Dean was having one of the deepest sleeps of his life ... at least right up until the librarian set her leatherbound tome on the desk with a bang.

  He jumped, jolted out of his pleasant dream of fireside soldier songs and smoked meat and back into reality.

  “If you’re going to snore, do it somewhere else. Some people come here to learn, you know.”

  Dean flushed, wiping at a string of drool along his chin. When he’d arrived at the city library, it had still been dark. But judging by the light now streaming through the high windows, he must have been asleep for hours.

  “Sorry,” he said, rubbing at his stiff neck. “I didn’t mean to disturb anyone. I guess I was up so late studying I didn’t even notice the time.”

  The librarian’s eyes softened a little when she saw the book Dean had cracked open.

  Monster hunting basics and their principles, volume 2, had been a constant companion for Dean during his days on the road. During the war, most Guilds in the empire had joined forces with the military, focusing on repelling the forces of hell that emerged from rifts across the kingdom. As a result, however, Adventurers' normal duties went neglected over the years. Evolved beasts roamed the wilds uncontested. Dungeons overflowed, and infestations of kobolds, goblins, and other such creatures became commonplace. Part of his militia unit’s responsibility had been aiding towns that were overwhelmed and unequipped to handle this new landscape.

  “A would-be Adventurer, then,” said the woman, tapping a finger to her chin. “Well, I must say it’s refreshing to see a youngster so devoted to his studies. Still, see that you don’t use the reading table as a pillow in the future, otherwise I’ll have to throw you out.”

  Dean made a few more hasty apologies, but the librarian waved him away.

  “Study hard, young man. This empire has a shortage of useful Adventurers. We need more men and women who are willing to do their duty rather than chasing fame and fortune.”

  Dean leaned back in his chair as the woman wandered away down the stacks and sighed. He knew his sister was probably worried sick, wondering where he was. To her, it probably looked like he’d reverted to his old ways. Drinking, staying out late with friends, and refusing to take life seriously.

  I should tell her where I was… if she’ll even believe me. Falling asleep studying for an exam isn’t exactly the type of behavior one would expect of young me.

  The thought made him snort. How much things had changed in seven years. The monster hunting basic manual was still cracked open to the chapter labeled “Insectoids and arachnids.” Dean pulled the book towards him, scanning the page head clearly earmarked. When he reached the section labeled “spider venom,” he stopped.

  While it is true that the venom of rare spiders such as the deep-dwelling red widow are fatal in large doses, many monster breed arachnids produce venom that contains useful properties. In the northern mountains for instance, the ice burrowing spider…

  Dean skipped ahead until he found what he was looking for.

  Least harmful to humans is the venom of the common forest spider. While forest spider warriors and nest patriarchs are particularly dangerous, most forest spiders contain venom in small enough amounts to cause little harm to humans. A juvenile forest spider's sting can cause wooziness and minor fatigue but should otherwise be absorbed within the body two to four hours.

  “Aha!” he hissed, flinching when he realized he’d said it out loud. The librarian shot him another irritated look, but Dean was beyond caring. If all his research had been correct, there might be a use to harvesting more juvenile spider fangs. If he could raise his resilience stat while simultaneously raising his natural immunity to poisons, it would make hunting poisonous or venomous monsters much easier.

  It seems like I’d just have to deal with a few hours of discomfort. But that could be worth it for the benefits.

  Dean spent another half hour going over some of the finer points of a medical text about treating bites and stings but eventually he was satisfied that he was correct. His idea seemed crazy, and maybe in part it was, but if he could gain an edge, it could open a few doors when it came to hunting. He was about to pull open the next book in his stack when he glanced at the clock on the wall.

  “Sh-“ he started to swear, only to lapse into silence when the librarian glared at him. Dean hastily snatched up his books and dropped them on the table labeled for returns. Then he darted out the door and down the steps of the library before the door could close.

  “Young people,” he heard the librarian mutter. “They are always in such a hurry.”

  Dean ran through the city streets, bustling with the activity of midday. He managed to dodge a man on horseback and narrowly avoided getting trampled by a pack mule who gave him an unimpressed snort. He was pulling items from his inventory as he rounded the corner and saw the east gate before him. There was a line of people waiting to be let through, and Dean’s heart soared as he saw Finn and his party leaning against the wall.

