Rock Dogs

I popped the last piece of steamed chicken and bread into my mouth.

According to Aawinda, there was an adventurers' guild if we headed west. That piqued my interest a bit. Well, we were heading east right now, though.

The ladies—Aawinda, Trishiera, Sarsa, and the others—had switched from their earlier silence to girly chatter about how this was delicious and that was delicious. I watched them while checking my status.

Ever since the bird attack, I'd set my third job to Magic Gunner. A shield was awkward to use while riding anyway.

The real escort mission started from here. Heading east meant passing near spawn points.

My role in that would probably be acting as a meat shield on foot if we had to dismount for defense, rather than mounted combat.

With that in mind, I wanted to switch smartly between Magic Gunner and Shieldbearer to get through it.

As I quietly finished my meal, I heard Elliott raise his voice a bit from the far end of the table.

"My apologies."

A skinny middle-aged man with a sleazy grin kept shooting glances our way.

"Sorry, but we're out of time. Gotta go."

Elliott stood to block his line of sight.

"Looks like I got in the way. Sorry 'bout that."

I couldn't see the man's face past Elliott, but he seemed to give up and turn away. What was that about?

The group returned to the wagons at Elliott's urging, and the unusually silent captain muttered,

"One of their guys?"

"Possible. He was definitely probing."

Elliott replied calmly.

"We're being targeted?"

"No need to get paranoid, Yoyo. We don't know who's paying us, but that kind of side-hustle snooping is common."

"Side-hustle..."

"Could be a bigwig from that town, a merchant, or a thief. We stand out as an unusual group, so he poked around."

"..."

Couldn't it just be some clueless drunk? Well, if so, it was nothing to worry about.

"Anyway, let's switch shifts, take a short break, then head out a bit earlier than planned. Sound good, Callwing?"

"No objections."

I tended to my horse and prepped. Elliott, working beside me, seemed as relaxed as ever.

"This is where it gets real, Yoyo."

"Yeah."

"I doubt we'll have pursuers, but unrelated thieves might show, and monsters get tougher from here."

"Yeah. Mounted combat's still not my thing, though I knew that going in."

"Leave the cavalry fighting to the pros. They're all skilled."

"You think?"

"The problem's if we have to stop."

"Figured."

Everyone's levels were high—it was intimidating. Even if I went all-out with the magic gun, could I keep up?

"Don't lose confidence."

"Just do what you can. You've got good instincts."

"Really?"

Rare praise from Elliott on my fighting. Maybe thanks to the Interferer job's initial bonuses boosting my overall stats. My body felt lighter than back on Earth, for sure.

"Time to go. Same positions."

"Got it."

I slipped my foot in the stirrup and swung onto the horse in one motion. I'd gotten the hang of it over the last few days.

No helmet—I'd hooked it to the saddle. Scouting was part of the job, so I needed full vision. Bird monsters swooping from above were the worry, though...

"Move out! Everyone mount up!"

Captain Callwing's shout echoed. He and Elliott traded orders, but was the chain of command solid?

The wagons started rolling, and our horses matched pace alongside without much direction. Smarter than Earth horses, honestly.

Townsfolk parted like the Red Sea for our caravan. Eyes from afar, too—we were drawing attention. I double-checked my chest-holstered magic gun and hip sword.

"Gates open!"

A lead cavalryman had handled it. We rolled out smoothly with the wagons, no delays.

The scenery didn't change much, but the road widened a tad, and woods thickened on both sides. Visibility dropping—attackers would have the edge. Afternoon travel would demand vigilance.

After a while riding, a lead rider returned to Callwing with a report. Callwing grilled him sternly, then called Elliott. The caravan slowed to a crawl.

Something up? Hand on my magic gun, ready to bolt, I spotted a crowd ahead—but they were scattering to clear the road.

"Who goes there?"

"Locals. Ain't blockin' no fancy procession. Move along."

"Appreciated."

Callwing's exchange ended peacefully. Kinda anticlimactic.

Staying alert, I eyed the locals hugging the right roadside as we passed. Spears, bows, axes—they looked like a militia.

Shabby clothes, average-uncle vibes. Monsters roaming meant even locals armed up to go out. Tough life.

"...Pick up the pace."

