It was nearly dusk before Dean spotted the town in the distance. The main road had branched off, leading him down a few winding forest paths before reconnecting to a wider dirt road. The glow of lanterns around the wooden wall alerted him to the presence of several watchmen.

  The men were older, in their forties or fifties, and judging by the ill repair of their armor they weren’t the most well-equipped guards.

  “Hold there, stranger,” said one, stepping out from his post before the open gate. “What brings you our humble town at the fall of night?”

  “Work,” said Dean, coming to a halt only feet away. “I’m looking for a man named Ivan at the inn. I was told he might have a contract for me?”

  “Contract?” The man gripped his spear tightly, his eyes narrowing beneath his visor as he took Dean in. “What do you-“

  “Hold on Jaren,” said the other guardsman excitedly, pointing to the badge on Dean’s chest. “This here is an Adventurer! One of the Guilds must have sent him. See? I told you they’d come through!”

  “I don’t work for the Guilds, but yes, I’m an Adventurer. I’m here about the uh… ghost contract.” Dean winced as he said it, but the guardsman only paled slightly.

  “Aye, well, we’re glad to see you. Investigating this man has caused us one of our own, and at this rate, we don’t exactly have the manpower for a witch hunt.”

  “He doesn’t need to know about our manpower now, does he?” snapped the other guard, rounding on his fellow. “What have I told you about oversharing with strangers. You gotta mind what you say, eh? Be bloody strategic.”

  “I ain’t said a lie!” snapped Jaren

  “It’s about lying now, is it? It’s about not parading our weaknesses out for just anybody to see.”

  Dean stepped around the two arguing watchmen, and, when nobody stopped him, he continued through the gate. The men’s voices faded as he made his way into the town, nodding at the folk he passed. Several stopped to stare at him, their eyes going wide when they saw his badge and the sword on his back.

  A small child gripped her mother's hand, hiding behind her in the doorway of their house as Dean passed. The smell of hot food wafted up the street, and Dean followed the smell until she heard the sound of voices and the clink of plates.

  A small wooden building stood apart from the others, with lanterns set in the windows. It was in shabby condition, with old roof tiles and a crooked side that read “Crossroads Inn.”

  The door was propped open, and the scent from within made his stomach growl. Dean reached down, patting the coin purse at his hip that was now nearly empty. He could use some food, and yet he knew he barely had enough to cover both a meal and board for the night.

  He was in desperate need of this contract, and if he wanted to establish himself as an independent Adventurer, then he knew he’d need to earn himself a positive reputation. Without pay and endorsement from a Guild, finding and carrying out jobs was his responsibility.

  These days, trust was scarce, and not everyone would be willing to give an independent with no Guild credentials a chance. He was going to have to work his way up from the bottom.

  Dean stepped through the door and was hit by a wave of warmth as the smell of hot food and fresh bread washed over him. The Inn itself was only half full, and few of those inside seemed like fellow travelers. In small towns like this, inns doubled as taverns, and judging by the loud laughter coming from the table, there were more than a few regular drinkers in Dutton.

  “Can I help you?” asked the barmaid, eyes sweeping him with a flare of suspicion as she refilled a clay jug of ale.

  Dean unstrapped his sword, laying it against the bar with a thump as he took a seat on the wooden stool.

  “Maybe,” he said, glancing around. “I’m looking for Ivan.”

  The barmaid stiffened, setting down the jug and wiping her hands on her apron.

  “And what do you need with him? If you’re some Guild Lackey looking for taxes, then bugger off. We won’t pay twice, no matter how many officials you send to bully us.”

  “I’m not a Guilder.” Dean lifted a hand, tapping the badge on his chest. “I’m an independent. And I’m here about the contract.”

  “An… independent…” The woman's mouth opened and closed several times, then a blush spread across her cheeks.

  “You’re an Adventurer! God's balls, I’m sorry I didn’t realize…” her flush deepened. “Uh, sorry about the language. It’s just… well, we don’t get many of your kind in Dutton.”

  When Dean only shrugged, she looked relieved.

  “Let me get you an ale on the house, and I’ll go and see if I can’t find Ivan. I was sure I saw him only ten minutes ago.”

  She produced a tall glass from behind the counter and poured him some amber ale. She was an expert pour, the foam on the top minimal as she set the glass down before him.