  “There he is,” rang the half-elf’s accent through the air. “The man of the hour. I was beginning to think you stood us up.”

  “Sorry,” said Dean between breaths. “I had a few things I had to take care of.”

  He held up the items he’d purchased the afternoon before. A woven padded coat, and a set of heavy leather gloves with studded knuckles. All in all, he’d managed to increase his armor by nine points.

  “Not bad,” said Finn, eyeing him over. “Though that breastplate has seen better days, and you’ll need a better sword. Hopefully, the haul we get from this hunt will be more than enough to make a difference.”

  “It better.” The female warrior standing beside Finn had her arms folded across her chest, one boot propped against the wall. “We’re just about out of funds, and if the Guild doesn’t replenish our stipend then we might just be out of luck by next month.”

  Dean raised an eyebrow.

  “The Guild you're working with has stopped sponsoring you?”

  The three of them exchanged a look.

  “That would be… complicated,” said Finn evasively. “Back in our hometown, we got picked up by a small local guild on account of Ten’s family ties. Things were going well up until recently. There's been a lack of correspondence, to put it lightly. At some point, the monthly stipend we’re usually afforded stopped turning up at the bank, and the courier says he hasn’t been up that way in a while. We’ve tried sending letters, but we’ve heard nothing back.”

  The woman shook her head.

  “At some point, we have to accept that we’ve been forgotten and move on.”

  The monk frowned, his eyebrows drawing together.

  “Not forgotten,” he said, his thick northern accent nearly mangling the words. “There is something…” he made a hand gesture. “Something not right.”

  “I agree with Ten. Ours might be a smaller Guild, but they’ve always done right by us. If our sponsorship had been dropped, then we would have been informed by now. No, the sudden loss of communication, our letters being returned to us? Something’s up.”

  The female warrior didn’t look convinced, but she hefted her axe all the same.

  “Regardless, if we want some coin, we’re going to have to earn it. Let’s get a move on, before we lose any more daylight. Regardless of the zone, I wouldn’t want to be stranded in these wilds after dark.”

  Dean pulled on his new gear. It was reassuring to see his armor stat rise, bringing his overall armor total to 35. If he were able to harvest enough materials to trade, he might be able to increase his damage points as well.

  Finn and the others were checking over their gear, hooking potions into belts, examining arrows, and equipment for damage, and refilling their water canteens. Finn ran a practiced finger over his bow, grunting when he was satisfied.

  “You ready, newbie?” he asked. His tone was playful but his slanted eyes held a note of seriousness.

  “I have no doubts you can hold your own, but hunting is no joke. My only advice is to mind your surroundings and don’t stray too far from the group. Sometimes the presence of a party can draw the notice of beasts across zone borders. Drawn to the concentration of essence, I would assume. It’s not likely, but if we stay together, we’ll be fine. We’re only venturing into zone 1 today.”

  Dean nodded and loosened his sword in its sheath. The well-oiled blade slid free from the leather easily and without making a sound. Subconsciously, he reached for his mother's knife, feeling its comforting weight at the back of his belt.

  “I understand,” he said. “I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble – though you’ve probably guessed trouble tends to find me.”

  “Speaking of trouble.”

  Finn’s expression went flat as he stared at a point over Dean’s shoulder. He turned and saw another party making their way towards the gate. There were three of them: a heavy, a swordsman, and what looked to be a rogue tagging along at his side. The heavy had a giant gilded warhammer propped on one shoulder, and when his gaze fell on Finn’s party, he smirked.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t the ragtag crew of clowns and their noble leader. Were you planning to splash around in zone 1? Or perhaps you were hoping to trail behind us and hope that we left behind some scraps.”

  Finn’s jaw ticked, but the half-elf’s expression didn’t change. Instead, he gave the man a cold smile.

  “Ryu. It must be nice to have one of the top five guilds in the empire holding your hand for you. Make sure you thank Daddy for all your fancy gear and toys. Baby couldn’t have done it without him.”

  The man was an imposing figure. As he drew nearer, the size of him became apparent. He had a bullneck and round shoulders that stuck out from his frame like mini boulders. His warhammer was huge, easily the size of Dean’s head, and the ease with which he spun it in his hand was a testament to his strength. This wasn’t some merchant's son. The man before him was Adventurer pedigree, plain and simple.