Callwing ordered. Elliott had no issue, so we shifted to trot—then full gallop. What the hell?

Over 30 minutes at that speed before a break in a roadside clearing. Horses parked side-by-side.

Too fast—could've wrecked the horses. What was the plan?

"We made it somehow."

"Huh?"

Elliott sighed it out, startling me. That close?

"Thieves, probably."

Callwing dismounted with a grim face.

"Those guys?"

"Yeah. You didn't let your guard down, did you?"

"No."

(A little, maybe.)

"That nosy guy earlier one of theirs? Can't let up."

"Why not attack if thieves?"

"Likely chickened out at our heavy-armed caravan."

Callwing said; Elliott nodded.

"Felt like locals moonlighting as bandits. They're sharp on profit and avoiding risks. No forcing it."

"...Scoped our strength and bailed?"

"No proof. But leads said they were blocking scouts—not just hunters."

"Not chasing them?"

"We're on escort duty now."

"Miss's safety first. Don't mix priorities, mercenary."

Callwing returned to his men.

Letting them go might doom the next travelers... but oh well.

"Report to gate guards next town. Won't do much, but whatever."

"Yeah."

"No evidence anyway. Can't be helped."

Bit frustrating, but that's how it worked here.

With our ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠force, we could've won—but if it was just me and Sarsa, we'd evade and run. Safety first, obviously.

Shaking it off, we remounted. Right-side woods thinned, glimpses of green plains beyond; left stayed mountainous, road snaking east to avoid it.

Figured those thief-locals had backed off, smooth sailing—then Trishiera spotted something.

"Something off in the left woods! Stay sharp!"

Black shadows burst from the trees right after—quadrupedal, big-dog sized, with freakishly long fangs like from a childhood "extinct animals" book. What were they called again?

"Fang Dogs!"

Someone yelled. They poured from the left woods—Elliott's side. I could only watch from right-guard.

The wagon-pulling draft horse suddenly stumbled hard, barely recovering—but speed dropped, no outrunning now.

"Rock Dogs too! Halt and fight!"

Rock Dogs?

Hearing the unfamiliar term, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I reined in, dismounted, donned my helmet, drew sword, raised shield. A Fang Dog that missed its first lunge wheeled for another pass.

I dropped low, shield tight to guard left, right arm relaxed with sword horizontal for counter. Helmet mesh for vision—trusted it for head protection.

Pre-mission research: Fang Dogs common; key was not getting dragged down. They mobbed fast, agile vs. humans—wide defense, read attacks, counter.

True to warnings, it accelerated short-burst, leaping at my right arm—vital or biteable spot.

I barely thrusted sword into its path. Dull thunk—bounced off fangs.

As I reset, it landed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and circled—but an arrow nailed its brow.

"Gyaaan!!"

Trishiera or Sarsa from rear archery. No time to check.

Leaks from Elliott's side targeted me.

"Form up! Swords out!!"

Cavalry fanned around wagons front-rear. Spearmen flanked me left-right. Grateful.

Second wave: Defense-counter bounced them. One shield-smashed and staggered—I slammed sword, sandwiching it to ground.

"Kyauun!"

It went still with a pitiful yelp.

Another dove low—but armor held. I shook it off, sword-smacked.

Sudden right-foot slip—over-swing momentum sent me sprawling.

Fangs in face; I grabbed its neck two-handed, strangled bare inches from bite. Close...

Retrieved dropped sword/shield; ground was gouged—dented, really.

"What the...?"

"Rock Dog! Uses earth magic!"

Someone from flank-guard yelled.

Rock Dog the boss? Not in guild mats...

"How to fight?"

"...Just watch out!"

Useless advice. Shield up, sword counters.

Sudden floating rock beside me—sword-batted it off-course.

Neighboring guard: "Thanks!"

Glanced direction: Fang Dogs lurking, behind them a bloated-faced big dog staring.

"Hey, you the Rock Dog? Come on!"

Futile taunt—it stared motionless.

Side Fang Dog lunged—smashed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it, eyes back.

"Hiding behind guards, huh?"

Heavy fighting behind—Elliott's side main battlefield.

Couldn't divert without killing that sleazy boss dog. Saturate a line otherwise.

Left close-in Fang Dogs to spearmen, charged.

Burly guard dogs growled, primed. Bring it!

