Drennor smiled faintly. "In addition to monetary payment, I can provide access to my personal library, which includes rare texts on combat techniques and magic."
Meliora's expression didn't change, but Kieran caught the slight glint of interest in her eyes.
"And if we refuse?" Kieran asked, his tone flat.
Drennor's smile vanished. "Then I suppose I'll have to find others willing to handle the matter. But opportunities like this are rare, Master Kieran. You may find my offer more beneficial than you realize."
There was a moment of silence as the group exchanged glances. Fredrick looked eager, his hand resting on his broom. Meliora remained calm but thoughtful, clearly weighing the risks and rewards.
Finally, Kieran sighed. "Alright, we'll take a look. No promises beyond that."
Drennor's smile returned. "That's all I ask. My steward will provide you with the necessary details. I look forward to hearing of your success."
Back on the streets of Avrenport, the trio walked in silence for a time. It was Fredrick who broke it.
"This could be our chance to make a real difference," he said, his tone hopeful. "Taking down a group like the Iron Fangs—it would prove we're ready for bigger challenges."
"Or it could get us killed," Kieran said. "We don't know how many there are, what kind of resources they have, or even why they're out there. We're walking into a trap blindfolded."
"We have you," Fredrick said earnestly. "Your strategies will keep us safe."
Kieran shook his head. "Fredrick, confidence is good, but blind trust will get you hurt. This isn't a game."
Meliora placed a hand on Fredrick's shoulder. "Kieran's right. We need to approach this carefully. Recklessness won't help anyone."
Fredrick sighed, nodding reluctantly. "You're both right. I'll be careful."
Kieran glanced at Meliora. "What do you think about Drennor?"
She hesitated. "He's shrewd. I don't doubt he has his own reasons for involving us instead of his soldiers. But his offer is genuine. Access to his library could be invaluable."
Kieran grunted. "We'll see if it's worth it. Let's rest tonight and head out in the morning. If we're going to deal with mercenaries, we'll need to be ready for anything."
As they walked back to the guild, Kieran couldn't shake the feeling that this mission was only the beginning of something much larger. The Iron Fangs were a threat, sure—but something about Drennor's demeanor nagged at him.
What aren't you telling us, Baron? he wondered.
+
The Baron's steward handed Kieran a rolled map as they exited the estate, the edges lined with annotations in elegant handwriting. The map highlighted a stretch of forest and the location of a series of marked points labeled "Iron Fang Activity."
Back at the guild, they gathered around a small table in a quiet corner to examine the map. Fredrick traced the routes with his finger, his brow furrowed in concentration. "This area is dangerously close to the trade roads. If the Iron Fangs are raiding there, they're cutting off major supply lines."
"It's a smart move," Meliora added. "Control the roads, and you control the flow of goods—and the lives of the people relying on them."
Kieran leaned back in his chair, studying the map with a critical eye. "There's something off about this. Why would mercenaries suddenly turn rogue? And why target this specific area?"
Fredrick looked up, confused. "Greed, maybe? Mercenaries aren't exactly known for their honor."
"True," Meliora said, "but if this Garrik is as dangerous as the Baron claims, his actions would be more calculated. Random raiding doesn't fit the profile of a former knight. There's a deeper motive here."
Kieran sighed. "Exactly. And I don't like walking into a situation where we don't know what's really going on."
Fredrick nodded, his hand tightening around his broom. "Then what's the plan, Master?"
"We go," Kieran said reluctantly. "But we stay sharp. If this is a trap, we'll need to be ready to turn it back on whoever set it."
+
The next day, the trio set out at first light, following the map's directions toward the Iron Fangs' suspected hideout. The dense forest grew darker as they ventured deeper, the canopy blocking out much of the sunlight. Every shadow seemed to shift, and the faint sounds of rustling leaves kept them on edge.
Fredrick kept his broom at the ready, his jaw set with determination. Meliora's sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, her hand occasionally brushing the hilt of her ceremonial dagger. Kieran, bringing up the rear, muttered under his breath about reckless nobles and cursed forests.
As they neared the first marked point on the map, Meliora raised a hand to halt them. "There," she whispered, pointing to a clearing up ahead.
The clearing was strewn with the remnants of a caravan—broken crates, torn cloth, and discarded goods. But there were no bodies.
"Strange," Fredrick said, stepping forward cautiously. "If this was an ambush, where are the victims?"
Kieran scanned the scene, his gut telling him something was wrong. "Stay back," he said. "This feels like a setup."
Before he could elaborate, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Figures emerged from the treeline, their weapons gleaming in the dim light. At least a dozen men and women surrounded them, each wearing the emblem of the Iron Fangs—a snarling wolf's head etched onto their armor.
"Well, well," said a gruff voice. A tall man with a scar across his cheek stepped into the clearing, a massive greatsword slung over his shoulder. "What do we have here? Adventurers playing at being heroes?"
Fredrick stepped forward, his broom glowing faintly. "We're here to stop you. Surrender now, and no one has to get hurt."
The man laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "Stop us? Boy, you've walked right into our trap, and you don't even know it."
Kieran sighed. "Called it."