  “Keep talking, mutt. If you think any Guild worth its salt is going to sponsor a half breed like you, then you’re in for a nasty surprise. Your kind aren’t welcome here in Haven. Or in the Empire, far as I’m concerned.”

  “And who the hell are you?” said Dean rudely. Ryu glanced at him, his lip curling in disdain.

  “Ah,” he said. “It’s the second-hand swordsman. I’ll forgive your ignorance just this once. I am Ryu Artos. My Aunt is-“

  “Artemis the hunter,” Dean breathed as memories struck him. “The Archer Saint herself.”

  It wasn’t surprising – not really. Most people prepping for the exams had some form of connections and pedigree. But somehow Ryu’s smug self confident smile only served to irritate him further.”

  Some people shouldn’t have power.

  “You haven’t joined up with this lot have you?” Ryu asked, gesturing with a polish gauntlet towards the party. Pity, you showed real promise the other day. You know, my Aunt does rub elbows with some of the top guilds in the kingdom. Perhaps you could stop by the Guild house sometime and we could get to know each other.”

  The boy’s red-tinged eyes glittered, and Dean’s instincts prickled. On the surface, the offer might seem friendly, even generous. But deep down, he knew better than to trust it. People like Ryu didn’t offer something for nothing in return.

  “Thanks,” said Dean tightly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Ryu reached out, slapping him on the shoulder like they were old pals.

  “I’m sure you will,” he said, and the rogue standing beside him laughed.

  “Always wasting your time on charity, Ryu. Seriously, when are you going to learn to stop taking in strays?”

  And just like that, the group was moving on, brushing past them as if they didn’t even exist.

  “What an asshole,” said Ten. His accent mangled the words and made Finn snort.

  “Some things never change.” The half-elf rolled his shoulders, hefting his bow in his hand. “Right,” he said as he turned to the others. “We’d better get a move on. Especially if we don’t want Ryu’s party stealing our thunder… and our loot.”

  ***

  “On your left!”

  Dean caught a blur of motion on his left-hand side and just barely managed to react as something flashed towards him. The pink barbed mass missed him by inches as he twisted out of the way, raising his sword. The frog that now glowered down at him from atop a tree branch was far larger than any normal tree frog. It was a deep, dark green, its color interrupted only by amber eyes that seemed to hold a world of malice. It retracted its barbed tongue from the tree it had lodged in, taking a spray of bark with it.

  Toxic Horned Frog, minor.

  “Keep him distracted,” said Finn as he drew an arrow from his quiver. Dean bent his knees, seeing the frog’s bulging eyes fix on him as the pouch in its neck began to swell. The creature was fast, but Dean was faster. As the horned frog opened its mouth, Dean swiftly side-stepped, bringing the blade of his sword sweeping downward. The barbed tongue split cleanly in two in a neat arc of blood. The stump of the frog's tongue withdrew, and it opened its mouth, preparing to let out a shriek. Finn’s arrow caught it full in the throat.

  For a moment, the creature’s mouth opened and closed around the wooden shaft. Then the light in its eyes dimmed, and it tumbled off the branch.

  “Good one,” said Finn, clapping him on the shoulder. “I believe this harvest belongs to you.”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Dean hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, blade still at the ready. Some monsters were known for playing dead when injured in order to lure in unsuspecting hunters and adventurers. As he approached, however, it became clear that the frog was dead. The pool of blood soaked through the damp moss at his boots. Its eyes, moments ago filled with petulant animosity, were now vacant.

  Dean squatted near it the carcass and selected the harvest option as soon as it came up.

  You have gained Horned bullfrog prong x2

  You have gained +1 strength

  Carefully, he reached down and plucked one of the red brown horns that now lay on the grass before him. They were small, no larger than his ring finger, and the tip was sharp.

  “What are these good for?” he asked, rising as he rolled them in his hand. The female warrior, whose name he’d come to know was Shae, hefted her shield.

  “They're an alchemy ingredient, if I remember correctly. You might be able to fetch a decent price fo them at an herbalist shop if they need to replenish their stock.”

  Dean nodded then after a moment he tossed one of the prongs to Finn. The half-elf’s hands snapped up, his lineage betrayed in that inhumanly swift movement.

  “The kill was yours,” said Dean. “We should split the loot.”

  Finnegan laughed.

  “I don’t need charity.” He patted his hip, where a bag of prongs rattled. “Besides, I’ve got more than a few of my own.”

