The spy did not look like a spy. That was the entire point.
On paper, he was a mason's assistant—another nameless laborer hired to help raise Baron Edrin's newest construction. His hands were rough, calloused by years of pretending to be exactly what he appeared to be. Lime dust clung to his hair and sleeves, stinging his eyes and coating his throat in a chalky film. His clothes were worn, sweat-stained, and perfectly believable.
No one looked at him twice. In a city of builders, a man with a trowel is invisible.
He arrived on the third day of construction. He carried stones and could also be seen making mixed mortar. He always kept his head down and watched. His eyes, sharp and clinical behind a mask of exhaustion, mapped every inch of the rising estate.
The walls were thicker than expected. They weren't what would normally be seen in noble estates, these walls looked fortress-thick. The gate hinges were made of layered iron, built for strength rather than appearance. Nothing about the structure suggested ornamentation. It was a jaw of stone designed to bite back.
The training field caught his attention next. It wasn't a decorative space. It was measured and intentional. He noticed the spacing between the archery markers. The position of the weapon racks—placed for immediate access rather than display. He even noticed the clear sight lines that could be seen from the manor balcony down into the courtyard.
He did not see arrogance when he evaluated the construction site. He saw an estate being built with preparation in mind. He did not see luxury. He saw an estate built with many occupants in mind.
Three core figures appeared regularly on the site. The one thought to be the leader, then there was the woman with calculating eyes and the heavy-built warrior. He saw no guards or patrols around the construction site. It was as if the estate would be hosting phantom guards.
He recorded everything he saw. Nothing else. He noted down the three who always appear amidst the construction. He mentioned how once finished, the estate would be heavily fortified. He mentioned the signs that seemed to hint at preparations for growth. And nothing more. The report he would eventually deliver would be simple. There were three members on site, and that no army or guards other than them could be seen.
+++++
That evening, long after the workers had departed and the half-built estate had settled into silence, the manor's interior remained dim and unfinished. The air smelled of wet stone and curing timber.
In an upper chamber—stone laid but not yet plastered—Aleric sat at a plain wooden table. A lantern burned low beside him, its flame dancing in the draft from the unglazed window.
Fenrir lay several paces away, his massive frame occupying nearly half the room. Silver-black fur caught the lantern light in muted waves. One golden eye remained partly open. It was clear he was resting and not asleep. The wolf was a living shadow, breathing in time with the building.
Athena was elsewhere reviewing supply manifests. Fafnir had gone to inspect the perimeter foundations before nightfall. For the first time since construction began, Aleric was able to sit quietly.
His thoughts drifted toward the estate below. The measured training field. The marked foundations. The rising defensive walls. Every evolution of their power so far had followed the same pattern. Fenrir. Athena. Fafnir. Each of them is a monster in their own right. Each of them also became irreplaceable.
Yet something about that pattern now felt incomplete. A summon with monstrous capabilities is good and all but its inefficient. Each of them at full power is enough to lay waste to entire kingdoms. They are walking nukes. Aleric knew he could not rely on them for everything, especially now that they founded a mercenary company. He can't send a walking calamity to guard a convoy, its overkill. They should be last resorts. For this mercenary company to thrive, it needs a strong foundation, it needs regular men to accept the regular contracts.
Aleric leaned back slowly, careful of the pull in his ribs. "What if I approached this incorrectly?"
Fenrir's ear flicked. "When you summoned us, you were always in a life or death fight except for Athena. Maybe every time you summoned, subconsciously, you thought about needing overwhelming power."
"That is probably it," Aleric agreed.
"And now?"
"I'm considering how else to use this power I was given."
Fenrir's tail shifted once, a soft thud against the stone. "Well, strength is not always measured in individual power."
Outside, as the two of them finished talking and prepared to sleep, the mason's assistant watched the lantern dim in the upper room. He counted them again. There are still three people there and still no army. That was exactly what he would report. With that last thought, he melted into the shadows rushing to report to his master.
+++++++
The following day, before dusk had fully settled, Aleric armed himself. He equipped his full armor, grabbed his spear and shield and started marching out of the semi-built manor. Fenrir rose immediately when he saw it, the silver fur along his neck bristling.
"You're going out?"
"Yes."
"But you're injured."
"I'm functional enough."
Fenrir stared. "I'll accompany you then."
"If I say no?"
"I wasn't asking."
Aleric adjusted his gauntlet, the leather creaking. Sigh. "You think I'll collapse?"
