“Master Lionheart … that was amazing!”

Theodore and company run up, thoroughly impressed. The only problem was – they didn't get to fire any arrows. The pack fled as soon as they got spotted.

“Yes, well, we will have to rethink our approach if you are to have a chance of shooting them. They're just too skittish,” Carl complained.

“Oh, yes Master Lionheart, that might be a big problem for you, now that I think about it. But for us, this is how we hunt – we kill a few, and scare the rest away. That's how we stay in one piece.”

Carl frowned. He really thought this was going to be quick and easy. He should have listened to Fleeting Time. This place was simply no good for making money.

“Alright, skin these three.”

Carl watched as Toothy, Bonecracker and Father Petro got to work on his command, a bit surprised.

“Do all three of you always succeed when skinning?”

“Of course, Master Lionheart, this is our profession.” The failed medic smiled.

“Hmm, they're probably similar to players on full realism, then. If a player party takes henchmen, they will only improve the loot as much as they contribute to the fight, and the more they contribute, the more share will they demand. All in all, the net gain for the players is likely minimal, if any, and they have to keep the henchmen alive as well.”

“Can you teach me, too? I may be good at killing, but skinning – not so much,” Carl requested with a tinge of hope.

“You better ask Toothy, Master Lionheart, he's the expert,” Father Petro advised.

“Heh, I don't know about expert.” The huntsman laughed humbly. “Here, I cut like that, here, here, here and there, and now I pull like that …”

“Yes, that's how I'm doing it, but … oh …”

“Ta-da!”

“That was too fast, I'll have to look more carefully next time.”

“Sure thing, next time you do it and I'll instruct, Master Lionheart.” Theodore grinned happily.

“Okay. Now let's pack up and move. We'll be charging together from now on, and you don't hold back, just shoot.”

“Absolutely!”

Following which, they run deeper into the thicket. It didn't take long before they saw plenty of signs indicating habitation.

“Sizable den nearby,” Theodore concluded quietly. “Has a prowler and a couple alphas, but no telling if they're here. Do you want to rush, Master Lionheart, or should I listen?”

“Can't we just sneak up on them?”

“That's what I meant.”

“Yes, let's try that.”

As they were skulking about, Carl noticed the nervousness around him.

“Everything fine?”

“We don't normally do that, Master Lionheart, it's … a bad idea … for us I mean,” Theodore whispered. “It's their home turf, after all, and we have little room to shoot in these bushes … oh … shhh!”

Carl heard it, too. There was definitely some presence in the den.

“Bub, Sunny, up front. I'm diving in, and will flush them out.”

Looking forward to a more exciting encounter, Carl invaded the den blindly. And he was not disappointed. There were wolves everywhere, down in the overgrown ravine. On the opposite slope, which he could see clearly, a couple dozen. He surmised the same for the one he was on, only the bushes obscured his vision. They were caught completely unprepared, and sprung up as soon as an alarm was sounded.

But it was too late for them. A bloodthirsty demon had arrived for their skin.

Carl descended on his first prey, which was directly beneath him. An agonizing whine and countless cries of outrage followed. The cacophony was so sudden and hysterical, that the five NPCs all jumped up in fright. Sunny sweated profusely, Bub gritted his teeth, and both archers drew their bows with shaky hands. This was certainly not their comfort zone.

“Incoming!” Bub shouted, bringing his axe horizontally in front of him to block a fleeing wolf, which got promptly whacked from the side by Sunny's mace.

“There!”

“Got it!”

“More coming!”

For a while, the quintet fought amid a hustle bustle. It didn't take long for it to quiet down, however. Most wolves scattered in other directions, and they only struck down two and shot four, a couple of which run off with the arrows before they could be finished off.

“Woah, look at them go!” Bonecracker laughed. They were all cheering, now that their job had become so much easier.

“Master Lionheart?”

“Down here!”

“Two got shot and run away! They'll soon collapse!”

“Leave them be! Come here!”

Arriving on the scene, the five saw Carl among a field of carnage. There was a dead prowler, an alpha, and a common gray wolf, plus three miserable ones still trying to escape, despite their sealed fate.

“Can you stop the bleeding, Father Petro?”

“But … you're not bleeding, Master Lionheart …” The white-haired healer checked from every angle, flabbergasted. Carl was indeed covered in blood, but it didn't look like his.

“Mend the wounds, I mean. I've arrested the bleeding.”

“Oh! Right away!”

Carl once more didn't buy a helmet, finding it more of an inconvenience if it was too cumbersome, and already got punished for it, as the fangs of a common wolf grazed his nape when it leaped on his back during the scuffle. Nonetheless, the armor was quite adequate. Carl gave the prowler his right forearm, and he was satisfied to see that it held nicely, although the gnawing was still painful and drew a bit of blood, just nowhere near enough to cause a drop to his maximum health if he kept going like that.