  “Thanks,” he said, but before he could say more, a loud voice interrupted him.

  “Tasha, where’s that bloody jug? Don’t keep us waiting, eh, love? Bad for business.”

  The barmaid, Tasha, he could only assume, swore under her breath before plastering a smile on her face.

  “I’ll be right there, you lot. Just give me a moment.”

  “Aye, I’d like to give you more than a moment.”

  Laughter bubbled up from the corner, and Dean turned his head to see the group of farmers turn in the direction of the bar. There were six of them all told, and judging by the pile of empty glasses on the table, they’d been at it since well before sundown. They were large men, and by the way Tasha winced at their words, Dean could tell it hadn’t been the first time they’d made a pass at her.

  One of the men caught Dean looking, and the smile slid from his face. He leaned over, whispering into the ear of the man next to him. Dean turned back to his drinking, deciding it was best if he kept his nose out of it.

  “Sorry about that,” said Tasha. “Ale’s a copper off by the jug tonight and, well, you can see the results for yourself.” She tossed down her apron and turned towards the back rooms.

  “Ivan? Ivan, we have a guest!”

  “Tell him I’ve paid the Emperor’s taxes, and by the grace of the gods he can merrily fuck himself.” Came the shot from somewhere in the back. Tasha rolled her eyes.

  “He’s not a tax collector. He’s here about the contract.”

  There was a pause, then the sound of clattering from the back.

  “Tell him to give me five minutes, and pour the man a drink. He’s gonna need it.”

  “Already done.” Tasha shook her head, turning back towards the bar.

  “You’ll have to forgive my uncle. He has quite the….” Her eyes slid over Dean’s shoulder, and her face went pale. Moments later, Dean’s mana sensed warned him of the presence of three people. Dean noted their essence signatures, but didn’t otherwise react as the farmers approached. One of the men, a large bald man with a thick beard, leaned against the countertop.

  “What’s all the hold up, darlin’?” he asked, directing his gaze towards Tasha. “I thought I told you to hurry on up with my jug. A good woman like you ought to know not to keep a man waiting.”

  “Are you blind, Dain? In case you hadn’t noticed, I was in the middle of serving a new customer.”

  She hefted the clay jug, sliding it across the counter towards the three men. But Dain didn’t so much as glance at it. Instead, his eyes slid from Tasha to Dean, and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes crept onto his face.

  “Well now,” he said, reaching up to pull a toothpick from between his lips. “You’re not from around here are ya, partner? I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Damn shame, since I’m the elder of this town. Dain’s the name. And yours is…?”

  The other two men were also smiling, but the way they crowded around Dean’s barstool to create a cage made it obvious they weren’t trying to be friendly. Dean took a casual swig of his drink, setting it down with a soft bang on the countertop.

  “Dean,” he said. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I’m only here to talk to Ivan about a contract.”

  “A contact?” Dain’s brows met in confusion before his gaze came to rest on the iron badge on Dean’s chest. The second he saw it, his face darkened.

  “What is this?” he growled, setting his glare on Tasha. The barmaid looked visibly distressed as Dain’s thick hand slapped the counter.

  “I thought I told you to cancel the contract! I told Ivan we could handle this ourselves, we don’t need any gods damn Guilders in our town, not now and not ever.”

  To Tasha’s credit, she held her ground.

  “I know that,” she said. “But people are getting killed out there. Four attacked, two dead, and that was only in the last month. The Guilds said they’d send someone, but when nobody showed, we had no choice but to take matters into our own hands.”

  “No!” Dain’s face was going red with anger. His fist clenched as he glared across the counter.

  “My father didn’t recognize the authority of any Guild or Adventurer as long as he was alive, and neither will I. These people,” he jabbed a finger at Dean. “Have no business coming here and sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “But he’s not with the Guild,” said Tasha. “He said so himself. “He’s an independent Adventuerer, and we’re well within our rights to hire him ourselves. So you can back right off and watch your tone before I have you thrown out again.”

  Dain’s eyes actually bulged with anger.

  Predator Sense: Active

  The large man grabbed the clay jug, ale sloshing as he cocked his arm back.

