The morning of the second day of travel with Theron dawned cool and clear. The rattling of the wheels was a constant sound, a familiar rhythm that set the pace for her new life. Sitting by a small fire they had lit to make breakfast before the rest of the camp awoke, Paul watched Hilda with a knowing smile. She wasn’t looking at the landscape; she was cleaning the blade of her new sword with a piece of oiled cloth, and her movements, clumsy at first, were becoming increasingly confident.

“See? It’s not so hard,” he said, breaking the morning silence. “A sword is a companion, not just a tool. You have to clean it after every battle, oil it so it doesn’t rust, and keep the edge sharp. If you take care of it, it will take care of you.”

“At home, the only blades I polished were the silver for dinner,” she replied without looking up, focused on a small, dried wolf’s bloodstain that refused to disappear. “This is… more satisfying. It feels like I’m earning its respect.”

“You’re earning your own respect, which is more important,” he corrected, removing a small stew bubbling in a pot over the fire. “The sword is just a reflection of that. A weapon is only as good as the confidence of the one who wields it.”

Hilda finished her task and raised the blade, watching the dawn light reflect off the clean steel. She balanced it, a weight that was no longer foreign to her.

“Does yours have a name?”

Paul glanced at his own sword, which rested against his pack, always within arm’s reach.

“No. Naming tools is for sentimental types. It complicates things.”

“You just said it was a companion.”

“A silent and practical companion,” he said with a wink. “The best kind of companion. It doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for its share of the loot, and is always ready to work. What more could you ask for?”

Theron, who had approached in silence, let out a dry laugh.

“A pragmatic philosophy, young Greyrat. Though some of the greatest warriors in history have named their weapons. They say it gives them a soul.”

“I prefer mine without a soul,” Paul retorted. “That way, it doesn’t hesitate when it’s time to take the soul from others.”

The day passed with an almost monotonous calm. The caravan moved at a steady pace through terrain that grew increasingly rocky and rugged. Theron, sitting on the driver’s bench, pointed out geological formations with an enthusiasm that Paul and Hilda found strangely endearing.

“Fascinating! Look at that quartz vein!” the old scholar exclaimed, his voice vibrating with passion. “It suggests volcanic activity from millennia ago! The heat and pressure must have been unimaginable. A true work of art by nature!”

“It’s a very pretty rock, Master Theron,” Hilda responded with admirable patience, though her gaze constantly drifted to the edges of the road, analyzing the shadows.

Paul, beside her, kept up a parallel conversation in whispers.

“That ridge on the right. It’s a perfect blind spot for an archer. If someone wanted to ambush us, they’d shoot from there, with the sun at their back.”

“I see it,” she replied in an equally low voice. “If something moves, I could raise an angled Earth Wall to deflect the arrows upward, not just block them. It would give them a false sense of security.”

“Good thinking. You’re learning to use your head, not just brute force. That’ll keep you alive longer than any spell in the book.”

In the mid-afternoon, as they passed through a narrow pass flanked by high rock walls, the atmosphere changed. The air grew heavy, charged with a palpable tension. Theron, who had been about to launch into another dissertation on schist erosion, suddenly tensed up.

“Be careful in this stretch,” he said in a low voice, his tone losing all trace of academic cheerfulness. “It’s known territory for Assault Hounds. Nasty creatures. Agile, scavengers, but above all, cowards. They attack in large numbers to overwhelm their prey. Their strength is their speed, and their weakness… their lack of courage. They aren’t strong if you face them decisively.”

He had barely finished speaking when a sharp, savage howl echoed through the rocks, bouncing off the canyon walls. From the ledges and crevices, a pack of creatures emerged. They were the size of large wolves, but with sparse, gray fur that revealed wiry, tense muscles. Their heads were covered in bony plates, like natural helmets, and their jaws, filled with needle-sharp teeth, drooled in anticipation. They surrounded the caravan in the blink of an eye, their movements swift and coordinated.

“Paul, there are too many!” Hilda exclaimed, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her sword. Her heart hammered in her chest. There were at least a dozen.

Theron’s guards, two men hired in Lutoa, formed a nervous circle around the main wagon, their swords visibly trembling. Theron clung to the reins, his normally curious face now a pale mask of concern.

Paul, however, simply crossed his arms, observing the pack with a chilling calm that bordered on insulting.

“They’re perfect,” he said, almost to himself, a slight smile gracing his lips.

“What?” Hilda asked, staring at him in disbelief. “Perfect for what? To devour us? Aren’t you going to fight?”

“Oh, I’m going to fight,” he replied, turning to look at her. His eyes shone with an intensity that wasn’t fear, but that of a teacher about to give a surprise exam. “But my weapon today will be my voice. This is your battle, Hilda.”

The blood in her veins turned to ice. She looked at Paul, then at the approaching pack of beasts, and back at Paul again.

“You’re insane! They’ll tear me apart! I can’t handle all of them alone!”

“They won’t,” he said, his voice as firm as a rock, leaving no room for doubt. “Because I will be your shadow and your eyes. I will be your strategist. I won’t let you get seriously hurt, but I will not interfere unless it’s absolutely necessary. The wolves were a warm-up. The bandits were a lesson in panic control. This… this is your first solo performance. Your debut. Show this old scholar and these trembling guards why they call you ‘the Rose’ of our team.”