They bared fangs in threat.

Like I'd flinch now!

Sword shouldered, shield forward mid-charge.

They leaped en masse—but staggered timing by position. Peel one-by-one.

Front: shield. Rightmost: overhead sword. Off-balance, no direct hit.

Left: shield spin. Next two frontal: upward sword sweep... but dodged easy—slow read or speed?

No matter. Dropped sword, bodied one flying. Last bit my left arm joint—armor dulled pain, adrenaline too.

Shook biter, charged Rock Dog—but massive rock floated front.

Rock Dog barked, head-shake hurled it.

Bad!

Open right arm to chest, gripped magic gun, max-MP blast. And another.

No fine control—gut max power.

Shrieking light-bullets. Collision—rock shattered, fragments everywhere.

Rock Dog?

Dust cleared: pitched forward, down.

My wild second shot—curving sniper round—hit vital by luck.

Massive fatigue hit—like something scooped from my body. MP drain.

Not over.

Spear pierced biter from behind. Clutch save.

Left hand... works.

Shield up, gun holstered, sword retrieved.

Few Fang Dogs left here. Aid Elliott next...

"Nerves and bones intact. Treatable here."

Patch the Healer laid hands; pale blue light sealed the bite puncture fast, pain nearly gone.

Post-fight tension drop made it throb—Elliott's crew prioritized me. Bless them.

"Disinfected too. Should be fine—but not fully healed, so take it easy today."

"...Escort duty."

"Can't help that. No heroics."

Yeah, solo boss charge was showy. Was zoned out in battle, though.

Only one Rock Dog, apparently. Tricky earth-magic user; strays sometimes led or mixed with dog packs. Coordinated or tagalong? Unclear.

Guard formation suggested leading, IMO. Whatever—dead.

It tripped the draft horse too—same dent magic that floored me.

Horse recovered with slowdown; I ate dirt.

"Thanks."

Thanked Patch, next patient.

No major injuries elsewhere. Pros.

Elliott sparkled with Flower Warrior skills, mowing them down.

"Numbers were high. Bad luck."

He was unscratched, naturally. Chatted till prep done—alertly, of course.

"Too many horses, maybe."

"Cavalry scared off thieves?"

"Monsters don't care. More horse-bait drew 'em."

"Huh..."

Humans vs. monsters: opposite reactions under same conditions. Wild.

"Didn't see Marie fighting..."

"She was here. Went guerrilla into woods mid-fight."

Marie's packhorse bolted or froze in hard scraps—tough mounted. Dismounted early for intercept.

Attack from her side (left, forward), so fought there.

Minor scratches/claw marks. Queued at Patch's impromptu clinic, low priority.

"Sarsa's support was gold. Not low-level at all."

"Yeah?"

"You've got talent. Accuracy's there—power next."

"Power, huh. Don't wanna bulk up, so hope stat bonuses kick in."

Elliott laughed agreement—not into muscles either?

(But Marie's ripped... athlete/fitness model buff, not wrestler.)

Whatever.

"Strength matters, but bows vary wildly in power. High-power's tough to draw—still needs muscle."

"Got it. Upgrade to stronger bow eventually..."

"Yup. Your sword first, though..."

Elliott eyed my blade, wry smile.

"That bad?"

"Eh, fine for brute force. Worn-in, but upgrade soonish."

"Yeah..."

Cheap junk. No edge, but crushing weight felt natural now. Stick with it—broke too.

Money post-job. Port town should have good stock.

"Keep watch—treated folks, strip carcasses."

Trishiera called from wagon-top.

Prioritized retreat over loot—magnet for more monsters—but grabbed some bodies.

"Yoyo, take the Rock Dog magic stone."

"For real?"

I downed it solo, but Elliott's side was main fight—felt greedy. Still taking.

"No complaints—you solo-killed it."

"Thanks then."

Earthy, smooth, near-perfect sphere—high quality sign, right?

"Nice stone."

"Valuable?"

"Probably."

Uses galore, but I'd sell—no connections.

High price? Good.

"Treatment done. Depart now?"

Pocketing it, fumbling other Fang Dog stones—Patch jogged to Elliott.

"Thanks, good work. If Callwing's good, let's roll."

No objections from antsy Callwing—caravan eastbound again soon.