  “You bitch,” he snarled. “Just who the hell do you think-“

  Dean’s hand closed around the man’s wrist, stopping his arm mid-swing. The jug fell from his hand, crashing to the counter and soaking the front of the man’s work shirt.

  “The hell do you think you are?” he growled, attempting to wrench his arm free, but Dean’s grip was iron. He twisted the man’s wrist, causing Dain to cry out and bend halfway over to avoid the pain. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and Dean turned his head, meeting the eyes of the farmer behind him. At the same time, the aura within him swelled.

  “Back,” he snarled, putting as much violence in the word as he could. “Off.”

  The man’s throat bobbed, his eyes flicking to Dean’s badge before he released him and took a hasty step back. By now, most of the laughter had stopped as the few busy tables in the inn had turned to watch the scene. Dean gave another twist of the man’s arm, causing him to bleat like a sheep.

  “Now,” said he calmly, his voice carrying despite its low volume. “If you ever raise your hand in violence towards an innocent, I will beat the boots off you. I don’t give a damn who you are or who your father was. That clear?”

  Dain’s forehead was pressed to the sopping countertop, his teeth clenched with pain.

  “Y-yes,” he hissed, his eyes screwed shut.

  “Good. Now, I’m going to let go of you. I told you I don’t want trouble, so you and our boys should leave. Now run along, sober up, and don’t let me catch you back here tonight. Am I understood?”

  There was a pause, and Dean applied a little pressure to his grip, making the man pant.

  “Yes, yes I understand. Please just…”

  Dean released the man, and Dain straightened, his face pale and sweaty. Without a word, he and the other men gathered their things and made for the tavern door, shooting angry looks over their shoulders. Tasha’s lips were pursed as she watched the door swing shut behind them.

  “You should be careful,” she said. “Elder Dain may not be a rich man, but his father was well-liked around these parts. If he stirs up the townsfolk against you-“

  “Ain’t no townsfolk left that like that, sorry sod,” said a familiar voice as the side door swung open. The old woman from the trail trounced in, tossing a basket of mushrooms onto the counter as she peered between to two of them.

  “Grandma!” Tasha flushed. “Please forgive her Adventuerer Dean, she’s just a but…”

  “Honest?” grumbled the old woman, scooting into a bar stool a few feet away.

  “Rude,” said Tasha, a smile tugging at her lips.

  “And was I wrong? That boy has been in trouble since the day her turned sixteen. His father may have been rather orthodox in his small-town views, but he did care about the town and its people. At least under him, we saw developments and policies, things that bettered the community. His son… well. He’s another matter entirely.”

  She glanced at Dean and smiled.

  “Thank you for looking out for my granddaughter. I think the townsfolk will be making a good decision in hiring you. We may not have all that much to offer, but we’ve raised a contract bounty for this and the surrounding areas. I just hope it will be enough.”

  The doors to the backrooms opened, and a man wearing an open tunic stumbled out. His hair was long and shaggy, and around his neck he wore a cord with a single white fang the size of a finger tied to its end.

  “Sorry for the wait,” he said, his words slurring slightly. “I had to test the most recent cider stock for any… imperfections. It’s a lot stronger than I remembered.” He blinked around at the mostly silent inn, then at Tasha and his niece.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “What did I miss?”

  Ada rolled her eyes and turned to Dean.

  “Have you eaten yet, Adventuerer Dean? I’d be happy to whip you up something to eat from the back. And if you have any meat you gathered earlier than you need me to cook or dry, I could have it ready for you in the morning.”

  Dean perked up, remembering the boar meat in his inventory.

  “That would be great. Also, I wouldn’t mind being able to sell some of the items I acquired through hunting. Is there an Adventurer's shop or Guild house around here?”

  “I’m afraid Dutton’s too small a town for anything as fancy as that. Though if you’re traveling south, you’d surely find a shop or two at Bridgeport. Largest village in the area, right off the shore of the river itself. Tasha can draw you up a map.”

  Ada snapped her fingers at her granddaughter, who hurried to grab a pen and a scrap of parchment. In the meantime, the old woman gathered her basket of mushrooms and the meat that Dean had taken from his inventory before disappearing into the back. The sound of chopping vegetables and sizzling made his stomach growl. It was all he could do not to salivate.

