soldiers.

The Gremlins were of one mind.

“We have to kill them.”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Threaten the Master like that? Unforgivable!”

“They must be punished. They must die.”

“And don’t forget that they’ve seen the Master’s face.”

“Indeed. They cannot be allowed to go free.”

“They must die.”

“Kill them, Master.”

“Yes!”

“Kill them!”

“Kill them!”

“Kill them!”

Wherever he turned, Gorren saw eyes blazing with furious hatred and bloodlust. Even the usually levelheaded Tur was up in arms, demanding for blood. The only ones not joining in the chorus were Dara, the priestess demurely standing aside, and the big guy, Huk. The soldier looked toward John and the boy, the duo still holding each other like if they let go, they’d be separated forever.

The first Gorren expected. The second surprised him. He glanced at him.

Maybe perceiving his thoughts, Huk started to mumble. His voice was low, but not enough to escape from Gorren’s sharp ears.

“It seemed strange at the time…” the big man said, an indecipherable expression on his face. “The info said that John was a fierce warrior, unafraid of death. And still, he surrendered so quickly after taking a hit. Maybe, he had found someone new to live for?”

He fell silent, and Gorren turned to look the duo he was watching. Sobbing nestled against the bandit’s large chest, the boy once again seemed like the wounded little thing he had seen him to truly be. Holding him, John mumbled something to him, but he couldn’t hear what.

A mother lost and a father found?

Well, that explained something at least. Gorren let out a slow breath, centering himself.

“Be silent,” he growled. “I am thinking.”

The Gremlins obeyed instantly. As furious as they were, contesting Master’s orders was well far out from the range of things they were ready to do.

Silence obtained, Gorren revolved the situation in his mind.

Yes, the boy had held him at spear point, and he would have probably tried to kill him if not for Sarissa’s intervention. Still, as much as the thought of falling here set a coldness deep in his bones, he had passed through too many life or death situations to let this one get to him. The boy had been frightened and in despair. There was no point in banging over what he had tried to do. Also, it was a weakling’s act letting your fear control you, and even if Gorren An-Tudok was many things, a weakling wasn’t one of them.

Another matter was much more concerning.

The boy had knocked off his mask. The boy had seen his face.

He had spent a great deal of effort to keep this venture secret. He had snuck his soldiers out of Blackstone in little groups and always in secret. He had obtained from Joseph that contingents of guards and knights marched out of the city to “patrol the countryside”, a task just enough suspicious to keep people guessing but not completely out of question considering the dangers of the land. He had even smuggled in more Gremlins from the base, transmuting them to resemble the soldiers he had brought with him, so that whoever looked would be fooled into thinking they never left the city.

It was already a risky plan: many could have suspected that the masked warriors were connected to the mysterious newcomer in town, and he needed to present himself as absolutely reliable to hope to obtain the trust of the Crow’s men. Indeed, masked warriors could easily belong to the soldiers sent by Joseph, - having town militia recognized during unauthorized actions would only mean problems -. Still, chance wasn’t certainty.

The optimal outcome would have been not to leave any survivor, but that had been a remote possibility from the start. Too many things could go wrong, too many variabilities were in play. Most likely someone was to escape, just like it had happened. In the end, Gorren had been reliant over the distance from the city and all the stratagems he had prepared to keep himself reasonably clear from suspicion.

One, or more, he couldn’t be sure about it, had escaped, but it didn’t fall outside of his planning and wasn‘t truly disastrous. They hadn’t seen his soldiers’ faces or his own.

And so one question remained now: was it wise to let live someone that had?

Gorren watched the two prisoners.

The boy was inconsolable. All the ferocity, the hatred, the suicidal bravado of earlier were gone as they have never existed. What remained was a small bundle of trembling fur, sobbing uncontrollably in the arms of the bandit.

John held him with a tenderness completely at odds with his savage exterior, his expression twisted with painful mournfulness.

Gorren exhaled slowly through his nose. Have they found each other? And after what experiences? What losses? What pain? What misery? What had brought that furious bandit to beg for mercy? What that hateful spawn of the wolves to cry and whimper?

Gorren cared little about that big brute, but that boy, that poor boy…

He stroke his beard, shaking his head. I really have a soft spot for children. Unbidden, the figures of Argus and Scarlet appeared in his mind. Even Timothy appeared, a disheveled cub waiting at the door.

Putting those thoughts aside with some difficulty, he walked toward the duo.

Only John looked up when he stopped before him. The boy was in a daze, sobbing but apparently not noticing what happened around him.

There was a defiant fury in the bandit’s eyes, every inch of it directed against him.

To Gorren, it felt like a stiff breeze.

“What will you do if you were free? Tell me.”

The bandit’s eyes filled with surprise, then with suspicion. He looked at the trembling bundle in his arms. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t answer.

“Away. With the wolves.” The simple sincerity, the yearning hidden in those mumbled words was such that Gorren instantly knew he was saying the truth.

