Ardale smelled the bodies long before she saw them. The night sky made seeing any rising smoke difficult, but that was no obstacle to her sharp nose. It of burning meat. It wasn't game meat either, neither venison nor fowl. was a stench she’d only ever scented in war, when she’d personally witnessed entire cities being put to the torch. It was the scent of burning human flesh.

Alerted, Ardale began to run. She was a lithe, beautiful girl, who kept her dark hair tied back in a practical ponytail, dressed in protective black traveling leathers and a short cloak that kept her comfortable and warm when she had to spend long hours in the wilderness. She'd spent the day carefully traversing the monster filled Duskan Woods, also known as “The Darkened Forest,” and now night had fallen over it, saturating her surroundings in eerie darkness. Nothing she couldn’t handle, of course.

She was the best.

Ardale was what was commonly known as a Reclaimer. For the right amount of money, she risked her life seeking lost knowledge of the world and selling it to the highest bidder. Her profession was often derided as mere treasure hunting or scavenging, but she could care less about the heated words of jealous losers who couldn’t match her skills. Let their envious tongues waggle while she happily counted her gold.

Her mission this night was an interesting one. She’d been contracted by the famous Aureum Order on a mission to locate two missing reclaimers who had originally been hired to investigate the Duskan woods in search of a suspected dungeon. Ardale normally eschewed search and rescue quests; rescuing hostages always involved dealing with lowly criminals or getting immersed in s, and really, who had time for that nonsense?

Also, rescuing foolish reclaimers who had gotten in over their heads was simply beneath her. Reclamation was a dangerous business that quickly sorted the wheat from the chaff. The attrition rate for beginners was staggering. As it be. That was what allowed a proven veteran like Ardale to name her price.

Still, adding a possible to the mix was enough to make this worth her time. Dungeons were areas of the world that had somehow become infected with reality warping void magic that terraformed them into gateways to other realities. Each one was unique and filled with dangerous aetheric beings and monsters. But they were troves of extremely rare knowledge and artifacts. Conquering dungeons was a surefire path to fortune and fame; the profits that could be mined from discovering one were

With that in mind, Ardale took the job. If the glory of discovering a dungeon should go to anyone, it may as well be her.

Ardale was familiar with the missing reclaimers she’d been sent to find. Mayhew and Amanda Barrow, a husband-and-wife team she’d come across on more than a few jobs. Not rank amateurs, but not exactly on her level either. Few were. But they were capable of doing somewhat respectable work. Honestly, though, they’d been the very definition of middling, working-class talent. How had a pair of pluggers like discovered the location of a dungeon? It boggled the mind.

As Ardale came closer to the source of the scent, she heard laughter. It was harsh, guttural, bestial. Could the throats of men produce so repugnant a sound? How could laughter be so Her flesh crawled just to hear it, as though the filthy noise was coating her skin in vile mucilage. Cautioned now to slow her approach, Ardale decided to observe from the cover of a large tree, where she wouldn’t easily be seen. A terrible sight greeted her.

There were monstrous-looking figures surrounding a poorly constructed cooking fire: ugly and misshapen gray shapes with slumped shoulders. She’d seen their like before, and an intense loathing for them quickly roiled up from deep within her. It was what some might call ‘the Arachnid Effect.’ The encounter with something so fundamentally opposed to your idea of what should , that you cannot help but wish it extinguished at once.

Ardale hated these things. She knew them to be a wrongness in her world; something the creators had never intended.

, she thought to herself.

With that recognition came a terrible thought:

It was unlikely. The Skarn were vicious creatures, feared for their sadistic urges. Torture and things than torture, were what they inflicted upon those unfortunate enough to fall into their grasp. Although the temple taught its believers that none of the mortal races were completely evil, and all were deserving of salvation, the Skarn fought hard to dispel that optimistic notion. Everything they did was deviltry; they did not deserve to exist.