  “Not my best handiwork,” admitted Tasha as she slid the parchment across to him. “But you’ll get the gist. You’ll want to follow the road south and branch here at the reed beds. If you follow the trail along the shore, you’ll reach Bridgeport.” She tapped the X on the map next to the river.

  “Keep in mind that if you’re looking to go across, you’ll have to catch the ferry. It only runs a few times a day these days. Fewer travelers,” she specified, at Dean’s questioning look.

  “This isn’t the safest place to be these days. The Guilds have never had a strong presence in the lower Riverlands, but… well. I’m sure you can see for yourself the sorry state we’re in.”

  “I see people doing the best they can,” said Dean gently. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Here, here,” Ivan had finished rummaging in a box beneath the counter and came up holding a small wooden box. He pulled a key from his trouser pocket and turned the lock, popping open the lid.

  “My mother was right,” he said. “We don’t have much to offer you. It’s been a hard year for us. In terms of trade and crops, especially. But the townsfolk banded together to put a bounty on this damned ghost, and I’d hate to see it go to waste.”

  He set a few coins on the table before him, and Dean counted five silver coins all told. It wasn’t much – not the kind of bounty he’d expect for a Guild contract. But it was certainly a start, and he could use the coin. Then there was always the real reason he had come south.

  With the rumors of attacks and frequently spawning dungeons in the south, Dean had become more than suspicious that the tides of the past were shifting. It was hard to recall that time, having been so long ago. But there was something about the situation that bothered him.

  “This is enough,” he said, causing Tasha to sigh in relief. “I’ll get started right away and collect payment when I’m done.”

  “Right away?” Ivan raised an unkempt eyebrow. “Don’t you want to rest?”

  Dean slowly shook his head, draining the last of his ale.

  “You said attacks happen at night, right? It’s night. If I’m going to find the source of this disturbance, then it’s best I start looking now.”

  Ada opened the back door with a shoulder, carrying a large bowl of steaming stew on one hand and a plate of fresh bread in the other.

  “Then let me send you off on a full stomach,” she said, passing the bowl and plate across the counter. “We owe you, Adventurer Dean. Both for how you handled our… Dain problem, and for accepting our contract. We’ve been too long without help down here. I think folks forgot what it feels like to be able to put faith in an Adventurer.”

  Dean felt a slight swelling in his throat, and he blinked, looking away. He knew that feeling. It was one he’d felt countless times before during his time as a soldier. He knew well what it felt like to be abandoned by the powerful and the mighty at a time when it really mattered.

  “Just doing my job,” he said, ducking his head as he tucked into his bowl of soup. It was warm, and the robust meaty flavor was enough to make his eyes roll. Ada smiled at him as she reached across to refill his jug.

  “And for that, we thank you. If you’re looking for information on the attack, then you’ll probably want to visit the herbalist's shack. Young Mary lives there, although she’s a bit skittish. That mother of hers is a bit standoffish, so you might have a time of it. But if you can get her to talk, she might be able to tell you about the ghost.”

  Dean sopped up the last bit of stew with his bread and nodded once, before rising to his feet.

  “Not going to finish your ale?” asked Tasha, surprised. Dean raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be much good to you half drunk, would I? No, I need my senses sharp for this job. I’ll visit the herbalist, like you said. If you see or hear anything unusual, call for the watch and report it immediately. I’ll be around, but there’s no guarantee I can get here in time if something happens.”

  Tasha nodded.

  “Alright,” she said. Dean rose from his seat, slinging his sword across his back. Tasha watched its path, her cheeks going slightly pink.

  “That’s swords nearly as large as me. You must be strong to wield a weapon like that.”

  Dean shrugged.

  “Strong enough.”

  The girl looked like she might want to say something more, but in the end, she only flushed, tucking her head and wishing him luck without looking at him. Perplexed, Dean turned for the door. Whatever was causing trouble in this village likely wasn’t a ghost. Ghosts, at least as far as he knew, didn’t actually exist. There were some demons, he knew, that possessed unusual powers. But none of them, including the hell knights themselves, wielded the power of spirits or necromancy.

  No, it was likely the answer was a much simpler solution than that. The only question was: how the hell was he going to find it?

  ***

  The fire in the braziers flared bright as Dean made his way to the edge of town. The herbalist's hut was situated outside the main wall, near a small bridge with a creak beneath it. A watchman was striding down the path, no doubt on patrol. Dean waved at the man, but the watchmen only gave him a suspicious look as he passed.