Still, he had to ask.

“Would you search for Robin?”

John’s eyes snapped to him, blazing with anger.

“Only to kill him,” he growled.

Gorren held that gaze with his own. “You won’t, am i clear?”

John hesitated; he seemed to be wanting to say something. Whatever he was, he swallowed it back. Grimacing, he nodded grimly.

Gorren nodded. He glanced at the boy’s trembling form.

“He talked of a Mother,” he said. “What about it?”

John, that had followed his gaze, frowned at him.

“It’s a long story,” he grumbled.

“Start speaking then.”

John did.

Once he was done, Gorren looked at him for a few moments. Finally, he made to turn.

“You’re free to go,” was the last thing he said before walking away.

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then a surprised sound. But Gorren was already away. Is this a mistake?

In the end, he couldn't know. But all the same, he couldn’t bring himself to kill that poor boy. Not like this. Damn me and my stupid, soft heart. It was going to lose him one day, he was sure of it.

The Gremlins grumbled, but, as always, they obeyed.

Gorren watched the large figure of John as the bandit disappeared into the woods, the boy in his arms, the few remaining wolves behind him.

“Master, are you sure?” Tur asked.

That question, the closest one of his servant had ever come to actually disputing his decisions, said it all about how much the soldiers had wanted the duo dead.

Gorren let it slide, if anything because it proved the strength of the oath. And, he guessed he wasn’t of the humour of getting picky right now.

“I am not,” he sighed. For once, he felt too tired to put up a strong front. He looked where John had disappeared. “But life is full of choices, it seems.”

Tur grunted and nodded, and, to his relief, didn’t argue.

“Shall we prepare for the return, Master?”

Gorren’s attention lingered over the tangle of trees for some moments yet.

“No. Not yet,” he said, and walked away.

The midday sun of the following day found the group, rested and refreshed after a night and a morning of rest, in the place where the pack of Dire had previously kept their lair.

The place was a depression half-hidden by bushes and trees. The remains of previous meals littered dirt uncovered and rustled by the repeated passage of clawed paws. Stacked into a corner, a bundle of fur that could have been a bed, various junk and hand-crafted objects showed where the resting place of the boy had once been.

The slight descent ended into the ragged mouth of a cavern. It had to be covered by vegetation previously, but someone had cleared it with tools that, judging by the broken stumps, weren’t very cutting.

It was here that Gorren’s attention turned after barely a cursory glance at the area. While his soldiers looked around, curling their noses in distaste for the smell and for those that had inhabited the place, he had eyes only for that cavern, little more than a fissure in the rock, that would have gone overlooked by anyone not knowing where to look.

“What John told me was very interesting,” he mumbled, walking down the slope. He spoke, but not the Gremlins. It was more a recounting for himself. “He said that it wasn’t the group to choose where to set up their camp. Rather, it was chosen for them, by the same people that supported them.”

The Gremlins hurried after him, but he ignored them.

“He said that beyond banditry, their group had been charged with guarding this location. They simply had to make sure that nobody ever got close. He didn’t know why. Regretfully, it was another of the many things known only to his leader. Ah, what a shame that that Robin managed to escape. There would have been many interesting things to squeeze out of his head, i am sure.” He paused, letting his mystical senses expand outward.

“What impressed him was the importance that Robin gave to this task. The man wasn’t one for putting effort into something that didn’t bring him a direct advantage. And still, he was absolutely adamant about doing this. He made always sure that guards were posted at all times and even more than they didn’t ever actually get close to the place in question. Another strangeness… Obviously, the curiosity got the better of some of the bandits. They got close but never actually saw the thing. The place alone was enough to send them back, and they never tried to return…”

And he couldn’t blame them. Mana hung heavy over the depression, becoming thicker the more one got close to the cavern. It was like a miasma, clogging noses, watering eyes and dizzying thoughts. Close to what he used for his transmutations, but lacking the same focused precision and purpose. Transformative energy in its unbound state. So similar at what he had found in the research facility…

The Gremlins were already showing signs of discomfort. They scratched at themselves, rolled shoulders, or shook heads. The Mana was already acting over their bodies, working its chaotic touch over flesh and tendons and brains. And they hadn’t ever entered the cavern proper. It was just expected that to the bandits a single whiff of the place had been enough.

Gorren left their soldiers, something they weren’t very happy about, and continued alone. For him, shielding himself by that unfocused energy was as easy as breathing.

Inside the cavern, the Mana was so thick that the air was tinged with it, an ethereal, yellowish cast that looked like golden light a moment and sickly looking smoke the next.

Gorren filled his lungs with that magic-filled air that would have reduced a normal human to a puddle. Ah, it smelled like home.

The rest of the story was simple enough and still interesting once again. The Boy and the wolves had shown up, demanding access to the cavern. There had been tension and a battle was risked. But just then Robin had come up with a good idea. He had escorted the Boy to the cavern, showed him that the place was inaccessible, and, once made sure that neither of the newcomers could actually enter, graciously allowed them to set camp in front of the cavern. If they managed to find a way to enter, good for them; they were free to take what they wanted.

