The morning passed by in a haze. It was a beautiful day for riding, the skies clear, the sun beating down from above, warming the air and the ground, which made it easier for the horses. Kerra seemed to be in a sour mood—probably because her pet murder horse hadn’t mauled me—but the rest of the kids were buzzing with barely restrained excitement. This was their first proper bounty as branded Vigils and they were brimming with optimism and grand dreams. For them, this was a great adventure, like Frodo setting off from the Shire for the first time.

Knowing Kerra, I was sure she’d pick missions that would push us to the edge of our abilities, but I didn’t want to crush their spirits yet, so I just let them enjoy the moment.

Keeping up with the mounts was no easy task for Cal or Renholm—Sir Jacob Francis had short little kitty legs, after all—so eventually Cal wound up riding bitch in the saddle behind me while the Tabby took an honored position right on top of the Fanged Sith, much to Kerra’s annoyance. Currently, the tabby was curled into a ball just behind Kerra’s saddle and Renholm was snoring loudly without a care in the world. Meanwhile, Darksilver and I really had become besties in no time at all. He was a fierce monster who trampled anything that got too close—bunnies, squirrels, people—but thanks to Miko, a bag of fruit, and a little baby talk, he now adored me.

Which also pissed Kerra off, much to my amusement.

Although Kerra set a demanding pace, it didn’t stop me and Cal from chatting with the newly minted Vigils. They were full of questions and wanted to know about everything. About earth, about the Marine Corps, about how I’d died, and what kind of monsters I’d battled since incarnating in this world. Like Telent and the party of Vigils who’d arrested me, they were also obsessed with Cal. Not only was he a Spirit Guide, but Cal had come face-to-face with Raguel more than once. For the young Vigils, it was like meeting some kind of Old Testament Prophet—except this prophet cussed and told fart jokes.

I thought Kerra might have a brain aneurysm when Cal said, with a completely straight face, “I wouldn’t say we were friends exactly, but if I needed help moving a couch? I think Raguel might show up for that. Well, not Gadriel. I always get the sense that she doesn’t like me very much, which is super weird considering that Boyd is like a Vigil of Justice or whatever. Thuriel, though. That guy is fucking wild. He’d help me move for sure as long as I hooked him up with a six pack Highlife and bag of whip-its.”

I heard Kerra mutter “blasphemy” under her breath more than once.

My new teammates were also happy to overshare about themselves in the way that only teenagers can. Berk was laid back, easy going, and the most grounded of the three—fitting for a Vigil of Balance. He’d grown up fatherless working at a bakery with his mother in a dusty southern town called Lockegami. It seemed his upbringing was actually pretty common. Apparently, there were a lot of deadbeat Vigil dads who needed a lesson in how condoms worked. It was common for them to roll into town on a perspective bounty, bed single women like the horny bard in every DnD campaign, then roll right on out and onto their next contract.

Not that I could cast too many stones. I’d certainly been playing things a little fast and loose since getting here.

I learned that Colin was a late bloomer, at least so far as Vigils went. A fact that some of the other Vigils still teased him about. Most kids experienced the crimson touch at around eight or nine. He’d been twelve when his eyes changed, which was nearly unheard of. He’d grown up in Lyshaven, one of the provincial trading towns that boarded Ironmoor, and had apprenticed under a Solicitor and Deputy Castellan who worked for the Kelkadian Crown. Colin’s main job had been bookkeeping and accounting, since he had a nose for numbers and sniffing out bullshit.

Everyone in Lyshaven had been shocked when runty, little Colin woke up one morning with hellfire-red eyes. The local alchemist initially thought he had a bad bout of pink eye and had tried to treat him with painful salves for nearly a month before an Arbitrator finally came to evaluate him. Even though the signs were obvious, no one in his family could believe that he might be a Vigil in the making. He’d always been small, weak, and bullied by the other children of Lyshaven.

Colin had a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon and it wasn’t hard to guess why.

Vigil Marina—the bubbly cheerleader who apparently had a wrathful streak a mile wide—couldn’t have been more different than the other two. In some ways, she remined me of my buddy, Arbitrator Arturo. Her mother, Lady Johanne, was Viscountess of Clearharbor, an accomplish scholar, and a powerful of sorceress. Her father, a Sage-Level Vigil who’d been permanently stationed in Clearharbor, held fewer titles but was no less accomplished than his lady wife. Unlike Colin and Berk, Marina had grown up wanting for nothing, and had received private instruction, studying under the watchful gazes of her parents before eventually transferring to the Akademy of the Vigilant at sixteen.