"I think you enjoy testing how much damage your body can take." A pause. "And I would prefer not to drag your unconscious body back through mud."
The tone was calm, almost indifferent. It wasn't. It was the dry concern of a guardian who knew his charge was an idiot.
They left the estate together. What neither of them acknowledged was that Fenrir walked half a step closer than usual.
In the distance, Athena saw them leave. She didn't call out to them. She just followed them silently. Her steps vanished beneath practiced movements. From a distance, she watched the stiffness in Aleric's shoulders. The slight hesitation before taking deeper breaths. The injury hadn't vanished and yet he still decided to head into the forest.
++++
As soon as he entered the forest, he encountered his first monster. A horned boar. As soon as it saw him, it charged. The horned boar slammed into his shield just as he braced. The impact ran straight through his ribs. Pain flared white-hot, a blinding spark that stole his vision for a heartbeat.
Fenrir's ears twitched. "You're slower than before."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Aleric adjusted. He countered. He managed to end the fight quickly, his spear tip finding the soft space behind the jaw.
The second encounter happened two hours later—shadow lynxes—they forced him to perform rapid turns and sharp pivots. Each twist tugged at his healing muscles. Each blocked strike sent vibrations through his bone. Fenrir said nothing, but he stayed ready to intercept any of them, should they go past his guard.
Athena watched from the canopy, a ghost in the leaves. Silent. Assessing.
A scaled drake whelp forced a longer fight. One heavy strike from its tail knocked Aleric backward. His breath left him sharply. For a moment, darkness edged his vision. The world felt distant, muffled by the roar of his own blood.
Fenrir stepped forward. He did not attack but the growl that rolled from his chest filled the clearing, a vibration that shook the very air. The Drake hesitated. That hesitation was enough. Aleric finished it.
Even after this close call, he continued deeper. Fenrir could only huff and shake his head at Aleric's stubbornness.
Then as dawn rose, on his way back to the manor, he came face to face with a forest ogre. It was broad with scarred all over its chest and arms. It carried a crude iron weapon. Their first clash nearly drove Aleric to one knee. The shock tore through his sternum and spine.
Fenrir's voice cut low. "If you fall here, I swear I'll drag you back from the depths of Helheim just to kill you myself for your stupidity with this 'brilliant' night excursion."
Aleric almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he focused on the ogre. He changed his rhythm. He baited the ogre into swinging wide. Fenrir watched it closely from behind, blocking its retreat. Athena moved closer through the shadows nearby, ready to intervene.
The fight dragged on. Pain layered beneath every brace and every thrust of his spear. His breathing grew shallow. He kept his guard up. Finally, Aleric drove his spear beneath the ogre's ribs and twisted. The resistance of the ogres flesh gave way to the cold finality of his spear.
The forest fell silent. Aleric stood motionless, swaying from exhaustion and pain. His chest burned with every breath now that the adrenaline started to fade.
Fenrir watched him carefully. "You're in more pain."
"I'm okay."
Athena stepped from the treeline, her sapphire eyes—now back in her warrior's gaze—unforgiving. "What in Ares' name were you thinking?."
"I wasn't." He confessed, looking down sheepishly.
She studied him. "You worsened your injuries."
"I am…fine...."
Fenrir's tail flicked. "That remains to be seen once at the manor."
++++++++
Aleric did not collapse in the forest. He made it back. In hindsight, that was the mistake.
The moment they crossed the estate gates, the adrenaline faded. The pain did not. It bloomed. Deep. Radiating. His breath shortened without permission. It was not a dramatic or crippling change but it was wrong.
Athena noticed his change in breathing before he reached the manor steps. "You're breathing hard."
"I'm fine, I'm just exhausted."
"I can see that you're favoring your left side."
Fenrir said nothing. He simply watched.
Once they got inside the chamber, Aleric removed his breastplate. The bruising along his sternum had darkened again, turning a deep, sickly purple. The old injury had been aggravated, just like Athena believed.
Athena's expression remained perfectly calm. Which somehow made it worse. It was the calm before the storm front before the lightning strikes.
"You've worsened your ribs. A few might even have fractured again."
"It will mend back together eventually."
"It would have mended already if you hadn't decided to wrestle an ogre while struggling to breathe."
"It was under control. Fenrir was with me."
"It doesn't make it any better. Then there was your fight with the drake. You looked like you almost blackout from its tail slap."
He said nothing. That silence was answer enough.
