Rial limped through the open gates of Berwick, the nearest settlement to the edge of the Beast Plains. His cloak hung in tatters, and the dull ache in his ribs made every breath a chore. Dust clung to his boots, and the scent of dried blood still clung to him from the fight that had nearly ended his life. He kept his head low as he entered the streets, not wanting to draw attention before reaching his destination.
Berwick was small, the kind of place most adventurers saw only as a rest stop on their way to bigger cities. Cobbled streets led to squat stone buildings, and the smell of damp earth mixed with the sharper scent of cooked meat from the taverns. Rial ignored them all and made for the wooden hall near the center of the square, where a faded sign swung on rusty chains.
The words "Inspire Guild" were painted in flaking gold across the sign. Rial pushed through the double doors and stepped inside.
The guild hall was modest. A single long table ran through the center of the room, with chairs scattered around it. A bulletin board on the far wall held a handful of notices, most curling at the corners from age. Only eight people sat in the hall, all talking quietly until they noticed him. The conversations stopped, replaced with curious stares.
The Inspire guild was small by any measure, a group of eight who carried themselves with the pride of seasoned warriors despite their modest rank. They were united more by ambition than fame, clinging to the hope that one great achievement could lift them out of obscurity. Leather armor, mismatched steel, and travel-stained cloaks spoke of long days on the road. Some wore trophies from past hunts, trinkets of beasts brought down together. They moved with the confidence of comrades who trusted one another in battle. What they lacked in renown, they meant to make up for in determination.
A man in his late twenties stood from the far end of the table. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline framed by short black hair. His eyes were a deep green, quick to narrow when he weighed a man's worth. A thin scar cut from his left temple to his cheek, a mark of some fight he refused to speak of. His armor was better kept than the others, polished steel layered over reinforced leather. Across his back rested a heavy glaive, its curved blade gleaming in the torchlight. his stance carried authority, every movement deliberate, as if the world were a battlefield he had already measured.
"You look like you ran into trouble," the man said, stepping closer.
Rial met his gaze. "I have a message. A warning, if you are smart enough to take it."
The man smirked faintly. "I am Rurik. Leader of Inspire. We can handle trouble."
Rial leaned forward, letting his voice drop so the others would have to strain to hear. "There is a fledgling vampire living in the Beast Plains. Young, but dangerous. He has at least one goblin with him. Strong, quick, and willing to kill adventurers."
The guild members shifted uncomfortably. Rurik's eyes narrowed. "A vampire?"
"Yes," Rial said. "I fought him and barely escaped. His lair is near the plains' southern edge. He will not stop killing. If you want to make a name for yourself, he is your target."
Rurik's lips curved into a slow smile. "We have been waiting for an opportunity like this. If we take him down, we will be known from here to the capital. We leave at first light."
Rial looked at him for a long moment. "Be careful. He is not like others. He will fight you on his terms, not yours."
Rurik turned to his guild. "Rest up. Tomorrow we bring back a vampire's head."
The others murmured with excitement. Rial only hoped they understood what they were walking into.
That night, far from Berwick, the forest lay still under a sky of muted stars. Adair sat cross-legged on a flat stone outside the dungeon entrance. The night air was damp, carrying the scent of pine and the distant call of an owl. Behind him, the dim glow of the Dungeon Core seeped faintly from within, the light spilling just enough to mark the mouth of their home.
They had agreed earlier that someone would always be on watch from now on. Their fight with Rial had proved their location was no longer a secret. Adair had taken the first shift, letting Ebb and Abe rest. The forest around him was quiet but tense, as if the trees themselves waited for something to pass.
Hours stretched into silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or snap of a twig in the underbrush. He felt the weight of it, the reality that danger would come. Eventually, he woke Ebb, then Abe, and the three of them rotated through the night, each keeping an ear tuned to the forest until dawn painted the treetops with pale light.
When morning came, Adair stood before the Dungeon Core and pressed a hand to its surface. "Bear traps," he said aloud. "Enough to ring the entrance."
