"Black Rose!" He drove his heels into the gelding's flanks, and the midnight steed launched forward with explosive power. His decision proved fortuitous—while evading the female wolf, the alpha on his left had nearly severed his arm at the shoulder.

  Now at full gallop, the warhorse thundered ahead, yet the distance between mount and predators remained alarmingly close. All three wolves pursued with manic determination, their limbs pistoning with mechanical fury, muscles straining so violently it seemed their very tendons might shred apart at any moment.

  "Kid! You alright?" Old McKenzie bellowed from behind.

  "I've taken pisses slower than this, old man," Raymond shot back. The wolf pack closed once more, the alpha reclaiming its position at the vanguard. Their formation had transformed—no longer dispersed, they now ran in perfect single file, tracking the elite knight's left flank with tactical precision.

  Raymond pivoted in his saddle, raising his blade to ear height.

  The alpha struck again. The moment its hind paws connected with earth, it exploded upward in a predatory arc. Raymond Noytra countered with a lightning-fast horizontal slash—a devastating sweep aimed perfectly at the wolf's exposed throat in mid-leap. Under normal circumstances, the Dire Wolf would have been cleaved in twain.

  But his blade met only air. Disbelief contorted his features as the swordsman failed to comprehend how he'd missed. The alpha had seemingly vanished a hairsbreadth before steel connected with fur. What followed occurred too rapidly for conscious processing. White-hot pain erupted through his right arm, accompanied by the nauseating crack of splintering bone. A female wolf materialized in his panic-widened vision. Understanding dawned—the lead wolf was no longer his primary concern. It had been trampled beneath hooves in the chaotic exchange.

  The female wolf's fangs sank deep into his arm while its claws raked frantically across both rider and mount. Summoning his last reserves of strength before his right arm surrendered to numbness, Raymond hurled his steel blade across his body, deftly catching it with his left hand.

  For one fleeting instant, the wolf's jaws loosened—but by then, Raymond's longsword had already transfixed its body. Arterial blood erupted in a crimson fountain, drenching him completely. The metallic reek drove the black horse into a state of battle-frenzy. The wolf, recognizing its imminent demise, locked its jaws with renewed savagery onto Raymond's arm. Raymond Noytra, too, understood the finality of his mission. His right arm had surrendered all sensation.

  Black Rose accelerated even further, the persistent coppery scent of blood heightening its combat conditioning. The Gothmar elite knights' warhorses—predominantly black or chestnut specimens—underwent rigorous desensitization training, their feed deliberately laced with blood to prevent battlefield panic amid the overwhelming stench of carnage. Behind them, the remaining wolves appeared to falter, perhaps from exhaustion or having achieved their primary objective, their relentless pace finally diminishing.

  The mortally wounded female wolf had embedded its claws into Raymond's leather cuirass, its carcass swinging grotesquely in the night air. Raymond barely maintained his seat, his left hand abandoning any pretense of swordsmanship to grip the saddle with desperate intensity. Waves of excruciating pain and vertiginous disorientation assaulted his consciousness. Though he suppressed any outward cry, the hemorrhaging from his mangled arm far exceeded survivable limits. The darkness of shock encroached upon his vision.

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  "Have you resolved the situation, lad?" A voice called from some indeterminate distance. It possessed an ethereal quality, as though emanating from across vast temporal chasms. "Mission accomplished!" he roared back—or believed he did. "Well done, boy. Exemplary work." This voice seemed to recede further, resonating with the cadence of his old training officer at the military academy. "Excellent form, cadet. Your swordsmanship shows promise, but exercise greater caution regarding friendly targets. Your blade exists to shield comrades, not endanger them... That concludes today's instruction."

  (Comrades...) His eyelids descended with leaden weight. (That concludes today's instruction...)

  "Raymond!" Another voice pierced his fading consciousness. "Young man, report your condition!"

  (Ah, the old messenger.) "Perfectly fine!" Raymond strained to eliminate the quaver from his voice. "Continue forward! I'll neutralize the remaining threats."

  "Are you certain you require no assistance?" Old McKenzie's voice cracked with exertion. "I can't even pinpoint your position!" The veteran courier then addressed Ivan Northes at the fore. "We should reduce speed and allow him to rejoin formation!"

  "We maintain trajectory," Ivan replied with glacial finality, brooking no further discussion.

  "Nevertheless—"

  "Listen carefully, old man!" Raymond mustered his remaining strength for one thunderous command. His gaze locked with the female wolf's, finding nothing but vacant predatory instinct reflected in those amber orbs. Though its jaws remained secured around the knight's shattered limb, claws still embedded in his torn leather armor, the wolf had unquestionably crossed into death.

  "I'm attending to your words! What message do you convey, young warrior?"

  "Excellent—keep listening!" Raymond pressed on. "I've neutralized one female assailant. The secondary female and alpha remain active threats. However, I've sustained damage that may prevent complete objective fulfillment. Damnation! Will you permit me to complete my statement?!" he suddenly roared, though no interruption had occurred. "You must maintain proximity to Papa Northes. He will ensure your survival..." His unfocused gaze drifted to the catastrophic remains of his right arm, which now retained only tenuous connection to his shoulder socket. "Place absolute faith in Ivan Northes. Regard him with filial trust. Such unwavering confidence has preserved my existence these many years." The elite knight's lips contorted into a grotesque approximation of mirth. "Extend similar faith to me, if you would."

  Spectral moonlight. Exposed bone fragments. Lacerated flesh. His devastated right arm dangled by mere sinews. The distant voices oscillated in and out of comprehensibility. Unconsciousness beckoned with increasing insistence.

  "...He's gravely wounded, Ivan! We... we must reverse course..."

  (Fuck.)

  "...Forward momentum... maintain... speed. He... will neutralize... remaining targets..."

  (Fuck.)

  "Two hostiles persist! We... must provide reinforcement!"

  (Fuck.)

  "...Continue advance... he... selected this outcome."

  (Fuck.)

  "We cannot abandon his position..."

  "FUCK! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL, YOU WORTHLESS MAGGOTS!" Raymond Noytra's primal roar shattered the night. "HAVE THE WOLVES DEVOURED YOUR EARS, OR ARE YOUR SKULLS SIMPLY DEVOID OF BRAINS?! I VOLUNTEERED FOR REARGUARD ACTION! I COMMITTED TO ELIMINATING THESE FUCKING BEASTS!" The elite knight bellowed with deranged abandon. "I'LL SLAUGHTER THEM ALL! MOUNT THEIR HEADS AS TROPHIES! FLEE IF YOU MUST, YOU SPINELESS WORMS! CANINE WILL ALWAYS TRIUMPH OVER BOVINE EXCREMENT! I'LL DISMEMBER THE REMAINING WOLVES THIS VERY MOMENT! RIGHT NOW—" He reached to extract his sword from the wolf's corpse, but his tirade terminated abruptly.

  His arm was gone. The final connective tissue of his right limb had severed completely. The dead wolf plummeted earthward, dragging with it shredded leather armor, the blood-saturated appendage, and perhaps most devastating of all—his irretrievable steel sword.

  (...The sword...) Raymond's face went white as bone as he watched his final hope descend into darkness. The horse bucked him off, sending him sprawling in the opposite direction.