The proof of it lay in what had been done to the Barrows. From her hiding place, Ardale soon saw a pair of bodies beside the fire. From the size of the first one, she knew it had been Mayhew. He’d been a hardworking man in his middle years, used to a life of toil, but always quick to laugh. He’d been strong too, a powerful figure who towered over smaller men. Confident, and kind, there was little in the world he feared. Now, he was nothing more than a mound of unknitted skin and muscle. Pieces of him had been torn away and were now being cooked by his slavering murderers.

When death claimed him, his eyes had been wide open. His expression was…terrible. But that was nothing compared to the attention the Skarn had paid his wife. The sight of Amanda Barley’s body broke something inside Ardale’s mind.

This was an unkind world, she knew. The weak were often preyed upon, and "justice" was often decided by who drew their sword faster or lied more convincingly. But even knowing that, Ardale rebelled against the horror set before her eyes. This was wrong. No, worse than wrong, This. Was. . No one deserved to die like this, not even rivals in business.

Worst of all was the delight these smiling killers took in their deeds. They had ransacked the Barleys’ belongings and were now dancing happily before their campfire, as if they were rejoicing in the very act of erasing their victim’s existence. Their joy was poisonous to her.

Murderous anger flooded Ardale’s heart, and although she ordinarily disdained such intense feelings, she was now lost in a blinding red rage. She was going to kill each one of those bastards. She only regretted she couldn’t do it as slowly and painfully as they deserved. Oh, to hear that laughter changed into screams! To put her hand beneath the breast of one and smile at his helplessness, as she slowly crushed his heart...

The dry rustling of leaves caught her ear and snapped her attention back from her fantasy. Ardale spun to her left and saw a Skarn standing ten paces away, grinning at her. He’d crept up on her while she’d been distracted by her thoughts. That was embarrassing.

Ardale feeling embarrassed.

The light of the campfire was reflected in the Skarn’s yellowed eyes, and it colored his irises red. His gray, lumpy skin looked like an outer layer of sediment, while his oversized limbs and scrawny torso gave him a stick-like appearance of frailty that belied the terrible strength she knew his kind possessed. His needle-sharp teeth completed the horrid image, as he happily ran his tongue against their tips, dribbling blood over his black lips, uncaring in the least of the injury he caused himself.

In his left hand, he held a rusted sword with a pitted blade. In his right hand, he held—himself. An erect stump of pustule encrusted rot that slowly grew more erect the closer he stepped to the girl.

Ardale thought with a snarl.

Before the monster could act on his obscene ardor, Ardale raised an open palm towards him and cast [Wind Spear] which thrust a penetrating burst of condensed air straight into his eye. The Skarn squealed, first in surprise, then in pain. As it did, Ardale quickly closed the distance between them and ran one of her daggers across his throat, a vicious slash from right to left that swiftly transformed the monster’s screams into bloody gurgling. Not satisfied, not satisfied, Ardale drew her other blade and jammed it deeply into the Skarn’s neck before giving it a vigorous twist. Then she pulled it out and brought both of her weapons down repeatedly, relishing the thrill of dominating a lesser thing.

This was good. This was right. This was fun.

This was

It had been a while since she’d last killed anyone. Not that she counted this appalling mockery of life as a person. Ardale much preferred completing her missions cleanly when she could. It always felt strange having to do otherwise. Strange, but not unpleasant. Some people to die; That was just a fact.Her satisfaction in her kill was interrupted by alarmed shouting coming towards her. The Skarn’s howls had drawn the attention of his allies. That was good. She was warmed up now.

The fools came rushing at her, roaring with hate and need. They saw an attractive woman standing in the dark over their mutilated brother and raced to her, heedless of her blades. They weren’t particularly interested in avenging him, so much as hurting There was nothing the skarn enjoyed as much as destroying that which was beautiful. The sight of her filled them with glee. Until she began filling them with

They had the numbers and ferocity. Ardale had skill and magic. It was a one-sided slaughter. She danced gracefully between them; her speed was now increased to superhuman levels by the spell: [Grace of the Wind] which allowed her to easily evade their clumsy attempts to grab at her, while she also deflected the untrained strikes of their weapons. Her blades tore fiercely into their malformed bodies, opening their flesh, which provided them as much resistance to her as brittle fall leaves.

