The Grey Fang

"So you're quitting the escort job?" Dorte growled from the coachman's seat. The caravan had detoured around the canyon and reached Valk, the largest free city in the South, three days later than planned.

"Yes. That was the extent of our contract."

"I'll tie you down with a fat annual salary, what do you say? I haven't forgotten how you saved the whole line in that canyon. They say the two hunters who went in that night still haven't been heard from. You're the reason we're all still breathing."

"That's exactly why I can't."

Kyle shouldered his bag. "There's something I need to look into in that canyon. It's not the kind of work I can do while dragging a merchant train behind me."

Dorte glared at him for a long moment, then spat out a torrent of curses and hurled a pouch of silver coins. It was heavier than the five pieces they'd agreed on.

"If you need information in Valk, go find the Grey Fang. Every magic beast request in the South ends up with them. They're nasty sons of bitches, but their skills are the real thing."

"Grey Fang."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"It's a mercenary company. But they say you have to pass a test to get in. You'd better be ready to get your bones broken."

As the carriage pulled away, Pin leaned halfway out of the luggage compartment and waved. He'd made Kyle swear three times over that he'd teach him swordsmanship the next time they met.

Kyle stood there until the caravan disappeared from sight, then stepped into the city.

Valk was loud. While ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the cities of the North held their breath under the snow, the free cities of the South screamed their way through life.

Hawkers, auction houses, street stalls, crowds gathered to watch fights. And threading through all that noise, one word kept slipping in more and more often these days.

Magic beasts.

The roads were blocked, they said. Hunters weren't coming back from the mountains. Mercenary rates had tripled.

Kyle stood for a long time in front of the request board in the square. Half of it was covered in magic beast subjugation jobs. The dates showed they had all flooded in during the past two months. Horned boars, rock turtles, Shadow Wolves. Species that belonged in the mountains had come down to the roads and villages.

And in the corner of the board, one faded request.

Canyon missing persons search. Two hunter guild members. Suspended after advance payment ran out.

Suspended. It meant they'd run out of money before they could even find the bodies.

The conversation between two vendors biting into pies beside him drifted to his ears.

"Heard the news from the North? They say Valenstein is sending people out. Rumor is they're reaching beyond the border."

"The Grand Duchy? Who are they looking for?"

"How should I know? But it's not a bounty—it's a search ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reward. They want the person alive, without a single hair on their head touched."

Not a single hair touched.

Kyle turned the words over in his mind as he walked past the pie stand. The reason was easy to guess. If an outsider laid hands on a runaway employee, it would damage the Grand Duchy's dignity. Punishment had to come from the master himself to serve as a proper example.

The report about him disarming Raimund's sword had probably reached them by now, so his list of offenses had only grown longer.

One more reason to hurry.

He needed a place where money and information gathered, a place the North's hand couldn't easily reach.

The Grey Fang's base was a rundown tavern in the back alleys behind the docks. Instead of a sign, a wolf skull was nailed above the door.

When he opened it, a hundred eyes stabbed into him, scanned his appearance, then lost interest and drifted away. An old iron sword. A threadbare coat. For all the world, a country bumpkin come to strike it rich.

"Whoops, friend. Looks like you took a wrong turn."

The man sitting by the entrance crossed his legs and called out. A red-haired mercenary around Kyle's age, with a cheeky twist to his mouth.

"This ain't a tavern, it's a mercenary company office. Go buy your drinks two alleys over."

"I'm here to join."

"...Huh?"

"The mercenary group. I heard there's an entrance test."

The redhead looked Kyle up and down three times. Then he suddenly clapped and shot to his feet.

"Hey! Everybody hear that? We got a new applicant!"

The tavern exploded with laughter.

"Let's see, your sword is... an iron one? Did you steal it from a museum? No armor, coat's from the North. Ah! So you're one of those guys. The ones who heard that picking up a sword instead of digging potatoes up North would turn your life around and came running down here?"

"Something like that."

"He says something like that! And he's honest too!"

The redhead slapped his own knee, laughing. There was no malice in it. That somehow made it more irritating.

"Look, bumpkin, I'm giving you real advice here. Our test isn't something a person should take. The captain oversees it himself. You know who our captain is—"

"An Aura User. Former royal knight. Nicknamed the Axe Demon."

Someone shouted from the back of the tavern, and the whole room laughed again.

"Yeah, the Axe Demon! Last month three applicants showed up and all three got carried out on stretchers. One of them still only eats porridge. So you'd better turn around nicely—"

"Where do I take the test?"

The redhead's laughter stopped for the first time. He stared into Kyle's eyes a moment, then shrugged and jerked a thumb toward the back door.

"...Backyard. Hey, you really gonna do it? You're not stopping him? Name's Hugo. Gotta know what to put on your tombstone, so let's introduce ourselves."

"It's Kyle."

"Kyle. Short and clean. Easy to carve on a headstone."

On the way to the backyard the mercenaries poured out after them. The show was free, and the bets were even livelier.

"Ten seconds! Ten seconds and he's on a stretcher, three silver!"

"Cheapskate. The bumpkin has a sharp look in his eyes. Twenty seconds, four silver!"

"Let's bet on how many teeth get knocked out. I say three!"

Hugo rubbed his hands and stuck close to Kyle's side.

"Kyle. Last question as a friend. Any last words? Oh, and just in case, leave your stuff with me. If you die the company takes it anyway. Better your buddy keeps it, right?"