Without giving her time to protest, he jumped from the wagon. But he didn’t draw his sword. He leaned against one of the wheels, arms crossed, adopting the posture of a casual spectator at the theater.

Hilda was paralyzed for a moment. Panic threatened to drown her. The creatures were closing in, growling, their yellow eyes fixed on her. But then she saw the look in the hounds’ eyes, hungry and cruel. She saw the terror on the faces of the guards, who were already backing away. And she felt the unwavering confidence in Paul’s stance. It was confidence in her. She took a deep breath. Her fear didn’t vanish, but it transformed into a cold, sharp determination. She drew her sword and jumped from the wagon, landing with a dull thud on the dusty ground.

“Three on your right, they’re getting ahead!” Paul’s voice was a whip, cracking the air. “Don’t focus on one, control the space! Divide and conquer! Use the Earth Wall to split the pack!”

Hilda reacted on instinct. Her theoretical lessons became flesh.

“Oh, earth, rise and protect, Earth Wall!” Her voice sounded stronger than she expected.

A solid rock wall, five feet high, erupted from the ground with a roar, separating three of the hounds from the rest of the group. The isolated beasts slammed into the barrier with frustrated growls, bewildered.

“Good! Now for the rest! Don’t give them time to think!” Paul shouted. “They’re fast, you can’t track them with your sword if they all attack at once! Use magic to disrupt their movement! Take away their advantage! Soft Terrain under their paws! Now!”

“Oh, earth, soften and yield, Soft Terrain!”

The rocky ground beneath the charging hounds turned into a mire of loose gravel and damp earth. The beasts lost their footing, their paws slipping, their swift charges turned into a clumsy and helpless attempt to stay on their feet.

“That’s the moment!” Paul roared, his voice filled with a contagious energy. “While they’re stuck, confused! It’s your chance! Don’t think, act! The spear for the one on the left trying to circle you and ready your sword for the one on the right that’s closer! Keep your guard up!”

Hilda moved. Her mind was clear, her actions fluid, almost automatic.

“Oh, earth, rise and pierce, Earth Spear!”

A sharp spear of rock shot up from the ground and impaled the hound on the left through its side. The beast fell with a howl of agony. At the same time, Hilda pivoted, her own steel blade ready, and blocked the desperate attack of the second hound. The clash of steel against bone claws vibrated up her arm to her shoulder, but the parry was solid, firm. She shoved the creature back, unbalancing it.

The battle continued like this for several minutes that felt like an eternity. It was a symphony of controlled chaos. Paul’s voice was the conductor, and Hilda was his instrument, becoming more finely tuned with every moment.

“The one behind the wall is going to jump! Get ready to meet it with an Earth Ball to the face as soon as it peeks over! A stunned target is an easy target!”

“Don’t watch the teeth, watch their front paws! They’ll tell you where it’s going to move before it does!”

“That one’s about to leap, get ready to roll right and strike its belly while it’s in the air!”

“Now, wall at your back, don’t let them surround you! Create your own cover!”

She obeyed, her body moving with a skill she didn’t know she possessed. She combined her clumsy but determined swordsmanship with increasingly precise and creative earth spells. An Earth Wall to block, an Earth Ball to distract, Soft Terrain to control the flow of battle, and an Earth Spear to finish off vulnerable enemies. The guards, seeing her incredible display, regained some of their courage and managed to hold off the few hounds that tried to flank her to get to the wagon.

When the last hound fell, pierced by a final, accurate Earth Spear, Hilda stood amidst the bodies, panting, covered in sweat and dust, but virtually unharmed. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by her own ragged breathing. Theron and the guards stared at her with an astonishment that bordered on adoration. They hadn’t seen a damsel in distress, but a battle-mage in full command.

Paul finally uncrossed his arms and walked over to her. His face didn’t hold a scoundrel’s smirk, but the deep, evident pride of a master.

“I told you so.”

Hilda looked at him, her gray eyes shining through the sweat and grime. She could still feel the adrenaline vibrating in every fiber of her being.

“I… I fought. I really fought.”

“You didn’t fight. You commanded the battle,” he said, his voice filled with a sincere, unadorned admiration. “You anticipated their movements, controlled the terrain, and eliminated threats methodically. That, Hilda, isn’t just fighting. That’s being a leader. The victory is yours.”

Theron approached, his face filled with a new kind of respect, his academic wonder transformed into genuine admiration.

“Miss Hilda, that was… extraordinary. I haven’t seen such an instinctive display of geomancy in years. Your affinity with the earth is as natural as breathing. My friend Lorne in Creston will be absolutely fascinated to meet you!”

They continued their journey. The rest of the way passed in an almost reverential peace. The guards no longer looked at her with curiosity, but with respect. As evening fell, the caravan reached the top of a hill. Below, in a valley, the lights of a city much larger than any they had seen so far were beginning to twinkle against the purple sky. It was a sea of flickering lights.

“There it is,” Theron said with a voice full of satisfaction. “The magnificent city of Creston. The end of our journey.”

Paul stood beside Hilda, putting an arm over her shoulders. She leaned against him, feeling the weight of a deep and satisfying exhaustion.

“No,” Paul said in a low voice, his gaze fixed on the city lights, a new horizon of possibilities. “The beginning of ours.”

They watched the city, a symbol of hope and new beginnings. But in that same city, unseen by them, in the shadows of its bustling taverns and alleyways, the hunters’ net was finally closing. The calm was over.