  “It’s not about charity, just common decency. It was your kill, therefore part of the loot belongs to you.” Dean stowed the prong in his inventory and noted with a sigh that it was getting full. Pre-reincarnation, his inventory had held over fifty slots. Now he was back to a dozen, making his carrying capacity much smaller than it used to be. He was going to have to invest in a bag.

  Ten made a noise in his throat, and Dean looked up. It took him a moment to realize the monk was laughing.

  “He is a good man,” he said, gesturing towards Dean with some amusement. “But is… how we say? Not very smart. Greedy is smart. Greedy stays alive, yes?”

  Dean’s lips twitched. The monk wasn’t wrong. Hunting was a greedy game. A party enabled one to hunt more dangerous game in higher quantities, but it also meant splitting the loot. With minor loot, it didn’t matter much. But when it came to the rarer items or drops.. well, that was different.

  “Well, come on,” grumbled Shay. Her eyes were uplifted to the sky as she measured the position of the sun. “We don’t have all day. If we want to reach the pond in the next hour, we need to keep moving.”

  They continued deeper into the forest until the sound of trickling water could be heard. Finn made a satisfied sound in his throat and strode forward, bending down to examine the stream.

  “Here we are,” he said. “If my senses are correct, the pond is downstream and just around the bend there.”

  He gestured towards a protruding boulder about fifty paces ahead. The water flowed at a gentle incline, streaming around the boulder and sharply to the right.

  “I have a minor proficiency in forestry and tracking,” he said in way of explanation. Not an uncommon manifestation for someone of my heritage.”

  Dean nodded.

  “Well, it’s come in handy. But if we want to attack that pond, we’re going to need to scout it first, see what we’re up against. If I remember correctly, Horned Frogs have poor hearing, but their sight is keen. We’ll want to stick to shade and approach from a high point if we want to take them by surprise.”

  It took Dean a moment to realize the others were staring at him. Shae’s eyebrows had risen so high they looked like they were trying to escape her face.

  “And you’d know this… how? I thought you were new to hunting.”

  Dean realized his error a moment too late.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Well, I’ve been reading a lot about hunting – figured it wouldn’t hurt to learn as much as I can before getting out here. The city library has a ton of resources, and I like to read.”

  Shae looked unconvinced.

  “What books specifically?”

  Dean’s mind whirled.

  “Monster hunting basics and their principles, volumes one and two. Informative but a bit long-winded.”

  “The ones written by Baron Forsa?” Her expression eased a bit, and Dean had to hold back a relieved sigh. “Yeah, I heard they were a good resource. I’ll have to look into it sometime. Most of the knowledge I have from hunts comes from my parents.”

  “Her father is an Adventuerer,” said Finn. “Showed her the ropes when she was younger. Shae here really knows her stuff; we’d have been hard-pressed when we first started if it wasn’t for her expertise.”

  Dean raised a brow. “Your Dad’s an Adventuerer? What rank?”

  Shae’s shoulders tensed and she turned away to hide her expression.

  “Was an Adventuerer,” she said softly. “And he was Bronze rank before he was killed in an Ork raid back home.”

  Dean felt the familiar pang in his chest at her words. That pain was all too familiar to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. “I lost my mother years ago to sickness. It’s a tough thing, loosing a parent. Tougher than many realize.”

  Shae glanced at him then, and he saw her perspective shift, her body language growing a little less tense.

  “Yeah,” she said. “He was a good man. Took care of my mother and my three sisters and did right by his family. But when he passed.. well. Things got hard. There was all this debt to pay off. The house, the horses, even the land. It turns out we hadn’t owned any of it – the Guild had. And the second the payments stopped coming in they came knocking.”

  There was a bitterness in her voice and Dean felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at her words. Many of the larger Guilds had been exploitive, held only in check by strict imperial law and regulation within the Empire itself. Still, there was plenty of imperial corruption. When coins changed hands and Guild Leaders sat at the table with the top military leaders and nobility in the country, things were overlooked.

  “What Guild?” he asked, dreading the answer. Shae’s lips twisted.

  “The Thousand Knives Guild.”

  He swore under his breath. He knew the Thousand Knives alright. During the war, they had been one of the top 5 Guilds still in power up to the very end. Their reputation even before the war had began was dubious at best. Rumors of stat farming, exploitative fees, and contracts that were the equivalent of modern day slavery were unlikely to be exaggerated.

