I sprinted through the underbrush, breath ragged and pulse hammering. Dawn was just a rumor on the horizon, the moon still bright enough to catch the silhouettes of armed figures lurking by the roadside. I clutched the battered Iron Hounds crest in one hand—a cheap token of faith, if ever there was one.
But some of us have no choice.
Panting, I risked a glance at my Status Window, the bluish text flickering in my peripheral vision:
Name: Wolfhardt BraunLevel: 2 (EXP: 49/300)Class: UnassignedTitle: NoneHP: 80/80Stamina: 70/70Attributes:
Strength: 13Agility: 10Endurance: 12Intellect: 8Willpower: 9
Skills: [Pugilism - Novice], [Swordplay - Novice], [Battle Instinct - Basic]
No time to think about leveling up. I'd only just discovered the System last week—my eyes opening to a bizarre overlay that labeled my every move with logs of EXP and skill progress. A week ago, I'd been a regular swordsman-for-hire, ignorant of this hidden dimension. Now it felt like I had a target painted on my back, the mysterious notifications dogging me at every turn.
"Swords out," hissed Captain Volk ahead of me. "We strike the rebel convoy at the river crossing, just like the baron's orders. Snuff the torches, move silent."
We weren't alone in the bushes. The Iron Hounds, a ragged mercenary company of about thirty men, crouched alongside me. They looked to Captain Volk for direction. I'd joined them after stumbling out of a previous job that left me half-dead. A battered group, but the best I could manage. At least the captain didn't balk at my odd talk of "levels" and "stats." Maybe he'd seen stranger.
A hush fell as we neared the river, the rhythmic lapping of water masking our footsteps. Out across the clearing, I spotted the targets: a train of wagons, men in tattered cloaks standing guard, their torches flickering like fireflies in the dark. Easy pickings, or so our employer claimed.
But something felt off.
[Battle Instinct - Basic]A sudden tingle ran from the nape of my neck down my spine, an intangible whisper that told me we were being watched. My new skill itched like a warning bell.
"Captain," I said under my breath. "I don't like this—"
"Quiet," Volk growled. "We have the element of surprise."
He believed it. Maybe everyone else did, too. But I'd been at war enough to know: good ambushes made you sweat for no reason; bad ambushes made you bleed. I tightened my grip on my short sword. On my off-hand, I wore leather knuckles, because sometimes fists did the job better than steel.
We fanned out, preparing for a pincer on the convoy. The plan: wait until the baron's vanguard signaled from the opposite bank, then strike in unison, catching the rebels with nowhere to run. A simple job with decent pay.
I breathed slow, searching the treeline for that signal—a lantern flash or horn call. Any second now.
Instead, something else ripped the night: the whir of arrows slicing through leaves. I flinched, half a breath too late.
Thwip—Thwip—Thwip.
One of our mercenaries tumbled forward, an arrow sprouting from his throat, eyes wide with betrayal. Another groaned, an iron-tipped shaft buried in his shoulder. Panic clawed my chest.
"Shields up!" Volk shouted, brandishing his sword.
But the rebels weren't loosing arrows. These came from behind us. The direction where our so-called allies were supposed to be.
Before confusion could settle, we heard the roar of men charging the clearing—from the shadows of the forest behind. A tide of steel glinted in torchlight. The baron's forces. They'd never planned to help us.
They planned to butcher us.
A system notification blinked in the corner of my vision. I almost snarled at the distraction.
New Quest: SURVIVE THE AMBUSHYour allies have betrayed you. Escape or fight your way out before the Iron Hounds are slaughtered.Rewards: EXP, ???Failure: Death
A quest? Great. So this cursed System thought to rub salt in the wound now. I forced it from my mind. The only way out was through.
"Swords out, we're surrounded!" Captain Volk shouted, rallying the men.
We spun to face the traitors, but they rushed in fast with spears and blades. Blood sprayed as the first wave collided with our ragged line. I found myself toe-to-toe with a baron's pikeman. He lunged, tip searching for my gut. I stepped inside the spear's reach, driving a stiff jab into his jaw with my left fist. Bone crunched. Momentum carried me forward; my short sword hacked into his neck. He went down choking, eyes full of shock.
[Pugilism - Novice → 37% to next level][Swordplay - Novice → 42% to next level]
The stats updated in my periphery, a stark reminder I was leveling with every kill. Grim comfort. Another pike came at me. I spun aside, slamming an elbow into the attacker's temple, then stamped on his knee, caving his leg inward. The man screamed, dropping his spear. With a swift slash, I silenced him.
"Push forward!" Volk's voice rang out. "We've got to get to the river!"