The Core hummed, and with a shimmer of light, heavy iron traps materialized on the stone floor. Each was large enough to snap a wolf's leg clean through. Ebb grinned as they carried them outside, setting them carefully in a rough perimeter hidden beneath leaves and branches.
Once satisfied, they moved deeper into the forest, searching for signs of the enemy they knew was coming. It was not long before Ebb froze, lifting a hand. Through the brush, they saw movement — a line of eight figures approaching, weapons and armor glinting between the shadows.
Adair motioned for silence. One member lagged several paces behind, adjusting the straps of her pack. Abe's eyes narrowed, and he slipped away without a sound. The girl never made a noise when he slid the blade between her ribs and lowered her to the ground. They pulled her body into the shadows, leaving the trail ahead undisturbed.
The rest of the guild pressed on, unaware their number had already dropped to seven.
When they reached the dungeon clearing, a sharp metallic snap echoed through the air. One of the adventurers cried out, collapsing as a bear trap clamped around her leg. The others rushed to her side, shouting orders and trying to pry the jaws open.
Abe used the moment, melting into the tree line. He reappeared behind a distracted swordsman, his blade flashing once across the throat before the man slumped wordlessly into the undergrowth.
Now there were six left, one injured and screaming.
While all eyes turned to the injured woman and the frantic attempts to free her from the steel jaws, Adair was already moving. He slipped through the treeline, silent as breath, and reached the dungeon entrance unseen. The shadow of the stone archway swallowed him whole. Inside, he climbed into the narrow vent above the main chamber, his body pressed flat against the cold stone as he waited for prey to walk beneath.
Rurik's expression darkened as he realized something was wrong. "Two stay with her," he barked. "The rest with me. We take the dungeon now before we lose anyone else."
He and two others advanced. Outside, two stayed behind with the injured woman, unaware they were already being circled by Ebb and Abe.
Inside, Adair crouched in the upper vents, his body pressed low against the cold stone. The air was stale and heavy, carrying the faint scent of dust and iron. Every breath he drew was slow and controlled, his ears tuned to the muffled clink of armor and the quiet shuffle of boots on stone. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed faintly up the narrow passageways, the cadence uneven as they moved through the dungeon's outer chamber.
He tightened his grip on his weapon. The vent's darkness wrapped around him like a second skin, his eyes fixed on the space below. Shadows shifted as three figures entered the chamber. The first passed directly beneath him, head lowered in concentration, unaware of the danger overhead.
Adair did not hesitate. His legs coiled, then released, and he dropped like a falling shadow. The stone blurred around him, his blade flashing once before it struck home. Steel punched through cloth and flesh, slicing into the man's spine. The force of the impact drove the man to the ground with a wet thud. His body twitched once before going still, a dark pool already spreading beneath him.
The other two reacted instantly. They spun toward the movement, weapons raised, their eyes wide with alarm. One wielded a short sword and shield, The leader Rurik carried a heavy glaive. They advanced together, their steps measured, forcing Adair back with a coordinated flurry of attacks.
Adair met the first swing with a hard parry, the jolt of impact running up his arm. He pivoted, using the momentum to deflect the second attacker's thrust. His movements stayed tight and economical, conserving energy and protecting his center. But they pressed him with skill, their strikes coming faster now, testing his defenses.
A blade kissed his arm, the tip cutting through the leather of his sleeve and grazing his skin. The sting of the wound was sharp and hot, followed by the warm trickle of blood. Adair shifted his footing, angling toward the wall to keep them from surrounding him completely.
One of them lunged high, the other low, a coordinated effort meant to end the fight quickly. He twisted away from the low strike and caught the high one on the flat of his blade, the sound of steel scraping against steel ringing in the chamber. He could feel his strength waning under their combined pressure. Each clash rattled his bones, and their footwork was driving him toward a corner where he would have no space to move.
Rurik used his glaive and feinted left, then struck right, his edge grazing close to Adair's ribs. Adair stepped back sharply, his heel touching cold stone. There was nowhere left to retreat.
The short sword rose in a high guard, the tip aimed down in preparation for a killing blow. Adair braced, every muscle tensing for the desperate counter he would need to survive.
Movement flickered at the edge of his vision.