  “You know of them?” asked Shae. Dean realized she was studying him and he nodded reluctantly.

  “I know of them. Shady practices and a piss poor reputation. I’m sorry to hear your family had to go through that. Is that why you’re turning to Adventuering?”

  Shae nodded, brushing her short hair out of her eyes.

  “I’m the oldest, and out of my siblings, I showed the most promise. I figured if I could sign on with a smaller Guild, get sponsored, and take my exams, then I could send money back home. It was working… up until a point. Guilds are all the same in my book. They can be trusted up until they can’t.”

  She lifted her heavy shield off the ground, her axe in her other hand as she gestured towards the boulder.

  “Anyway, enough about that. You’re right about the height advantage. Last time we scouted the area, there were at least a dozen frogs, so we’ll have to be careful not to aggravate too many of them at once. There's a ridge over there,” she pointed with the blade of her battle axe, and Dean followed her gaze.

  “If you and Finn set up there, Ten and I can sweep in from the bottom. With any luck, we can clear this pond and earn a bit of coin. What do you say, newbie? Are you up to the task?”

  A playful bounce had returned to her voice, and Dean gave her a genuine smile.

  “Oh, I’m ready.”

  “Good.” She turned towards Finn, who already had an arrow drawn and knocked. “Do you still have your stunning shot, or is it on recharge?”

  Finn tapped his bow.

  “I’ve got two more charges. I’d like to keep one in reserve in case we see the Bullfrog. Dean here can back me up if need be.”

  Shae nodded.

  “Ten and I will take point at the boulder. You fire the first shot, then we’ll go in and run clean-up.”

  Dean frowned in Ten’s direction.

  “Don’t you need a weapon?”

  The monk glanced at him, his dark eyes amused. He was wearing light armor, some sort of studded cloth that wound around his hands, wrists, and legs. Still, Dean could see no sign of a weapon or sheath.

  “I need no weapon,” he said cooly. “I was born with them, yes?”

  He flexed his hands, and Dean’s eyes widened.

  “You’re a martial fighter,” he said as it clicked in his mind. It was rare, as unarmed combat was a skill that took many years of careful practice and body conditioning to achieve. Ten inclined his head.

  “It is so.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” said Shae, a smile pulling at her lips. “If there is anyone who can take care of themselves in this party, it’s Ten here. I’ve seen him crush flameborn beetles in a single blow. He’s going to make a hell of an Adventurer.”

  Dean followed Finnegan up the sloping hill towards the trees clustered by the base of the ridge. Finn moved silently, his soft hunter's boots making nearly no sound as he moved. Dean tried to mimic his movements but winced every time a dry leaf would crunch beneath his own. Finn it seemed, was a natural hunter. He moved with a lithe and careful grace that belied his elven heritage.

  At the top of the slope he paused, gesturing for Dean to do the same. Finnegan lifted a hand to his ear and mouthed a single word.

  Listen.

  At first, Dean didn’t hear anything in particular. But then after a moment, the sound came again. It was a croak, long and low, followed by a soft splash. Closing his eyes, Dean exhaled and sent his mana sense out like a probe. His senses spread out, tumbling over rock and tree until he felt that flare of aura. An essence signature. No, several signatures.

  “How many did you sense?” he asked the half-elf. Finn bit his lip, considering.

  “Nine, maybe ten. Some are young, but there are at least three mature frogs. We should target them first if we want to avoid a swarm.”

  “Agreed.”

  Finn moved to the truck of a nearby tree, positioning himself behind it as a vantage point. Dean took up a spot nearby, resting part of his weight against a protruding rock. The stone was cool to the touch, and over its top Dean could see the pond. There were at least ten frogs below, and it was easy to see Finn’s assessment had been corrected.

  Three Mature Horned Frogs were clustered near the edge of the pond, their heavy spiked heads bowed towards the water. As Dean watched, one of them expanded a sack beneath its throat, and emitted a long, deep croak. They would be the most dangerous. A mature horned frog could swallow a human man whole sword and all. The acid in their stomachs was enough to digest even armor. That was, if one didn’t manage to cut their way out.

  Dean wiped the line of sweat on his upper lip, steeling himself for the fight to come.

  It’s just like battle, he thought as he wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.