We shifted as one, me and the remaining Hounds, forming a wedge to cut through the traitors before they could flank us. The rebels on the far side were stirring, too—probably stunned to see we'd turned on each other. They hoisted blades and advanced, eager to join the slaughter.
Cursing under my breath, I battered aside a soldier's shield, hammered him in the ribs, and elbowed him in the throat. My sword found his belly. A hot stream of crimson splashed my arm.
+20 EXP
My vision tunneled; adrenaline screamed through me. Kill or be killed. That's all that mattered. Each blow, each dodge—my body moved on reflex. Some of the Hounds fought fiercely, but they were outnumbered, pinned between two forces. Another arrow whizzed by, grazing my ear. The baron's archers on the ridge had a clear line of fire.
We had to move or die.
A horn blast echoed from the rebel convoy. Through the chaos, I spotted them pouring onto the dirt path, swords raised high. Our cunning plan to trap them had become our own noose. Captain Volk and I locked eyes across the melee. He understood: the entire operation was a damned betrayal, and we were the pawns.
"Break for the river!" he roared, hacking down a spear-wielding soldier. "It's shallow enough to cross!"
I jerked my head in a nod. "Any man who can run—run!"
We lurched in unison toward the clearing's edge. The rebels saw their chance, eager to slaughter mercenaries who'd left them no quarter in previous skirmishes. A handful of Hounds screamed as the rebels surged in, blades flashing. We parted ways with allies turned enemies. I lost sight of Volk, only hearing the clang of steel.
I slammed bodily into a baron's swordsman—a gaunt man with a rusting helm. He aimed a thrust at my chest. I deflected, stepped inside his guard, and delivered a crushing left hook to his jaw. He staggered, and I ended him with a savage thrust under his ribs.
+15 EXP
One more kill. But it didn't matter. The forest brimmed with foes, and the rebels were only steps behind.
An arrow lodged in my thigh—pain flared, a shocking bolt that nearly buckled me. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the blood soaking my leggings. Pain or not, I had to keep moving. Another soldier lunged, but I raised my sword in a desperate parry, then raked a punch across his face. The impact jarred my bones. He collapsed, moaning.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the clearing end. A slope led down to the riverside. Just a few more strides.
"Wolfhardt! Move!"Someone called my name—sounded like Lukas, a young archer from my squad. I turned to see him pinned by a spearman, the shaft pressed against his throat. Without thinking, I vaulted over a fallen log, ignoring the fire in my thigh, and bull-rushed the spearman. My shoulder caught him off-guard, sending him sprawling. I dropped low, slashing at his calf. He howled. Lukas scrambled free, tears in his eyes.
"T-thank you!" he gasped.
I grabbed him by the collar. "Don't die here, kid. We're not worth a funeral."
We ran, the muddy slope sliding under our boots. Arrows whistled from above, a few skipping off rocks or burying in the dirt. At last, the river came into view—a wide, dark channel glinting under moonlight. If we made it across, maybe we could vanish into the far woods.
Then a voice thundered: "Halt, dogs!"The baron himself—Lord Kessler—stepped onto the ridge. He wore polished breastplate, flanked by two heavily armored knights. Torchlight danced on their metal. Kessler lifted a bow. Not a lord's fancy crossbow, but a practical longbow. He nocked an arrow in a fluid motion, drawing back.
I dove behind a tree trunk, dragging Lukas with me. Thunk. The arrow embedded itself in the bark. Instinct roiled through me; adrenaline pounded.
"Loyalty is a coin we can spend twice," Kessler called out, voice dripping with smugness. "You mercenaries never learn your place."
Anger burned in my gut, overriding pain. This was the man behind the betrayal. No time for vengeance now—escape was our only chance.
We splashed into the shallows, water swirling around our ankles. The current tugged at us. Lukas stumbled, half-submerged. I yanked him upright. More Hounds tried to follow, but not many. Where was the captain? Where was everyone else?
A shriek cut through the gloom. I glanced back to see a knight run through one of our men with a lance. The soldier's limp body was tossed aside like garbage. Another arrow soared overhead, ripping a tuft of hair from my scalp.
[HP: 80 → 72] (Grazing wound)
I cursed and pushed on, ignoring fresh gashes. The water reached my waist, the river's pull fierce. Lukas clung to me as we fought the current. If we made it to the far bank, maybe the rebels would be kinder than the baron. Maybe not. But at least we'd have a chance.
Overhead, a sharp chime rang in my ears—another system prompt.
Quest Updated: SURVIVE THE AMBUSHProgress: Reaching the far bankObjective: Avoid total annihilation.Rewards: EXP + ???