Despite her royal upbringing, I got the sense that she had just as much to prove as the others. Maybe even more.

The only one who didn’t do much talking or sharing was Kerra. After our little chat in the Sprawl, I’d thought things between us were getting better, but she seemed distracted. As cold and distant as ever. I knew her goal over the next week was to train me and teach me to play nice with others. My goal over the next week was to get her to smile once or twice. I wasn’t sure which mission was going to be the tougher of the two.

***

We rode due south throughout the morning, then adjusted course and bore slightly east while eating a brief lunch in the saddle. We saw a couple of small towns and villages as we rode, but Kerra took great pains to steer our party around any human settlements even when it cost us extra time. She insisted that it would actually save us time in the long run, since every town would want to host us for a meal or, worse, would have some petty dispute they’d want a Vigil to issue judgment on. We couldn’t afford to get bogged down arbitrating about property lines or whether a goat belong to one family or another.

The weather changed the further south we headed, the cold slowly giving way to warmth, the ground thawing a little more with every mile.

We had a few hours of daylight left to our names by the time we made it to the outskirts of a small logging town called Willowbend. The streets were dirt and mud, while the houses were predominately built from the towering lodgepole pines and squat spruces that blanketed everything to the west and north. There were a handful of larger, cobblestone houses with large timber rooves—probably Inns and Smithies—but I couldn’t be sure. We never went inside the town. Kerra guided us into the treeline. We found a rough clearing with a small brook meandering not far off and enough canopy overhead to keep the snow off of us if the weather decided to turn shitty and take a dump on us.

She dismounted from her battle tiger, made a quick trip around the perimeter, then nodded in satisfaction.

“This will do,” she barked. “We’ll make camp here for the night.”

“Or we could stay at the town Inn,” I suggested, “which is just five hundred feet thata way.” I pointed toward the quaint buildings huddled together like a Thomas Kinkade painting. Well, much dirtier than a Thomas Kinkade painting, but in the same ballpark anyway.

“From the way you talked about this Marine Corps of yours,” she said, “I would’ve thought you’d relish every opportunity to sleep out under the stars.”

“See that’s where you’re wrong,” I said, dismounting from Darksilver then giving him an appreciative pat on the snout. “Marines don’t mind being in the field, but I think I speak for every Marine former and current when I say I’d rather be on Liberty, punishing my livers like it owes me money. I’ll take the Inn and a beer over a lean to and no beer any day of the week.”

“It’s true,” Cal said, nodding along in agreement, “and training ops are even worse. No one likes training ops, no matter how necessary they are. I mean, we’ll do ’em but we reserve the right to bitch about it the entire time. That’s one of the sacred rights granted to all service men by the Geneva Convention.”

“Look, they need to learn how to survive in the field,” she said softly, glancing between me and Cal. “They all learn basic wilderness survival skills as part of their training, but these kids have spent most of their lives tucked away safely behind the walls of the Citadel. Or worse, behind the walls of a palace.” She shot a look at Marina. “They need to get use to a certain amount of hardship. Besides, it quite obvious they already adore the two of you—if you two tell them to do something, they will fall all over themselves to see it done.” She paused, pressed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. Finally, “Can you help me? Please?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay. Cal and I will handle it.”

“Thank you.” She said the words awkwardly, as though they were foreign syllables that she was speaking for the first time. “I’ll touch base with our contact while you get camp set up.”

She left her mount behind and headed into Willowbend.

“Alright, you heard her,” I said, turning on my wet-behind-the-ears teammates. “Let’s get our asses in gear, we have work to do.”

Unfortunately, Berk didn’t have access to the Earth Sculptor ability yet, so there was no insta shelter for us. Instead, we had to do it the hard way.

Still, things went quickly enough, since all three of the Vigils were hard workers and took direction well. Cal couldn’t help even if he wanted to, since he didn’t have a body, but he excelled in “delegation.” Renholm absolutely could’ve helped but would’ve committed seppuku before doing an ounce of manual labor. Instead, the pixie resigned himself to lounging on a large toadstool near the stream, sipping from a tiny flagon of wine he’d brought along while making shitty comments about our craftsmanship.

Perfectly on brand.

In short order, we cleared our future sleeping quarters of boulders, rocks, and sharp sticks, flattened the area, then set up a simple, wooden A-Frame structure using a combination of deadfall and small saplings that we cut down. We laid down lush green pine boughs as insulation for the floor and used more to cover the walls of the A-Frame. Not only would it help to keep the biting cold out, but it had the added benefit of making the shelter smell amazing, which would be a plus since the space was a touch on the cramped side.