  I suppose I shouldn’t take offense, Dean sighed as he approached the hut door. It’s not like a town this isolated is used to seeing friendly faces.

  The lantern by the inside window was lit, indicating someone was home. Dean banged a fist on the door a few times and stepped back. There was the sound of footsteps within, then a pause as someone pulled aside the curtain. Moments later, the door opened a crack.

  “I told you, she already informed the Lieutenant of everything she knows. Can’t you men leave her be? She’s been through enough as is, and-“

  Upon seeing Dean, her mouth dropped open.

  “Could it be?” she breathed, her eyes going wide. “Have my prayers been answered? Good lady above, you’re him. You’re the Adventurer.”

  “Uh,” said Dean, a bit taken aback by the woman’s words. But she was already opening the door wide, spilling light across the dark ground beyond.

  “Please, come in. I don’t have much to offer you, but if you’re here to speak to my little girl… to find out what really happened that night, then I’d be most grateful.”

  “If it’s no trouble, I’d like to do that. Then I have a few questions for you as well. I know it’s late, it shouldn’t take long.”

  The inside of the herbalist's hut was split into two rooms. The bedroom, to which the door was closed, and the main room that doubled as a kitchen and sitting area. Dried herbs and vegetables hung from bushels along the walls, and Dean saw a number of potion bottles and tinctures locked away in a glass cabinet in the corner.

  “You’re an alchemist?” he asked, pausing to examine one of the herb mixing bowls. The woman waved a hand.

  “I’m not sure you could call me much of an alchemist. I never went to an academy for tutelage, and that which I know is only what’s been passed down to me from my grandmother. But aye, I dabble in weak potions from time to time.”

  Dean nodded and took a seat on a small chair near the fire. The fire in the grate was high despite the moderate weather outside. Dean supposed it had to do more with the light than the warmth of it. The way the woman moved, jumping at every small sound, reminded Dean of a soldier on high alert.

  “It’s alright,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I’m here now. And I don’t intend to leave until I’ve dealt with whatever is doing this.”

  The woman’s throat bobbed, and she nodded.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll go get Mary. She’s a shy girl, always has been, really. And this whole situation… it only made things worse. Please don’t hold it against her if she won’t talk. I know it frustrated the guards, but-“ she shook her head. “She’s just a little girl.”

  “I understand.”

  The woman walked to the back of the room, pausing before the old door to knock softly a few times.

  “Mary? Mary, a man’s here. He’s an Adventuerer and he’d like to meet you.”

  There was a pause.

  “Tell him to go away,” said the indignant voice from within. The woman winced, leaning her head against the door.

  “Don’t you want to meet the Adventurer? He’s strong, Mary. And he’s got a big sword! A sword like daddy used to carry, you remember? Only bigger.”

  Another pause. Then the sound of shuffling from within.

  “How big?” came the tiny voice. The woman smiled.

  “Bigger even than you!”

  The brass nob turned and the door cracked, spilling light into the room. A tiny eye peered out at him and widened when it saw Dean. Slowly, the door opened further, revealing a young girl no older than six or seven. She was dressed in a housecoat much too large for her, and she was clutching a rag doll to her chest. She moved awkwardly, and Dean winced internally when he saw the bandages on her side.

  She came to a stop before him, so small that she barely came up to his knee when he was sitting.

  “And you’re really an Adventuerer?” she asked, hiding behind her doll. Dean nodded, reaching up and tapping his badge with a gloved finger.

  “I am.”

  Her eyes widened, and she lowered her doll.

  “Did the Gods send you?”

  “That’s right. They told me that something scary tried to hurt little Mary. And that I’m to find it and squash it like a bug. But in order to do that, I have to ask you questions, alright? Questions about that night.”

  Mary nodded, her little pigtails flapping. Then she hesitated.

  “But what if you don’t believe me?”

  “Ah,” said Dean gently, shifting forward and resting his armored elbows on his knees. “Is that what happened before? You told the watchmen, and they didn’t believe you?”

  Mary nodded shyly, looking at her shoes.

  “The big men didn’t believe me. They said I was lying, and the big bald sergeant man said if I told any more lies then…”

  She swallowed, and her mother ran a hand over her head.

