Nao leaned against a barrel in the shade of an awning, his gaze fixed on one of the dungeon's stone entrances. The steps descended underground, swallowed up by roots and darkness. From time to time, a cold breath rose from below, as if the dungeon were breathing.
Next to him, Marek, Gilded Fang's representative at the camp, arrived.
"You should reconsider, Nao." Marek tapped the badge on his collar, the stylized, polished golden fang. "We need reliable healers."
Nao didn't even look away from the stairs.
"As long as you offer well-paid quests, you'll have my healing. No contract needed for that."
Marek laughed softly, as if he appreciated the retort.
"You're being paid well this time. But you could be paid better and more often. And above all, you could be supported. Have security, a real framework, protection."
Nao took a slow breath. He simply replied,
"My partner already has a partial contract with you. That's enough for now."
Marek tilted his head.
"It's enough... to keep from starving, yes. Not to grow. And besides... you're looking for a party, aren't you? The guild can help by introducing people, sorting through profiles, and so on."
Nao sensed Marek's smile without looking at him.
He finally turned his head toward him, calmly.
"I don't need Gilded Fang to introduce me to anyone."
Marek blinked, amused.
"Oh, really?"
Nao pointed his chin toward the crowd in the camp.
"You know as well as I do, I'm in the best place to see potential recruits pass by. They're literally coming out of the ground."
Marek smiled wider, almost proudly. Then a cry split the camp.
"HEALER! HERE!"
The crowd suddenly parted. Heads turned. Footsteps quickened.
An adventurer had just appeared at the top of the steps. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing heavy, dented armor. He was carrying his partner without bending... but his breath was labored. On his back were a massive shield too large to be held with one hand and an equally imposing battle axe.
Nao approached as usual. And he saw the extent of the damage.
The wounded man's chest was lacerated, torn open by small but deep claw marks. His legs were also streaked with cuts, the fabric stuck to the flesh. And where his right arm should have been... there was only a rough stump, torn off high up at the bicep.
The young man staggered and collapsed, gasping for breath, his eyes red.
"Please..." His voice was just a whisper. "Please..."
Nao moved. He didn't need to think. His body knew. He knelt down and placed two fingers on the wounded man's neck.
Weak pulse. Too weak. The skin already cold at the extremities, the mouth half open, the air no longer filling the lungs completely.
Nao raised his head and looked around.
"I need another healer. Now. With a quick healing."
Someone ran.
Nao placed his palm on the wounded man's sternum. He immediately sensed the condition of the body: blood loss, shock, internal collapse. He transferred his mana anyway.
Not to save him. He already knew that his Skill couldn't heal such severe injuries. But he could maintain, close what could be closed, buy a few seconds. His fingers trembled slightly.
The survivor, next to him, was sobbing without realizing it.
"I put a tourniquet on..." He showed his own belt, wrapped around the stump.
"I... I ran... I..."
Nao didn't answer. He kept his hand there. He kept the flow going. He kept that beat going, which was dying out like a poorly fed flame. Another healer came running up, out of breath, his hand already glowing with a quick spell.
He looked at the wounded man. And that look changed. He shook his head.
"No..." whispered the second healer. "Even if I burn my reserves, it... it will never be enough. It's too late."
Nao continued his treatment despite everything. He clenched his teeth. The pulse beneath his fingers became irregular. Then... it stopped.
Nao remained motionless. He kept his palm on a heart that no longer beat. As if his body were waiting for one last jolt that would never come. The survivor let out a strangled sound. An animalistic sound.
Nao slowly withdrew his hand. The silence around them was brutal. Not a peaceful silence. A judgmental silence. He looked at the dead man's face. Then he stood up.
With the help of the second medic, they picked up the body, still warm. They carried it to a sheet. There was one, already prepared. As always, near the camp's exit. They wrapped it without unnecessary ceremony. The fabric immediately became stained. Nao tied the knot. Not too tight. Just enough. Then they placed it on a small pile, off to the side. Two other unlucky souls were already there.
Nao inhaled. Exhaled. Then he returned to the stone entrance.
The survivor was still on the ground, his back against a crate, his hands shaking. His eyes were fixed on the small pile he had just added to. Marek had stayed by his side. In situations like this, he knew how to be comforting. It was part of his job.