  He saw a flicker of movement below and locked eyes with Shae. She gave him a slow, purposeful nod from her position behind the boulder. Her shield was raised, and she had dug in, ready to charge. They’d need a heavy taking point if they stood any chance at taking down those mature frogs fast enough.

  They were all in place now. Dean pressed a glove hand against the rock face, bracing himself. There was a young frog about ten paces away, sitting on a ledge beneath the slope. It had its back to them, but if Finn fired an arrow, Dean had no doubt that the monster would react quickly. He would have to take it down first.

  Finn’s bow string creaked as the hunter stood. His soft green cloak flowed gently in the breeze, it’s pattern wavering like mottled light. Dean tore his eyes away from the half elf, focusing instead on his target. A second passed. Then ten. The snap of the bow string was soft but noticeable. One of the mature frogs half turned it’s head, and the arrow caught it deep in one eye. It let out one dismayed croak before falling forward with a splash.

  Dean was already moving as the nearest frog turned towards them. As it saw Dean clambering over the rocks towards it, it expanded it’s small pouch, flaring it’s horns in warning. Dean watched for the telltale signs of the attack and noticed the moment the frog cocked it’s head.

  Now.

  Dean dodged to the side, maintaining his relentless pace forward as the barbed tongue whipped through the air. Wet saliva hit his arm, and he grit his teeth as his armor steamed. The frog had missed, but rather than continue its strike it withdrew its tongue like a recoiling snake. Dean raised his sword in preparation for a strike but the monster surprised him. Rather than attempt to lash at him again, the frog hunkered down, flaring the spikes on its head.

  He had almost no warning as the dog-like monster charged him like a bull. It was surprisingly fast and Dean barely had time to leap out of the way as the frog leapt at him. It’s solid horns struck the stone behind him, sending up a spray of rocks and dust. Dean spun to the side, bringing his sword up and around. His blade passed cleanly through the frog’s mouth, cleaving it in two. For a moment the creature just stood there. Then it’s head peeled sideways with a wet and meaty thud.

  You have slain-

  Dean cleared the notification as a second frog came at him from the side.

  “Dean!” the call came from somewhere up above. Dean deflected a barbed tongue, striking back at the horned frog and making it leap to the side to avoid him. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, Dean saw that Finn was cornered. Three frogs had hemmed him in, and one of them was mature. Finn had backed up against a thicket, but the young trees were too close together for him to flee. He had forgone his bow, instead pulling out a long, curved blade tinged with elvish lettering.

  Pain in his wrist jerked him back to the present. Looking down, he realized that one of the tongue barbs had gazed him on the way past.

  You have gained trait poisoned. Effect: Slowed for two minutes.

  Instantly, Dean felt a weight on his limbs. He had only been injected with a small amount of toxin, but it was enough to make him feel like he was moving through water. Staggering back, he blinked, trying to clear his head. The slowing effect was temporary, but he didn’t exactly have time to wait out the duration. Finn was in trouble, and he needed to move now.

  That left him only one option. Gripping his sword, Dean circled the frog, forcing it to turn to keep him in it’s line of sight. The monster croaked threateningly, winding its tongue up in its mouth.

  That’s right, thought Dean as he moved, fighting against the resistance. Try and hit me again. See what happens.

  The second its pouch flared, Dean sidestepped. The poisoned trait made it a close thing, the tongue barbs whistling by his head mere inches away. Turning, Dean reached up, wrapping a gloved hand around the appendage. Slim coated his fist, but Dena gripped the tongue hard and, using his entire body weight as leverage, he pulled.

  The frog was caught completely off guard. With a bleat of surprise, it was wrenched forward, gagging as Dean yanked on its tongue like a rope. The frog was jerked of balance as it was pulled inevitably forward and into Dean’s waiting sword blade. He skewered it through one large amber eye, thrusting until the notification appeared.

  You have slain a young horned frog

  Dean put a boot on the frog's carcass and wrenched his sword free, turning towards the slope. Finn was still fighting, but he was hard pressed. He’d managed to kill one of the young frogs, but the remaining two were closing in on him. He was bleeding from a cut on his thigh, and his slowed movements almost certainly meant the toxin was making its cycle.

  Dean started his way up the slope, cursing his sluggish limbs. He still had a minute and twenty seconds left on the timer until the effect wore off. But he could make it – he had to. Down below, Shae and Ten were fighting. A pile of frog corpses had fallen to the warrior's battle axe, and Dean saw Ten send a frog cartwheeling into a nearby tree with a single kick. The two could hold their own. Right now, he had to tend to Finn.