Not that I minded too much. I’d spent plenty of time sleeping shoulder to shoulder with other Marines while in the field.

Colin, on the other hand, seemed mortified when we unrolled our bed mats and he realized he was going to be snuggled up next to Marina. Thing was, I noticed that Marina blushed too. Her tells were far more subtle, but they were obvious enough to me. A glance out of the corner of her eye when she thought Colin wasn’t looking. The way she laughed a little too hard at some of his jokes. How she subconsciously canted her body toward him while he talked.

She was almost as love-struck as he was.

We dug out a shallow hole five feet from our shelter and constructed a ring of large stones around it, turning it into a firepit. With a couple of deadfall logs, some loose kindling, and a few sparks courtesy of Unbound Blaze, we had a hearty fire up and going by the time Kerra came trudging back through the trees. Marina even had a kettle on, brewing some hot tea for everyone.

Kerra dropped down onto a stump we’d set up around the exterior of the firepit and pulled out a rolled-up slip of parchment, bound with a band of red silk. She casually tossed it to me with a flick of her wrist.

“This is the place, alright,” she said, while I carefully untied the silk cord and opened the scroll.

Bounty

Sinister Grove: Something dark and twisted has moved into an old wood grove located in the forest outside of Willowbend Township. The town serves as part of a larger logging operation, but for the past month, thirteen loggers have ventured into the woods never to return. Another logger, Benjamin Jeppesen, was assaulted but managed to escape. Jeppesen is convinced that the trees themselves are behind the attack, finally taking vengeance for their fallen kin. Find and eliminate the Mortka responsible for the disappearances.

Contract Rating: ۞۞ — Four-Man Team Recommended

Reward: 8 Gold Custodial Marks, payable upon completion

>>

Would you like to accept the Bounty, A Sickly Harvest? Yes/No?

>>

I hit accept then passed the scroll over to Berk so he could take a look next.

“That’s a two-star,” I said, brow furrowed as I stared at her. “Disciple Rating or higher.” Aside from a hearty round of bullshitting, Cal and I had also talked at length with our new teammates about their abilities. It was important to know what kind of weapons you had in your arsenal before you went blundering into a combat situation.

Berk was working toward the Beast Incant build, which screamed Classic Druid to me. He had Totem Transformation, Bestial Vigor, Ravenous Feeding, and Spectral Roots thrown in for good measure as a crowd control option. With the right Transformation Tokens, he’d be okay in fight. Without the right Tokens, he’d be as useless as screen door on a submarine.

In terms of rank alone, Colin was the most “powerful” of the three noobs. He also had the least combat utility. He was pursuing a Truth Seeker build, which focused heavily on extracting information from unwilling informants. Perfect for detective work, not so good for fighting Mortka, especially not with the skill he currently had on deck: Master Mentalist, Stealth Step, and the Blade Weapon Mastery. He did have the Pierce Veil ability from the Ward of Balance, which could potentially come in handy, but only in very select circumstances.

As a Vigil of Wrath, Marina was walking the path of the Wrath Weaver, which was simple and straightforward: deal out shit tons of magical damage at range. She would be a legit powerhouse one day, but unfortunately, her ambitious didn’t quite fit her skillset just yet. As a Novice Silver Ranker she had Warded Shield, Kinetic Blast, and Unbound Blaze—all low-cost and relatively basic Wrath Spells. They’d trained far longer than I had to be monster slayers, but I knew there was a world of difference between training and the real thing.

I had the sinking feeling that Kerra was throwing us into the deep end here.

“Are you sure they’re ready for it?” I asked.

“No,” Kerra said flatly, “but when confronting Mortka for the first time, Vigils rarely are. We’re you ready when you woke up, surrounded by hungry Crave Ghouls with nothing but your weapons and your wits?”

“Point taken,” I replied.

“The purpose of this outing is not to coddle you four, it is to fix you,” she said. “I’ve had a direct hand in all of your training. In some ways, I know you better than you know yourselves. I know your strengths and just as importantly, I know your weaknesses. You all survived the Ascension, which means Raguel has deemed all of you fit to serve. Surviving the Ascension, however, doesn’t eliminate our inherent weaknesses. That’s my job.

“Berk, you are a natural born leader, an excellent communicator, and one of the toughest, most resilient young men I have ever trained. You are also stubborn”—her eyes darted toward me— “often to your own detriment. And though you have tremendous strength, you rarely use it for fear of hurting others. In time, those qualities will make you an excellent Vigil of Balance. Right now, they make you a liability to your teammates.”