The survivor spoke to him, his voice broken.
"It grabbed him..." He clutched his own arm, as if the pain were there. "It held Kael with its two vines. One to hold him down. The other..."
He gagged. His throat tightened. "...the other one ripped his arm off."
He closed his eyes for a second, then reopened them, filled with guilt.
"I rushed in. I took the opportunity. I... I finished it off." He shook his head, as if killing the Matriarch would have undone what happened. "But I... I..."
Nao crouched down next to him. He placed a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was not magical. Just human.
"What's your name?"
The young frontliner looked up, hesitated, then sighed. "Towa."
Nao nodded. "Towa. You did what you could."
Marek added, "Now you need rest."
Nao felt the conversation shift, like a current. He stayed there for a minute, focusing his mana on Towa's wounds. Then he stood up when another group came out of the dungeon. Two survivors, exhausted but unharmed. He turned away. The work continued.
The hours passed. The sun set slowly, as if it too were afraid of the camp.
Nao treated what he could: cracked ribs, sprains, wounds, mana burns. He infused, he calmed, he counseled. He let people leave stronger than when they arrived. And he looked, from time to time, at the pile. It wasn't growing as fast today. But it was.
When the caravan finally arrived, Nao felt a simple but physical relief.
The Scalehauler moved heavily, steadily, its harness impeccable. The cart creaked, loaded with crates, tools, papers, human fatigue. A scribe, a rotation healer, a driver…
Nao was already about to turn away. Then he saw them. Two figures walking beside the caravan. A pink braid that was too long with a chain wrapped around one arm. And a young man, a little taller, walked next to her.
Nao blinked, genuinely surprised. Marek joined him, almost smirking.
"Oh?" he said, as if it were amusing. "Look who's handling Gilded Fang's private missions. I hope they weren't the ones you were planning to recruit, Nao."
Nao didn't respond to the provocation. He didn't even give him a look.
"The next healer is here." His voice was tired. "I'm going to sleep."
Marek smiled, satisfied, as if he had just won a small invisible battle. Nao turned away and walked toward the tavern. The Resting Root welcomed him with the smell of soup and heated wood. He took a bowl, a piece of bread, sat down in a corner, and swallowed everything without really tasting it.
When the door opened again, he looked up reflexively. Kai and Rin were coming in. Rin was already muttering, without even looking around.
"...I swear, it was too calm. Not even a micro-monster. And on top of that, we're not going to have the same room as yesterday, I can feel it..."
Kai sighed, but it wasn't a sigh against the escort, but against his comrade who didn't accept easy money. Nao stared at them for a second. And Kai spotted him, then stopped.
Rin turned her head, and her face immediately wrinkled.
"Oh, Nao!"
Nao gave a small, tired smile, amused. Before he could answer, Marek entered, supplies in hand.
"Oh no. The stalker's here too."
He heard Rin's comment, of course. He approached, a polite smile plastered on his face.
"Me again, yes." He bowed his head slightly. "As you're new to Elronde, you're likely to have a lot to do with me. We might as well try to get along."
His smile was gentle.
Rin grimaced. "We'll see."
Marek simply shrugged his shoulders in a very controlled manner, then walked away, already busy helping the caravan unload.
Nao finished his soup, finished his bread, and got up, exhausted.
"I'll leave you now," he said simply to Kai and Rin. "See you tomorrow."
"See you," Kai replied.
Nao went to bed in the downstairs rooms, which resembled mini dormitories. Sleep came quickly to him. Meanwhile, the rest of the camp continued to live, waiting for the next targets that the dungeon would spit out.
⸻
Nao slept little. Not because of the bed. He had known worse. But because the camp had its own rhythm. And that rhythm, in the early morning, did not ask the sleepers for their opinion.
There was a sharp knock on his door.
"Nao. Get up. We're leaving soon."
It was Marek's voice.
Nao opened one eye. Then the other. He groaned like a man being torn from a well-deserved sleep. "... I'm coming."
He sat up and began to put on his boots, still barely awake. In the hallway, he heard Marek knock on the next door.
"Same for you two!"
Then a muffled grunt. And finally Kai's hoarse voice:
"Yeah... we're coming..."
