The cries of wounded people and beasts were sickening. Hump walked through the pools of blood and bodies in a near daze—partially exhaustion, partially sheer shock at the scale of the conflict. The road was crammed with the crushed and broken beasts of the forest. Those that still lived did not have long left, and the villagers quickly put them out of their misery.

There were sixteen dead in the end. Villagers that they were there to protect. Hump knew it wasn’t their fault. If anything, the count was low considering the numbers they were up against. Still, he couldn’t help but feel bitter. Despite how hard they tried—how much they’d risked—people still died. Though that was the way of the world. There was no saving everyone. The heroes might win, but it always comes with a cost.

“You look like you could do with some rest.”

Hump looked to the voice, to find the old innkeeper sitting up against the wall of a house. Blood caked Jasper’s left arm, and there was a sword on the ground beside him. It was of fine steel, embellished with a bronze pattern on the grip and crossguard. Hump hurried over to him, inspecting the wound.

“You’re injured,” Hump said.

Jasper waved him off with his good hand. “Got chewed on a bit. I’ll be fine.”

Blood still trickled from an open wound on his forearm, a small bulge jutting out near his elbow.

“It looks broken,” Hump said. “We should get you to the chapel.”

“Really, lad, I’ll manage.”

Hump frowned, then knelt beside him. He pulled out some chalk and opened his spellbook, drawing down a formation. When he was done, he took out a chicken bone and snapped it.

“What are you doing?” Jasper asked.

“Sorting your arm out,” Hump said. “It’s not a perfect fix, but it will set the bone and keep it in place. Stop it from getting any worse until someone with more skill than I can take a look. Now hold still, this part’s tricky.”

Hump placed the two halves of the broken chicken bone in the formation, positioning them as close together as he could along the break. He closed his eyes and let his power seep into the formation, incorporating both Jasper and the chicken bone. In his tired state, it took more time than it should have to envision the necessary connection. He had to completely believe that the chicken bone and Jasper’s broken arm were one and the same, so completely that in his mind it became simple fact.

He infused the bone with essence, filling it with as much power as it could take. “Chicken Fix.”

There was a snap. Jasper gasped. When Hump opened his eyes, the chicken bone was bound together, a shimmering line of essence joining the two pieces together. He looked at Jasper’s arm to see it straightened.

“How’s it feel?” Hump asked.

Jasper tentatively lifted his shoulder, then shifted his arm. He blinked, surprised. “Better actually.”

“Don’t push it. All I’ve done is joined it back together. It’s held in place by a simple binding—if you strain it, you’ll probably break it worse than before.”

Hump pulled some bandages and a jar of settle leaf paste from his pouch, coating the wound and applying the compress. As he worked, he noted the dead wolf on the ground nearby. A giant creature, enhanced by the dungeon though not to the point that it deformed.

“I’ll mount it above the fireplace I think,” Jasper said, studying the fallen beast.

“You own a fine sword for a simple innkeeper,” Hump said.

“Hah! Well, I was not always an innkeeper.”

“You used to be an adventurer?”

“Not exactly. I was a travelling bard—the world is too dangerous for even a bard to travel without a weapon. And you pick up a thing or two.”

Hump tied off the bandage and stood, looking at the wolf once more. “Seems you picked up more than just a little.”

The man shrugged, then held out his good hand. Hump took it, heaving him to his feet and helping him catch his balance. “Go on now, lad. There’re people who need your help more than me. I’ll manage.”

The wounded were carried to the chapel, where beds had been made for them. The dead were outside, their bodies covered so that only their faces were visible. Families and wailing children gathered at their sides, and once more Hump felt bitter. If the gods were so powerful, why did the work through their Chosen? Why let people suffer like this?

Hump joined the others in the chapel, where the Chosen tended to the wounded. Dylan used Nature’s Spring to encompass those with the most severe wounds, buying time for those with more powerful healing effects. Jacob Hark was fortunate enough to have a Chosen of The Maiden—the daughter of Emirai—amongst his party. While Hump got the impression that, of the reinforcing bronze rankers, only Jacob had manifested his soul, there was no denying the power of the rest of his party. These were not like the Lantheers and Jespers of the world who dealt with remote dungeons such as Bledsbury, they were of noble birth and education.

Fila’s touch was enough to quiet the screaming. Her essence radiated a warmth that calmed Hump, even at the edge of its range. She poured a silver liquid from a crystal vessel onto their wounds, infusing it with her power. It closed the wounds before their eyes and whispers of her miracles filled the room.

The nights were long in winter, and they worked into the early hours of the morning. Jacob and two others of his party had returned to the other villages after Marcela told them of those that had decided to remain and defend their homes. In the meantime, Celaine and Bud helped to man the barricades, keeping watch for another attack.

“Are you good here?” Hump asked Dylan. “I’m going to return to the inn and check on the horses.”

Dylan nodded. “I don’t think the rest of us will be long behind you.

He passed Emilia at the chapel door, leaning against the stone walls and looking over the dead. Her face was pale, and she looked as exhausted as him, the usual enthusiasm gone from her.

“You okay?” Hump asked. She didn’t answer. “Emilia?”

She blinked, turning to him. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

Hump smiled softly. “You should get some rest. It was a tough fight.”