When she was done, only one was left standing, staring at her in horrified bewilderment. His expression seemed to say:

Ardale’s withering smile seemed to say:

She raised her open palm towards him. He turned to run, but it was far too late.

A high-pitched shriek of agony filled the night.

Now feeling much better, Ardale continued with her mission.

__

Ardale was making good progress. A life lived outdoors had given her great stamina that was well above that of an ordinary person. This, combined with her natural gift for wind magic, gave her speed that couldn’t easily be matched. On flat terrain, she covered great distances easily.

. Where had they come from? For those disgusting creatures to be this far north, it was simply unheard of! had to have brought them here intentionally; It was unlikely that a single party of raiders could travel the great distance here from their homelands without being challenged. There was also likely more of them than that group she’d butchered; Skarn were cowards who preferred the safety of large numbers.

The fact that they had appeared in the vicinity of a suspected dungeon led Ardale to one of two possible conclusions: Either the creatures were spawning from within the dungeon and were now moving into the outside world, which while unpleasant to think of, was certainly a possibility, or more likely, considering how weak those monsters had been, a rival faction opposing the Aureum Order was now laying claim to the Dungeon and had summoned the skarn to protect their interests. There was only one way to find out.

she decided.

There was a town within fifteen kilometers of the Duskan Woods. What had its name been? Duskvale? Duskvynn? No, no, it had been That was the name! It was an unnassuming place, nothing special, barely important enough to have cobbled roads. The sort of town Ardale would have never given a moment's thought to while flying over it in a sky-carriage. They were going to have to be warned. When Skarn gathered in enough numbers, they always began wandering.

They’d eventually discover the town and raid it. The people living there may have been provincial nobodies, but that didn’t mean they deserved to be turned into playthings for monsters.

Ardale thought smugly to herself.

Which was the exact moment she ran face-first into the stranger’s chest.

__magic

Time passed. Seconds, minutes, hours? It was hard for Ardale to tell. Did she have a concussion? She groaned and tried to stand up, before stumbling back down as a sudden spell of dizziness stole her balance. Gingerly, she traced her hand across her forehead and winced at the light contact; when she inspected her fingertips, they were wet with blood.

he asked herself.

A moment later, a shadow fell across her face, answering her question.

The first thing Ardale noticed about the stranger, was that he was almost naked; he was shirtless and barefoot and wore a tattered pair of breaches that were barely hanging in there.

The second thing Ardale noticed, was that he was He was covered in dried blood and dirt, and he didn’t smell very nice either. He was thin, bordering on malnourished, and stood at an average height, with overgrown brown hair that flapped wildly over his youthful face. He didn’t look very old…in fact by Ardale’s estimate, he was barely out of boyhood, probably still in his late teens. He was pale, too. As if his skin hadn’t been kissed by the sun in months.

His eyes were an unusual shade of hazel that shone above the bruised-looking bags beneath them. Those bags made him look like he slept poorly. If Ardale had to describe this boy, but was only permitted the use of one word, it would be: Or perhaps, Despite his surroundings, he looked very happy. But it was the sort of you crossed the street to avoid. The sort of you fled on a dreary night.

A dreary night like tonight, for example.

The stranger turned his eyes to Ardale and smiled at her. Suddenly, she felt like a beetle that was a breath away from being skewered with a needle by a cruel child. The manic intensity of his smile bludgeoned her, made her feel weak and exposed.

Ardale felt

she cursed inwardly. What was wrong with her? This was just some stupid boy. She wasn’t afraid. made her feel afraid!