  “He threatened my daughter,” she said, her voice tight. “All because he didn’t believe what she had to say. I know Mary can be a bit… eccentric at times. She’s always had such a vibrant imagination, just like her father used to. But my little girl isn’t a liar.”

  Dean laced his fingers together and gave her his best genuine smile.

  “Okay then,” he said. “If I promise to believe you, will you tell me?”

  Mary nodded again and stepped forward before looking up at her mother. When the woman nodded, she came to stand closer to him.

  “What happened that night?” he asked gently. “What do you remember?”

  “I remember…” Mary glanced at her shoes. “I was out catching worms with Erin.”

  “Her friend,” said her mother for clarification.

  “And we were supposed to be back before dark. Only… dark is the best time for catching worms. I just thought it would be alright if I stayed for a little bit, even though Mom would be cross. We were catching worms over the bridge near the stream and putting them in a pail. The sun went down, but we were having so much fun I just…”

  “Lost track of time?” finished Dean, trying to keep the amusement from his voice. Little Mary nodded.

  “And that’s when we heard the sound. It sounded like..”

  Mary pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and made a strange ticking noise several times.

  “We thought it was one of the guardsmen playing tricks on us but we didn’t see nobody. No torch or anything. And then I remember Erin was looking into the woods, and she saw something. It scared her so bad that she dropped the lantern and ran.”

  The fire crackled in the grate, casting shadows across the room.

  “What did she see?” prompted Dean, his eyes fixed on her face. Mary looked up at him then, and there was no trace of dishonesty on her face. Only fear.

  “She saw a big pale ghost man,” she said softly. “He was in the trees. And he was coming towards us.”

  “Do you remember what he looked like?” asked Dean. “Was he big or small? Was he wearing armor? Carrying weapons?”

  Mary looked fearfully up at her mother, who nodded, her eyes filled with worry.

  “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice.

  “And this ghost man… he attacked you?”

  Mary nodded. Dean sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Mary’s mother drew her daughter closer to her and gave Dean an apologetic look.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s hardly helpful to the investigation, but… that’s all she remembers. The Sergeant tried to coax more out of her, but, well.” The woman hesitated, glancing down at her daughter.

  “Thank you sweetheart. Can you go to your room now and let mummy talk to the kind Adventuerer?”

  Mary hesitated for a moment before cradling her doll to her chest and nodding. She walked slowly to her bedroom door, casting glances over her shoulder as she went.

  “Remember you promised, okay?” she said as her small hand closed around the brass nob. “You promised you’d believe me.”

  “I do believe you,” said Dean. “But now I have to talk to your mother, okay?”

  Mary nodded, giving him one last look before shutting the door.

  Her mother sank into a nearby chair, her head cradled in her hands.

  “It’s been a disaster, as you can imagine. Herbal women used to be revered, you know. We were seen as minor healers and potion brewers – women who helped care for a village and its community. But over the past few decades, the winds have shifted against us.”

  Dean nodded his understanding.

  “Superstition?”

  “Aye, I believe that’s the crux of it. These days, the practice of brewing herbal remedies and concoctions is seen as sacrilegious by many, and demonic at worst. We’ve had our share of accusations in the past, but never anything quite like this. Half the village is turned against us. They think we brought this ghost down on them and now…”

  She shook her head.

  “Look, I know how her story sounds. But I know my Mary, and she is not a liar. If she says that’s what she saw, then I believe her.”

  “For what it’s worth, I believe her too.” Dean glanced at the closed door, running a hand over his face.

  “Whatever attacked her frightened her, and so far we know three things. It was pale, it came from the woods, and it attacked at night. I saw bandages. When you cleaned and dressed the wound what did you see?”

  The herbal woman raised her head, her brows coming together as she tried to remember.

  “Scuff marks,” she said. “On her hands and knees, I assume from falling. Then there was a puncture wounds on her side.”

  Dean looked at her sharply.

  “What size?” How many? Were they deep?”

  “There were two, I believe, maybe about the size of a thumb.”

  Dean stood suddenly, causing the woman to startle.

  “And how was Mary after the attack? Was she woozy? Sluggish?”

  The herbalist only looked confused.

  “She was just attacked. How was she supposed to be? I just assumed she was tired after everything….”