“I know,” she said, sighing, though she didn’t move. “Do you think we could have saved them if we did things differently?”

“With hindsight on our side, perhaps,” Hump said. “Though I think we got lucky already.”

“It doesn’t feel lucky. It feels like we lost.”

That same bitterness he’d been feeling before came back. “Yeah, it does. My master used to tell me that it’s the defeats that stick with you. You might save a hundred people—hells, thousands even—but it’s the one person that dies that you truly remember. The family that suffers their loss. The failure that cost a person their life, even if it wasn’t truly your fault.”

“What did he say to do about it?”

Hump shrugged. “Don’t know. Celaine put it well though. ‘The dead pave our path forward, and our memories of them guide us, teach us, and help us become better versions of ourselves.’ Sounds like a complicated way of saying ‘learn from your mistakes’ but I like it.”

Emilia huffed. “It’s probably better than wallowing in self-pity.”

“We saved people today,” Hump said. “If not for us, it’s quite possible everyone in the surrounding villages would be dead. I know that doesn’t take away from the fact that people died, but don’t forget that we did a good thing. We put our best foot forward and we tried. I’m not sure what else is expected. We’re adventurers, not gods. And clearly the gods don’t give a shit.”

Emilia glanced up at the sky. “Maybe they don’t. Though if that’s the case, I’m not sure this is a world I want to live in.”

Hump frowned. He’d not thought of it like that, and he had to admit, the version of the world that Bud saw was a whole lot less miserable than him.

Emilia sighed. “Sorry to add to the problems of the day. I’m alright now. I’ll try to stop feeling sorry for myself.”

“No problem,” Hump said. “I’m always happy to talk if you need a friend.”

She smiled. “Thank you. Really.”

Hump didn’t know what to say, feeling a little awkward at being thanked. “Right, I best check on the horses before heading to bed. Good night.”

“Night, Hump.”

The horses were anxious, their sensitive noses likely still smelling blood. He spent a few minutes trying to reassure them with his presence, but that was all he could last. He was freezing cold, both from the weather and from his essence use, and he needed rest.

He returned to his room and lay down, taking his egg from his pouch and holding it to his chest. Its warmth quickly removed the worst of the chill, and Hump felt a little of his own anxiety fade away as he tapped the mind of the dragon inside. Sleep came easily.

***

Morning arrived too soon. Someone slammed on the door, startling Hump awake.

“What?” Hump snapped.

“There’s a fight in the forest,” Bud shouted. “We need you.”

Hump groaned. He stared up at the roof for a long moment, seething at whatever god cursed him with such back luck. “I’ll be right down.”

The heavy chink of Bud’s footsteps moved away, and Hump staggered to his feet, dreary eyed and dizzy. He blinked back his tiredness—or at least, he tried to. It was light out, so he must have had a good few hours sleep at least, though it didn’t feel like it. A distant bang sounded outside, and adrenaline pumped through him. He dressed quickly, donning his battle robes and cloak, taking up his staff, and clipping on his spellbook.

As he went downstairs, the tavern was clear.

“They’re outside,” Jasper told him, the innkeeper preparing breakfast. “If you’re heading out, come back here first. I’ll make something you can eat on the road.”

“Thank you,” Hump said, hurrying out the door.

People gathered in the square, murmuring nervously as they watched the forest. As another bang sounded, Hump realised why. A flash shone through the canopy, perhaps only a few miles from the village. Hump joined Bud and the others at the front.

“Our orders are to defend the village,” Jacob said. “We’re in no state to take on a dungeon. Even the outer regions of one.”

“I’m giving you new orders,” Marcela said. “That light’s hardly more than a mile away. We can’t just ignore it.”

“Marcela—”

“I wasn’t asking,” she said. “You may hold the higher rank, but I am still a Daston. And I will not leave adventurers to die.”

Jacob clenched his jaw. “Very well. Though if this goes south, know you are going against my recommendation. Any blood will be on your hands.”

“I’m well aware. Everyone, get your things. We leave in five minutes.”

Jacob let out a long sigh and turned away from her, talking with his own party.

Hump approached quickly, catching Marcela before she joined the others. “Are you sure about this? We’re not at full strength, and there’s no telling what’s going on in there.”

“Weren’t you the one to suggest we take the initiative and venture into Stonebark Forest previously?” she asked.

“Yes. But we were tracking ogres, and the dungeon had not yet expanded its domain. This is different. There’s no guarantee it’s even adventurers that are fighting.”

“If information is your concern Jacob is a fourth circle Chosen possessing Lightning Speed.”

Hump frowned. He felt suddenly aware of how much things had changed. Somehow, he had been playing the hero more and more lately. Taking risks where he knew he shouldn’t. This was the difference between adventuring with Chosen and travelling with his master. They were not just there for coin; they were truly there to help people.

And despite the fear rising in Hump, the logical voice in his head telling him that this was risky, that there were too many unknowns; he found himself unable to argue. He was a hedge wizard. They were supposed to follow certain rules if they wanted to live long enough to see a few grey hairs. He wondered when he stopped following the coin. No god was looking his way. There was no reason to care. Nobody had cared about him.

He glanced at his party members, and he knew the reason. All of them full of the same contagious ideals. He wondered which of them it would kill first.