Nao sighed, amused in spite of himself. He went out, grabbing a piece of bread on his way. Outside, the air was cold. The sky was turning light gray before sunrise. The caravan was waking up too. The harnesses were adjusted, lanterns extinguished, crates tightened, and wheels checked.
Marek walked around the wagon as if he had paid for every nail in it. He spoke to a steward, exchanged a sheet of paper, pointed to the crates.
The scribe, a young man with thin glasses and a notebook that was far too worn from the camp, climbed into the carriage. Towa was there too, looking at the trailer where the pile was loaded.
Towa stood there, stiff. His eyes never left the bodies. Nao just put a hand on Towa's shoulder for a second. But he said nothing.
Marek approached, calm, almost gentle.
"You're doing the right thing coming back with us, Towa."
Towa didn't answer. Nao felt the tension in the silence, but he didn't get involved. He already understood. Marek never let go of prey that was still breathing.
The tavern door opened, and Rin came out of the Resting Root first, her pink braid tousled. Kai appeared right behind her. They seemed... not happy to be awake.
The caravan was almost ready when other figures appeared at the departure point.
Not people from the caravan, but Renewals taking advantage of the road. Two pairs arrived.
The first pair were two physical fighters. A woman walked in front, a short bow on her back and a long knife at her side. She had short brown hair, cut cleanly at the nape of her neck. A small white scar crossed her eyebrow, like a signature. Her partner, taller and more massive, had a short sword strapped to his back and a shield slung over his arm. But he wasn't a big frontliner like Towa seemed to be.
The second duo was almost the opposite.
Two young men, almost too clean for this camp. One had very short white hair. And he carried a thin spear with a crystal encrusted at the other end. It was a spear in name only, because even from the way he held it, it was immediately clear that it was a magic staff.
The other, smaller, had an overfilled bag and hands that were always busy. He fiddled with a rope, checked a buckle, tightened a strap. He spoke quickly, not loudly, as if his brain were searching for something to latch onto. He wore a light-colored hood that hid his hair.
The two pairs took turns greeting Nao, thanking him for his care the night before. Then they made sure they could follow them. Nao climbed inside with Marek, and the driver clicked his tongue. The Scalehauler moved, the wheels squeaked, and the caravan set off.
Rin took the lead, lanterns hanging at her side, chain ready. Kai stayed behind, his gaze fixed on the back of the trailer. Not stressed. Just focused.
The two pairs set off behind Kai, a few dozen meters apart. Close enough not to be alone. Far enough not to be with.
Towa walked alone. He followed the caravan like a standing ghost. He wasn't looking for conversation. And no one came looking for him either. Not out of cruelty. Out of embarrassment.
⸻
The camp receded, swallowed up by the curve of the terrain. The minutes passed. For Rin and Kai, the landscape was starting to feel a little too familiar. From time to time, a small animal darted through the grass. A bird rose from a bush. Nothing more. The sun rose and began to heat up.
Nao, sitting inside, took advantage of the stretch of road to catch up on some lost sleep.
Rin, outside, was already bored.
Then, a little to the west, there was movement. A small herd of three or four does with a stag. Silent, magnificent, motionless like living statues under one of the few trees on the plain.
Rin saw them first. Her gaze lingered, greedy. Kai saw them too. He had an instinctive urge, surely the same as Rin's, to hunt.
But they weren't alone. The other two pairs had seen them too. They exchanged glances, whispered a few words, then prepared their weapons, for those who had them.
The four left the road together, without even consulting Towa.
"We're hunting. We'll catch up with you," said the woman with the short bow, without slowing down.
Kai nodded, neutral.
"Good hunting."
They weren't part of the escort anyway.
Rin stayed at the front, but the frustration was visible all over her face.
An hour passed without them returning. A small hill loomed ahead of them, not very high, just enough to block their view of the horizon. The road curved gently around it.
And then... A flash in the sky. Orange. Clear, violent, and frozen.
The driver pulled on the reins. The Scalehauler stopped short, digging its claws into the ground as if it had understood before anyone else.
Inside, there was immediate movement: the scribe sitting up and Nao opening the curtain.
Marek poked his head out, then his whole body, his gaze already fixed on the sky to the east.
Rin had stopped. So had Kai. The silence of the road was suddenly broken, but not by cries. By bated breath. Marek, his eyes still on the sky, uttered a curt sentence.
"B-rank threat..."