Gorren grunted, grudgingly acknowledging the intelligence of the bandit leader. He had taken many birds with one stone there. And eventually, the boy, dragged by his hatred, had agreed to join the bandits during their assaults.

An intelligent move for a bandit. But it was all useless now.

Thankfully, there wasn‘t much to walk. Soon enough, Gorren found himself into a cavern the size of a ballroom. The air shimmered with a dull golden shine, motes of what seemed shining snow floating gently from nowhere to nowhere. The stone, glazed like it had melted and then solidified back again, flew with golden highlights, giving the impression that it was constantly flowing away. The vapor was thick there but with his magic-enhanced vision Gorren saw clearly; and he saw the misshaped form that occupied the center of the cavern.

The Dire wolf had to be an impressive specimen when alive. Even as a corpse, its silvery fur retained a shining luster, with the corded muscles still emanating a savage power. The lips were curled back, letting see rows of sharp fangs the size of daggers and as shiny as snow under the sun. And still, whatever savage beauty had retained, that corpse had been defiled even more.

One of the back legs had melted into a grotesque fin, irregular scales encrusted with dried out mucus. The left forepaw had split at the joint, with three insect-like legs joining one that had atrophied into a fleshy stump. A great part of the left side had lost its fur, replaced by a swollen mass of tumors that bulged obscenely amongst flaps of skin it had burst through. But the worst was the muzzle: what once had to be a sight of savage beauty was now a half-scarred mass of bulging, dead eyes and crooked teeth thrusting through flesh and skin.

Anyone else would have balked toward that monstrosity, that, even dead, still managed to exude a sense of wrongness that grated with the most basic instinct.

Gorren got close, with a frown on his face and a deep interest in his mind.

“Transmutation…” he mumbled, examining the carcass. “Fleshcrafting to be precise.”

That left him pondering. Fleshcrafting was the… unpleasant off-shot of the great branch of transmutation, so to speak, vile magic that required the submission and pain of the subject as much as it did the power and ability of the mage involved.

What he was seeing was obviously an incoherent jumble, nowhere near a functioning organism, even if the single parts showed an adequate level of craftmanship.

“But why?”

Kneeling, he put a hand over the corpse.

Clearly, that place was some sort of containment storage. Nobody was to enter, nobody was to take anything out. The question now was what kind of relationship the Crow had with a heavily mutated Dire Wolf. And even more glaringly, who had executed the flesh craft? It had to be the same person that had flooded that cavern with enough Mana to make it inaccessible to anybody without the ability to protect himself.

Was the Crow trying to keep this thing hidden? But why…?

It felt almost like whoever did this acted so that the Crow was unable to just make it disappear, so forcing him to instead employ bandits to keep guarded.

Mh, maybe Joseph’s idea of this being just a pet project wasn’t exactly right…

But what was the point of guessing? He lacked the key pieces of information!

Still, this could be a useful thing to keep in my pocket.

If the Crow didn’t want that to become known, it only meant that it could be used as a weapon against him, at the right time.

Gorren shook his head. Yes, all good and fancy, but truly the story never changed for him. More questions and never an answer.

Umpf!

He kinda expected Nama to appear and start babbling about fate and choices and whatnot. Thankfully, the nosy Goddess proved him wrong. And it wasn’t every day he liked to put “thankfully” and “wrong” together.

Gorren passed a hand over the not-mutated side of the wolf.

A Mother…

You didn’t need to be an expert to realize that that animal had died because of the mutation forced over her. Not a good death, not of a long shot.

Gorren sighed. Thinking of the torment inflicted on such a beautiful creature was… distasteful. At least you’re at peace now. He looked at those eyes, dead and empty. Your son is safe, and he has a new father with him. Wherever you are now, take solace in this.

He remained in silence for a few moments. Then, he shook his head with a mix of resignation and amusement.

“Truly my soft spot.”

His soldiers were waiting for him outside, and they jumped to attention as soon as he emerged.

“Everything is done, Master?” Tur asked, professional and level-headed as always.

Gorren nodded. “Indeed. Send for Trich and Krik. We have a bit of transportation to make.”

“As you wish.”

While his commander sent for a messenger, Gorren held back a grimace. After the Mana-rich air of the cavern, the warmth of the forest felt disappointingly sterile.

He thought about this little bandit excursion. Despite having started as a terrible waste of time, it had ended on a truly positive note. A Hero at his employ. A possible tool against the Crow.

And… he guessed a new chance for life given to a poor boy. Here hoping it doesn’t come back to bite me.

Still, all in all, not too shabby.

The arrival of Trich and Krik, the female dragging the male behind her, took him out of his reverie.

“You’re here, good. I want a shielded container here by tomorrow. Here’s the size. Take note. And be quick about quick. As soon as this is done, we’re going back home.”