"Were we friends?"

"We are now! Come on, hand it over, that pouch."

"I'll give it to you after."

"Oho, that confidence is nice... Hey, but seriously don't die. I've already buried three entrance buddies. Four would feel wrong."

There was a sliver of real feeling at the end of the joke. Kyle found the shift in temperature strangely interesting as he stepped into the yard.

The backyard was less yard than arena. The sand on the ground was dark, and not from dirt. In the center, a man built like a log sat sharpening an axe.

Vargas. Leader of the Grey Fang. Even sitting, his eye level was barely lower than Kyle's.

"Applicant?"

"Yes."

"One rule. I won't kill you, so come at me like you mean to kill me. Otherwise you'll die."

The axe flew before he finished speaking. No greeting, no stance, no wind-up. Thrown from a seated position, it tore through the air straight at Kyle's face.

The mercenaries who'd come out to watch sucked in a breath.

Kyle tilted his head half a span. The axe grazed his ear and buried itself in the wooden pillar behind him. The sound of the pillar splitting rang across the yard.

"He dodged."

Vargas stood. He drew a second axe from behind his back. This time he didn't throw it. The giant moved with impossible speed. Sand exploded upward as the axe fell from above to below, a single line meant to split him from crown to groin.

Aura clung faintly to the blade. He was serious.

Kyle took a half-step aside and finished his calculations. If he kept dodging, the test would drag on. If it dragged on, someone with good eyes might notice. He had to end it quickly, but in a picture they could accept.

An Aura User subduing an Aura User. With skill, not luck, but only exactly that much skill.

His master would have called it pathetic. A man who used his sword as a scale.

The instant the axe sank into the sand, Kyle stepped forward for the first time. His iron sword wrapped itself in Aura. A thin, pale white light, the level of a knight who had only just stepped into Aura. That light struck the axe handle—or rather, appeared to.

What he had actually cut was the single point where Vargas's grip loosened. The hair-thin gap that appears only at the moment force meets force.

The axe rolled across the sand. When Vargas blinked, the tip of the iron sword had stopped one inch from his throat.

The yard went dead quiet.

"............"

"...Does this mean I've passed?"

Vargas didn't answer. He looked at his empty hand, the axe on the sand, and the sword tip at his throat in order. It seemed like he was counting. Everything that had been contained in that single exchange.

"Hugo."

"Y-yessir!"

"You saw that just now, right?"

"I saw it! Or I think I did! No... I don't know what I saw!"

"Same here."

Vargas picked up the axe. Then, after a long moment, he let out a beast-like roar of laughter.

"Kahaha! Good! An Aura User walks in on his own two feet and I turn him away? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd be the fool! Passed! Bring the contract!"

The mercenaries erupted. Half the noise was arguments over settling the bets. Since it had ended in one exchange instead of ten seconds, everyone who'd placed money was now grabbing each other by the collar.

Hugo ran up first and slapped Kyle on the shoulder.

"Hey! Who the hell are you? You're no potato digger! You saw the captain's axe with your bare eyes... Wait, you're not mad about me calling you a bumpkin earlier, are you? I was on your side the whole time! I knew from the first look—the eyes, man, the eyes were different!"

"I thought you needed the name for the funeral."

"That was a joke! Hey, don't be like that between us!"

Kyle had no idea when "between us" had started, but that night his glass kept getting filled anyway. No one had to tell him to drink; hands simply kept pouring.

When he signed the contract, Vargas asked.

"It's our rule not to ask about your past, but I do need to know what kind of work you want. You picking your own requests?"

"Give me the magic beast requests. Northern roads or the canyon area would be even better."

"The canyon? Even hunters won't go in there these days... Well, fine. Those requests have been a headache anyway. This works out."

And so Kyle became the forty-third member of the Grey Fang.

The problem exploded three days later. Their first request was road patrol. He was paired with Hugo, who didn't shut his mouth once the entire time. Origin, age, sword skill, women, money. Every time Kyle answered with one word, ten came flying back.

"So North-born, twenty-two, learned from some wandering swordsman, no women, no money. Damn, your life really sums up short, huh?"

"Is yours long?"

"Hell yeah! Wanna hear? Me, I'm from the Valk slums, started as a pickpocket, at fifteen I got stabbed and nearly died but the captain picked me up and... Huh? Hey, wait a second. Did you just ask me a question? That's a first! We're actually getting close, aren't we!"

"I'm already regretting it."

"Too late. We've still got an hour left, so listen up."

Hugo's hour wasn't an exaggeration. Though scattered among the chatter were a few useful kernels. That two teams who'd gone out on magic beast requests recently had taken their compensation and broken the contract. That game had completely dried up in the mountains near the canyon. And that every night the beasts howled only toward the south, always south.

All of it pointed the same way. Something was coming down from above.

At a rest stop halfway along the road, Hugo spotted a paper stuck to the wall and whistled.

"Oh, check this out. It's not a wanted poster... it's a search flyer. They're looking for someone from the North. Reward's a crazy five hundred gold coins! Who the hell are they—let's see, name's Ka..."

Hugo's mouth froze. The flyer carried a portrait. It was the work of a skilled artist. Blunt eyes, black hair. No matter how you looked at it, it was the man currently holding the reins beside him.

Hugo looked back and forth between the flyer and Kyle. Three times. Four times. Five times.

"...Hey."

"..."

"What the hell are you?"