“Watch where you’re going,” she growled at the stranger after climbing back to her feet. She didn’t yell. She didn’t to. The harshness that outlined her voice suggested that one should always listen carefully when she spoke, no matter her volume.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” muttered the boy. She gave him another onceover, mindful to keep a certain distance between them.

“I really didn’t see you there. Sorry,” he repeated. He shrugged his shoulders haplessly and gave her an embarrassed grin. “It gets dark around here!”

“So, I see,” Ardale said. “And just what are doing out here dead in the center of the Duskan Woods? It’s a dangerous place for a boy your age to go camping.”

A small frown creased the stranger’s brow before he resumed his friendly expression. “Well, gosh ma’am, I was just walking my dogs was all! Must have lost track of the time.”

“You just lost track of the ,” Ardale said with suspicion.

“Goodness, why’d you say it like that?”

“Because I think you’re lying. From the sight of you, you’ve been out here for ages. Doing what, I wonder?”

“Hey, I feel like we got off on the wrong start! Uh, do you want me to apologize again?”

“Are you going to answer my question?” Ardale asked mildly.

“I told you; I was walking my dogs!”

“Then where are they?”

“Heh, funny you should ask.”

Multiple low-pitched growls came to Ardale’s ears as she realized to her chagrin that she’d been surrounded. Six large and dangerous looking wolf-like monsters now stood around her, baring their teeth in warning.

Ardale relaxed her hands and took a deep breath to still her pounding heart. , the idiot had said. These weren’t dogs, they were a pack of Dire-Fangs! It made no sense, Dire-Fangs were ferociously independent and were far likelier to eat a man than obey him. Who was this boy? It was time to find out!

One of the main secrets to Ardale’s success as a Reclaimer besides her relentless physical and magical training, was her unique gift. She possessed the skill: [Discerning Eye]. It was an extremely rare, highly coveted B-ranked ability that granted her instant knowledge about anything or anyone she turned it towards.

It had saved her life many times over the years by letting her know which battles to avoid, and which battles she could win. It had also made her quite a bit of money by alerting her to when supposedly rare items of power were little more than manufactured fakes, or when supposed pieces of scrap were in reality incredibly valuable finds.

With the eye, she had knowledge, and knowledge was power.

Name: Morrison Cobb

Race: Human

Level: 3

Alignment: Neutral Good.

Attack: 20

Mana: 0/0

Skills: Wood-cutting.

Threat Assessment: Minimal.

Ardale thought uncharitably to herself. The Dire-Fangs themselves were only level five. Nothing here was a threat to her. She put her hands on her hips irritably and pointed a finger at the boy.

“Call them off kid, or I’m collecting their pelts. Damn it, wasting my time with this crap,” she muttered.

“Huh?” the boy asked, confused.

“I call them off! Look, I’m on a job here, and I’ve got no time to play with a local weirdo. How did some woodcutting yokel like you get this far into these woods without getting eaten by something? You’re a lot luckier than you look, Morrison.”

“Who?” he asked with what seemed like sincere confusion. Ardale wasn’t buying it.

“Drop the act, already! How’d you tame these Dire-Fangs anyway? I know you don’t have a beast taming skill. Let me guess, you stole them from their mother when they were still pups! Only scrubs resort to kidnapping babies.”

“Hey! I only did that once and I gave her back when I got paid—err, now?”

“Whatever, I don’t care! Take my warning though, boy: There are skarn running wild in this forest, and if they find you, they’re going to make you their bride. Take your little pack and get lost. Don’t bother thanking me, just leave while you still can.”

Ardale stepped closer to Morrison and gave him a final discerning look before saying:

“By the way, what kind of a woodcutter travels this far into a forest and forgets his Maybe you should seek a different profession? Just a thought.”

With that said, Ardale pushed past Morrison and continued on her way.

Long after she left, “Morrison” could only scratch his head in bewilderment and say:

“Huh?"