Gray and Tamemoto limped back into Camp Tile as the sun dipped low, painting the river in deep orange.

  Their bags were heavy with monster parts, but their bodies were heavier.

  Gray’s ribs throbbed with every step — sharp, grinding pain that made him clench his teeth.

  Tamemoto walked beside him, one hand pressed to his chest where the bandage had soaked through again.

  He breathed in short, careful gasps, face pale.

  The watch tower guards spotted them first.

  Three men stepped forward, spears lowered but alert.

  Behind them walked a tall, broad-shouldered man in a worn soldier’s uniform — faded blue coat with silver buttons, a sword at his hip, and a captain’s insignia on the shoulder.

  His face was weathered, eyes sharp but kind.

  This was Captain Marek, the acting leader of Camp Tile, a former caravan guard who had taken charge when the old council fell apart. “Gray. Tamemoto,” Marek called out, voice steady. “

  You two look like you’ve been through hell. Healer! Get over here!”

  A middle-aged woman with a satchel hurried forward. She took one look at the blood and winced. “Sit. Both of you. Now.”

  Gray lowered himself onto a wooden bench near the gate, biting back a groan as pain flared through his ribs.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Hssst…” he hissed through clenched teeth. Tamemoto sat beside him, letting out a small, involuntary whimper when the healer pressed on his chest wound — “Nngh…!”

  Marek crouched in front of them. “What happened out there?”

  Gray answered, voice flat but clear. “The trolls are attacking Ashfall. Heavy. Hundreds of them. There are giants — big, durable ones. And troll riders. Some of them use aura. They can talk.”

  Marek straightened up fast. His face hardened. “Those damn assholes from Ashfall… always dragging trouble our way.”

  He exhaled sharply, then reached into his coat and pulled out two small vials of glowing blue liquid.

  “Here. Healing potions. Strong ones. On the house. Catch both of you.”

  Gray and Tamemoto stared at the vials in surprise. Potions like these were expensive — rare even in Camp Tile.

  They nodded in thanks and drank.

  Warmth spread through their bodies almost immediately, easing the worst of the pain, though the deeper aches remained.

  The healer finished bandaging them and helped them stand.

  Gray turned to Rorik, who had been watching from the side. “Rorik. Get Gauis and Rebecca. Tell them we’re back.”

  Rorik nodded and ran.

  They waited at the healing tent.

  Gray’s ribs still ached with every breath — “Haa… damn it…” — but the potion had stopped the bleeding. Tamemoto sat beside him, pressing a hand to his chest, face tight with pain but no longer bleeding.

  Gauis arrived first, Rebecca right behind him. Gauis’s good eye scanned them both, taking in the blood and bandages.

  “What happened?” he asked, voice low.

  Gray told them everything — the horde, the numbers, the giants, the troll riders who used aura and spoke the common tongue. Tamemoto added details when Gray paused, his voice steadier than it used to be.

  Rebecca listened in silence. When they finished, she facepalmed and turned to Gauis.

  “You didn’t tell them about the other races yet?” she asked, half-exasperated, half-amused.

  Gauis smiled wryly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright… we’ll talk about other races in the future.”

  Gray and Tamemoto both let out a small laugh — tired, but real.

  Then Tamemoto’s tone shifted. He looked at Gauis and Rebecca, eyes serious.

  “I think we need to prepare to move,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that the camp might get dragged into this mess.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Gauis and Rebecca exchanged a long look.

  Gray felt the weight settle in his chest again.

  The world outside was getting louder.