He previously experienced the intrinsic downsides of healing magic, at least of the basic variety – debilitating scarring. All it did was rapidly glue the wounds together, sealing blood vessels, reconnecting tendons and muscles, and soothing the trauma. Apparently, the NPCs treated it as a last resort, preferring to let their wounds recover on their own in due time. They applied some light spells to cure cuts and bruises, and most notably – to stop any bleeding from occurring. And despite possessing the dirt cheap inferior health tonics, they also wished they'd never have to use them.

For this reason NPC healers were universally scorned. They were almost useless in battle, while player healers excelled in this domain, their services selling like hot buns. And yet, as ever – no true gamer wanted to play a healer …

“Man, the aggro of these mobs … what a hassle. Well, that's what I get for going to a beginner dungeon.”

Approaching a common wolf with the Black Fang in hand, Carl beckoned Theodore.

“Master Lionheart, should we … ?” Bonecracker inquired tentatively, pointing up the hill they came from.

“If it's safe, then go ahead, the four of you,” Carl allowed. “Alright, Toothy, is it? I do it like that …”

“No!”

Carl jolted and looked up.

“My apologies, Master Lionheart … not so deep … you don't want to unnecessarily open veins, or pull the pelt together with flesh. It may tear and will definitely take more work. Try again?”

“Okay, sure, that makes sense.”

“Too shallow, too shallow, a little … yes, more or less like that … maintain a straight line … no, don't lift the blade, try to do it in one swift motion … too deep again …”

While Theodore tutored Carl, the others returned with their spoils and waited patiently. By the time he got to the prowler, he only failed once, having gotten four out of five. It really looked like he would achieve 100% success rate with advanced rank, at least in the system-assisted instanced dungeons.

“Alright, Master Lionheart, now you go for it, I won't say a word.” The huntsman smiled.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Mimicking the style he saw earlier, Carl tried to speedily cut in one fluent motion, then pulled resolutely in the same spots.

“Oh …”

“That wasn't bad, Master Lionheart, you're not far off. With some practice you'll get there soon,” Theodore encouraged.

“Of course it wouldn't be this easy.”

Resuming their frantic hunt, the party ravaged one pack after another, blitzing them with more confidence each time. Carl was like a wolf himself jumping into a herd of fearful sheep. He also carefully observed the effects his leadership had on his five wards. Just as he predicted, it was all about the body language. The gray wolves didn't even try putting up a fight against the NPCs in his charge. It was everybody for themselves.

Bonecracker, Father Petro, Toothy and Carl would evenly split the kills to skin in order to save time, and Carl would alternately watch his instructor work or be supervised by him. Before long, an hour had elapsed, and they had a pelt for each minute spent, including one common albino. The NPCs were beside themselves with joy, while Carl was too tired to care.

“Well, they sure know how to run fast. At this rate you'll never get to use up all the arrows. It was a mistake after all. But at least you'll have the ammunition for your next hunts, once I'm gone.”

“Master Lionheart … we can't …” Theodore tried to refuse, startled.

“I can't be bothered to carry them around, so just take them. It's a shame, though, that we didn't meet any dire wolves. I was looking forward to that,” Carl grumbled.

“Normally, we do all we can to avoid them, Master Lionheart. But if you really want to … I could look for one,” the huntsman offered after glancing at his comrades.

“You mean you can actively track dire wolves?”

“Naturally, why not?”

Carl pondered. “Another system assist? Why didn't I think of that?”

“But they're not always present, right? How long would it take to verify if there's even any traces of them?”

“Oh, there's always traces, they're just old. We only have to worry about fresh ones.”

Carl balked.

“You mean there's traces here as well?”

“Yes, plenty. The most recent ones had a few days, which is promising.”

“Common, or … ?”

“Looks like common.”

“What about prowlers? Ever seen traces of those?”

“I– … I did, Master Lionheart.” Theodore hesitated, a tinge of dread in his eyes. “They're hard to miss … being as big as a horse …”

“Relax, Toothy. I've killed a horrid wolf, remember? And there was a hundred black wolves with it.”

“Oh, you did? Wow … I didn't know that …” the huntsman gasped for air, barely able to talk. His colleagues also gaped and goggled.

“So? Can you flush out a prowler?”

“I … could try … I think.”

“Marvelous! Onward, then!” Carl rejoiced, instantly reinvigorated.

The five NPCs looked at each other with mixed emotions, but soon they all nodded, agreeing to their benefactor's dare, if barely.

“They're still so afraid after all this? Hmm … I mustn't become complacent!”

Cautiously, the party went ahead. Theodore swiftly directed them away from all other encounters, combing the heart of the woods for clues.

“Oh man, if that works – this NPC is worth his weight in gold!” Carl fantasized.

Initially, there was no new leads, but after 15 minutes, common dire wolf tracks appeared, and 15 minutes later … the huntsman froze.

“It's … here … Master Lionheart …” he stammered, shrinking back.

Carl didn't have to investigate further, as he saw the activity for himself. Throngs of wolves had passed through the place they were standing in. That could only have meant one thing – the boss was home.

Grinning from ear to ear, Carl put down his backpack. Rummaging among the pelts he stored, he pulled out his latest purchase.

A canine bite sleeve!