She turned her gaze like a hammer blow on Colin.

“You are smart—perhaps too smart—and you have a sharp mind when it comes to ferreting out things others would keep hidden. It is as impressive as it is annoying. You also have a streak of loyalty that runs all the way to your core. On the other hand, you’re deeply suspicious, cuttingly sarcastic, and rarely let others in. These traits will both serve and hinder you as a Truth Seeker, but a Vigil who cannot trust their comrades in arms will cause endless tension and friction.

“As for you, Marina… You are perfect.” She let the words hang in the air like a curse instead of a compliment. “You grew up wealthy. You were educated in a noble court by the finest tutors and some of the most accomplished warriors in the world. You have a firm grasp on law, history, poetry, politics and have studied more about spellcraft than most Magi of the White Light.”

I could’ve been wrong, but I thought I heard a soft note of bitterness in Kerra’s voice.

“On the outside you are supremely confident and capable,” Kerra continued, leaning in close. “On the inside, you are a writhing ball of uncertainty. No matter your accomplishments, you feel like a fraud. An imposter. And the fact that you ended up as a Vigil of Wrath instead of Valor further undermines your own self-confidence.”

“Holy shit,” Cal muttered. “This lady is dropping nuclear truth bombs. Do Boyd next!”

Kerra patiently ignored him. “Every bounty we take on was hand-selected to rectify these defaults. To push you to the very edge of what you’re capable of. I feel confident the four of you will survive this encounter, even without my intervention.”

“What the hell do you mean, without you intervention?” I asked, eyes narrowing.

“You’re rash, not stupid,” she said. “You know exactly what it means. I haven’t trained with you long enough to make a proper, professional assessment of your abilities, but I know you need to learn how to work in concert with other Vigils. Sometimes the tasks we’re entrusted with by Raguel are too large for any one Vigil alone, no matter how capable they maybe. Which is why you will be leading this team, not me.

“A Fist is typically composed of five members,” she said, taking on the tone of a schoolteacher. “One Vigil from each Ward. Every Fist also has a Senior Battle Warden, responsible for selecting appropriate Bounties, reporting to the Custodians, handling administrative duties, and, most importantly, leading their fellow Vigils into battle.” Now she spoke to all of us. “For the purpose of this training exercise, Vigil Boyd will be the acting Fist Battle Warden while I will be a non-combatant observer. I am here to evaluate and offer constructive feedback, but your survival is in your own hands.

“There are a few additional details that you should know,” Kerra continued, taking the bounty scroll back from Marina. “Willowbend doesn’t have its own Arbitrator—the Mayor had to venture over to Wrighthold to lodge his report, which means much of the information in the bounty itself may be rather dubious. I did, however, meet with the lone witness, Benjamin Jeppesen.” She paused, a thin frown on her lips. “He is quite mad, I’m afraid. It tried to heal him, but the sickness is of the mind, not the body. Whatever he saw out there broke him, but his ravings do track with what is recorded in the Bounty.”

“Any idea what we’re dealing with?” I asked.

“Oh, I have many ideas,” she said, nodding, “but, as I said, I’m not the leader of this mission. You are. Although I have my suspicious about what you’re dealing with, I’m going to leave you to handle the situation fully. Learning to improvise and adapt on the fly are both critical skills for any field operative. The only thing we know for sure is what Mr. Jeppesen has told us. First, he has disclosed the location where the incident happened—two miles from here, in an ancient grove of trees. Second, he insists the trees themselves assaulted him. Third, he also believes he saw some of the missing miners alive, being held hostage in some fashion within the grove.”

“Could be a Corrupt Dryad,” Colin said, rubbing at his chin. “Fae creatures,” he added, when he saw uncertainty flash across my face, “that are often drawn to old growth groves. They can tap into the well of Essence that gathers in such places.”

“A terrible guess,” Renholm replied dismissively, “I’ve never heard tell of a Corrupt Dryad that keeps hostages. Of all the Fae, few detest humans more than they. A Corrupt Dryad would eviscerate any human that dared ventured into a claimed grove and water the ground with their blood. More likely a Moss Hag or even a pack of Forest Gnolls.”

Kerra’s brow knit as she eyed the pixie with surprise. “Those are both surprisingly competent guesses.”

“I’m lazy, not incompetent,” the Pixie replied with a sniff.

“Regardless of what it is,” Kerra said after a beat, “I wouldn’t spend too much time in idle speculation. We are camped within range of the grove and the sun is quickly setting. Unless you want to be waylaid in the middle of the night, I’d suggest you make haste…”