  Dean was already striding for the door.

  “Thank you for all your help. Is there a way I can get in contact with Mary’s friend Erin?”

  “The Elder’s daughter? No, I doubt he’ll let her speak to you. He’s never liked us much, and what with the Watch Lieutenant and half the guard gone, he’s been less than hospitable towards us. I think for him, this incident was likely the last straw. He’s never liked his daughter and mine being friends.”

  Dean nodded, pulling open the door.

  “Thank you for your help, and thank Mary for me. She was very brave.” He hesitated, glancing out into the darkness.

  “Whatever you do, stay inside and keep your doors locked and barred.”

  The woman nodded.

  “We will, Adventurer.”

  Dean nodded once before shutting the door behind him and descending the wooden steps into the night. The air was cold and crisp, with no traces of a breeze. Above the half moon shone faint light over the ground around him.

  The little girl had said she’d been catching worms by the stream across the bridge. By his estimation, it wasn’t likely they’d gone far. He could hear the tinkling of the nearby stream and followed it until he saw the old bridge. The worn wooden boards creaked beneath his boots as he crossed to the other side.

  About ten feet away, next to a small boulder, Dean found a wooden pail filled with dirt. Dean crouched, running a glove through the loose dirt until he found…

  “Worms,” he muttered, watching the small red-pink bodies disappear beneath the soil once more. “So this is the place.”

  Bringing the torch from his inventory, he scoured the ground, examining the impressions he saw. There were footprints here, the larger ones Dean could only assume were from the boots of patrolling guardsmen. But among them, he could see a smaller set of prints, the toe marks barely visible. The tracks wound up the shore before crossing over the path towards the grass near the trees.

  Dean followed them until he found a spot of churned-up mud.

  This must have been where she fell.

  The grass around the area was flattened as if something had landed with great force. Dean walked around the spot several times but saw no sign of adult boot or footprints. Instead, he saw several holes in the ground about the size of a fist. They were shallow, no more than six inches deep, but there was no mistaking it now.

  What had attacked Mary and Erin that night hadn’t been a man or a Ghost. It had been a monster. Dean had been crouching near the mud, his head lowered and eyes downcast, when he felt the prickle to his mana sense. It was feint, a mere warning rather than a declaration of danger, but he’d felt it nonetheless. Now he rose to his feet, staring into the darkness. Something moved on the branch of a tree. Something with multiple eyes.

  Dean moved in an instant, closing the distance with his essence ability even as he pulled the sword from his back. The blade slammed into the wet body, shearing the creature in two along with the branch it had been sitting on. Dean had no sooner landed when his senses, now enhanced by his predatory gift, went off. Dean spun, moving on pure instinct as he snapped his hand into the air and caught the thing that had been leaping for his head.

  The forest spider squirmed in his grip, trying to free itself. Its glistening fangs twitched, longing for his skin. Dean tossed it to the ground and stamped it to pulp beneath his boot.

  “Spiders,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is it always bloody spiders?”

  A notification caught his attention, and Dean cocked his head.

  You have slain juvenile forest spider x2

  You have gained the skill: Mana Focus. Mana focus allows the user to use manse sense within a wider area around his or her person. Mana Focus can also be used to track the essence signatures of living beings.

  Now that… was interesting. Dean glanced to the side and almost started when he saw that the branch he had just cleaved was still glowing with the faint light of essence. In fact, both spider corpses were still illuminated in his senses, and when he stared into the night, he thought he could see faint lines winding off into the darkness. Mana trails, he realized. The path that the creatures had taken led back somewhere. But in the darkness it was impossible to see. Or at least, it had been.

  Dean spread out his mana sense, focusing on following the glowing trails before him. After a moment, his mana sense almost seemed to pulse, before it began stretching, creeping farther and farther out until he could see in a thirty-foot radius all around.

  He pushed onward, straining his senses to their limit until he felt…. Dean’s eyes snapped open, his heart racing as he realized exactly what he was sensing.

  “Oh shit,” he breathed, as the full scope of what he was up against began sinking in. If there weren’t just a few forest spiders… no. There had to be dozens, maybe hundreds, of his senses that were accurate. If there were that many already, it could only mean one thing.

  There was a nest. And where there was a nest, there had to be a queen.