Athena changed then. The words she spoke were absolute. "You will not leave this room."
"Come on..." Aleric drawled.
"No, it's decided."
From that moment forward, she stayed beside him. She decided that she would stay by his side and make sure he heals and doesn't do anything stupid again. She changed his bandages herself. She adjusted his healing tonics with precise dosing and even watched his breathing patterns to make sure she was breathing right.
"If you attempt to stand without any help," she said calmly once, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger, "I will tie you to this bed."
Fenrir, stretched across the chamber floor, added mildly, "I support that decision."
+++++++
While Athena and Fenrir stayed inside to take care of Aleric and stopped him from leaving his bed, Athena's responsibilities were left unattended. Which Fafnir noticed and despised.
With visible irritation, he assumed her duties. At first, grudgingly. Then efficiently. Then—unexpectedly—well. He oversaw supply chains. He reviewed the construction pacing. He went as far as personally inspecting the foundation reinforcements. He moved through the site like a flame, singeing any worker who moved too slowly.
He met with the quartermaster of the merchant caravan—still in the city, though preparing to depart—and negotiated bulk orders. He arranged for sufficient food reserves. He asked for grain, salted meats, dried legumes, anything with a long shelf life.
"How many men are you provisioning for?" the supplier asked cautiously.
Fafnir's golden eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of draconic hunger in the depths. "Enough."
Weapons followed. Spears, short swords, round shields. All weapons and armor were ordered with the same weapon and armor configurations as Aleric and Athena.
He ordered armor in bulk sizing ranges. Then ordered more just in case. Blacksmiths worked late, the glow of their forges lighting the district like a second sun. Caravans arrived. Crates stacked.
Then Fafnir authorized further construction. Along the inner wall opposite the manor he commissioned a barracks. It would have a long rectangular stone foundation. The interior would have the sleeping quarters where it would be filled with rows of military cots for the men. he authorized the expansion of the training yard. Weapon racks were installed. A supply storage was also commissioned beneath the flooring and for sanitation, proper drainage was engineered.
He reviewed the blueprints twice. Adjusted the spacing for formation drills and approved the expansions. He did it all while looking deeply annoyed.
When Athena briefly came downstairs to inspect the progress before returning upstairs, she paused. "You're handling this competently."
Fafnir crossed his arms, the muscles in his chest rippling. "I'm aware."
"You seem irritated."
"I was not summoned to become a quartermaster, I'm a dragon of all things, this is your job!"
"And yet I have to babysit upstairs."
"....." Fafnir just stared at her, his eyes boring holes into her head.
She ignored his stares and returned upstairs. Satisfied.
++++
From the road beyond the estate wall, the mason's assistant watched.
He saw the foundation to what appeared to be a barracks, he noticed weapon shipments and armor crates with shield stacks entering the compound. Merchants arrived with grain deliveries. Everything he saw led him to believe that there were not going to be three for long. More are on the way.
The spy understood logistics. And logistics did not lie. He counted the incoming crates, marked shipments and estimated the food capacity that was entering the estate.
That evening, he delivered his report. In a dim chamber within the noble district of High Valmere, his master listened.
"Barracks?"
"Yes."
"How many men?"
"Unknown. But from the size of the foundation, i believe it could have a capacity for several dozen."
"All this for mercenaries?"
"It is possible sir."
Silence. Then: "Continue watching."
+++++
Back in the manor chamber, Aleric stared at the ceiling. Frustration simmered beneath enforced stillness. He hated inactivity. He hated weakness.
Athena tightened the banding across his ribs, the pressure firm and final. "You're thinking about leaving again."
"Yes."
"You won't."
"We can't delay the company's expansion anymore."
"You can't stand without feeling pain."
"That's just temporary."
"So is life, if handled poorly."
Fenrir huffed softly. "I would prefer if you stayed alive longer."
Athena's tone softened slightly. "You chose to build a foundation for this mercenary company. It can't grow through your self-destruction."
Aleric turned toward the window. Outside—the stone walls rose, the barracks were being formed, crates were getting stacked. Everything was starting to take shape and soon there will be empty spaces that will be waiting to be filled.
The Gilded Fang was becoming real.
And somewhere beyond the wall—a spy continued to watch. And somewhere beyond him—a master recalculated. The foundation was forming. But foundations attracted attention. And Aleric—still unable to breathe without pain—was about to discover that building quietly did not mean building unnoticed. The world was coming for him, and he was still tied to his bed.