From the far side of the chamber, two shapes emerged from the shadows, silent as the grave. Ebb came first, his cleaver glinting red, his other hand clutching a severed head by the hair. Abe followed close behind, his smaller frame moving with predatory grace, his dagger still dripping. They stepped into the light together, their eyes cold and unreadable.
The smell of blood filled the air, thick and metallic.
Rurik looked towards them and his heart sank, his attention caught by the grisly trophies. His breath faltered, and in that moment the certainty of victory drained from his eyes. The other member, the one with the short sword, froze completely, the blade held rigid as if his mind could not command his arms to move.
It was enough.
Adair lunged forward with sudden speed, his blade angling up beneath the man's guard. The steel punched through mail and muscle, driving deep into the chest. The man's breath caught, his body going rigid before the weight of him sagged onto Adair's shoulder. Adair wrenched the blade free, stepping back as the man collapsed to the floor.
Rurik stood solemnly in the chamber and stared at him, then at the two hobgoblins. His gaze darted between their weapons and the heads they carried, his mouth working without sound. A thin tremor ran through him, the fight gone from his posture.
Adair did not give him time to recover. He stepped forward with measured precision, his eyes locked on the man's. The strike was swift, his blade sinking into the gap between collar and helm. The body crumpled like a dropped sack, lifeless before it hit the ground.
The chamber fell into silence, broken only by the slow drip of blood onto stone.
Ebb tossed one of the heads aside with a dull thump and wiped the flat of his cleaver against his leg. Abe crouched beside the fallen short sword wielder, turning the body slightly to ensure the kill had been clean. Their expressions carried no triumph, only a calm focus that came from doing what needed to be done.
Adair lowered his weapon but did not sheathe it. His breathing slowed, the edge of battle tension still clinging to him. He looked at the two hobgoblins, his mind briefly tracing the path they must have taken outside to end three lives and return here in time to turn the fight.
"You were fast," Adair said, his voice low, the words meant for them alone.
Ebb grunted, his eyes meeting Adair's for a moment before shifting to scan the shadows of the chamber. "They not strong."
Adair glanced toward the corridor leading out of the dungeon. "Gone." His tone was final. "No one is left alive."
The three of them stood in the quiet, surrounded by the dead. The air was heavy with the scent of blood, sweat, and steel. Adair's grip on his weapon loosened, but the weight of what they had done settled in his chest. Eight had come, confident and sure. None would leave.
They dragged the bodies inside until all eight lay in a row.
Adair leaned over the first body, sinking his fangs in. The taste hit like fire and thunder, surging through his veins in waves that made his hands clench. Each life he drained left him fuller, sharper, more alive than moments before. The Core's voice rolled through his skull, a deep, resonant hum. Evolution complete. Rank: Fangling. Skill acquired: [Bat Form].
Heat swept through his body. His muscles tightened, hardening like tempered steel. His fangs pushed longer, their tips razor-sharp. The red in his eyes darkened to molten crimson, and the world came into sharper focus each heartbeat, each faint whisper of air. He felt taller, his balance surer, the coil of speed in his legs ready to unspool at a thought. The gnawing hunger in his mind eased, replaced by steady control. He rose from the corpses with the quiet, commanding presence of a predator perfected.
Three of the remaining bodies were fed to the Core, the light within flaring brighter. Stone shifted deep within the dungeon, and a new chamber opened a training room, wide and flat, with walls reinforced for combat practice.
The final body was split between the hobgoblins. Ebb pressed his hand to the Core and shuddered as knowledge filled him. Skill acquired: [Cleave].
Abe followed, his breath sharp as he absorbed his gift. Skill acquired: [Camouflage].
Adair looked at them both. They had grown stronger, but so had the danger. Eight adventurers lay dead, and their absence would be noticed. This was not something that would fade quietly.
He rested a hand on each of their shoulders. "From here on, we will not have the peace we had before. They will come for us. And when they do, we will be ready. I will make us strong enough that no kingdom will dare stand against us."
The Core's steady hum filled the silence, and somewhere in the forest, the wind carried the promise of more footsteps to come.