  The young frog wasn’t expecting his approach. Dean swept into a stance, swinging the blade down and around. He cut cleanly through one of the frog's back legs, and the creature croaked in protest. Moments later, Finn managed to slit its throat.

  “Thanks,” panted the archer. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat as he and Dean backed up, moving to either side of the remaining frog. The mature frog was much larger than its fellows. Its horns were easily the length of Dean’s arms, and its giant barbed tongue lolled as it eyed them greedily. Dean saw the toxin glimmering on the barbs and knew that one cut was all it would take to bring one of them down.

  “Circle it,” said Finn. “It can only focus on one target at a time.”

  Dean nodded, keeping his sword blade up and ready. They split, Dean going right and Finn left. The mature frog’s eyes went cross as it tried to keep them both in its line of sight. It hesitated for a moment, then the pouch on its neck swelled, and it jerked towards Finn.

  Dean saw his opportunity. In an instance, he raced forward, raising his sword to strike. He realized his mistake a moment too late. The Mature frog turned suddenly, Finn forgotten as it opened its mouth. Dean saw a flash of pink and tried to move, but the toxin slowed him down. The tongue lashed towards him, heading straight for his face. It was all he could do to lift his sword in defense. The tongue wrapped around the blade, the barbs pinging harmlessly off the metal.

  “Ha!” yelled Dean as the frog tried and failed to retract its tongue. “Finn, shoot it in the mouth!”

  He heard the hunter fumble behind him, heard the snap of a bow string. Dean dug in his heels as he fought the frogs pull. The monster was incredibly strong, and his footing wasn’t solid enough to hold on forever. Just at the frog gave a mighty pull that sent Dean tumbling forward, an arrow whizzed by. For a moment, it seemed like time slowed.

  Then the arrow sank deep into the frog's throat, followed by another. The frog jerked, its eyes bulging as it tried to swallow blood. Then after a tense moment, the muscles of its tongue relaxed, its grip on Dean’s sword slackening. Pushed to his feet, raising his sword but the frog was already dead.

  Finn was panting from effort.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I would have kicked the bucket if it weren’t for you. They were congregated on the ledge over there,” he gestured. “And I couldn’t have seen it from this angle. I didn’t notice their presence until they were nearly on me.”

  Finn took a moment to pull his arrows free from the corpses before the two of them hurried down the slope towards the rest of the fighting. Dean could hear the clash of metal and flesh, followed by a cry. Fearing the worst, he and Finn ran forward with weapons at the ready.

  Ten sat on top of a small pile of frog corpses, his legs crossed in a very monk-like position as he watched Shae cleave a remaining frog in two. Blood sprayed, and the woman let out an annoyed grunt.

  “I still say that mature frog counts as two. Can’t claim you're up by one if all you killed were the little ones.”

  “A body is a body,” said Ten, shrugging. “I win, you lose, eh?” He laughed, the sound ringing across the pond. Finn’s bow dropped, and he let out a sigh of relief.

  “And here I was worrying that you idiots had gotten yourselves in trouble.”

  “The only trouble is Ten’s inability to count,” grumbled Shae. She pulled her axe free from the frog corpse, expression sour.

  “She's mad because she lost the bet,” said Ten, shrugging in self-satisfaction. “He has to buy me a whole lamb shank.”

  Finn rolled his eyes.

  “Shae, what did I tell you about betting against Ten. You know he doesn’t ever fight fair.”

  While the three of them argued, Dean knelt down, using a patch of grass by the pond to wipe the blood from his blade. It had been a good, clear, and, as far as he could see, the harvest would yield good results. Maybe he could finally afford some upgraded boots… or a new weapon.

  And a hot meal.

  He was about to rise to his feet when something brushed against his mana sense. Tensing Dean turned, scanning the surrounding area for any sign of a threat. When he saw nothing, he frowned.

  “Everything alright?” asked Finn when he saw Dean’s expression. Dean hesitated. Recent experience had taught him not to ignore his instincts when he sensed danger.

  “I don’t..” he started to say, then trailed off. The surface of the pond rippled once. For a moment, they all stared, unsure if it had been a fluke. Then the water began to roil.