"You're lucky it didn't go deeper."
That's what Embergleam said as she yanked another strip of pressure bark from the satchel and slapped it against my shoulder. Not gently. Not angrily. Just... firmly, like I was something that needed patching more than comforting.
I winced. "Sure. Lucky me. I only got a taste of sword today. That's restraint."
She gave me a look like she wanted to argue, but she was too tired to waste the breath.
So she just pressed down harder.
We were back near the central trench post, under the high arch of half-woven moss shade. I sat on a stone chunk that used to be part of a failed wall, and tried not to count the ways my shoulder hurt.
Across the clearing, Hoarder dropped another scrap map onto the crate-turned-table and stabbed a claw at the edge markings.
"Sector C's holding. Barely. Golem 3 is salvageable if we can recover the core. Golem 7's gone. One adventurer in the moss cell—unconscious, restrained, not speaking."
I grunted. "And?"
"And the humans haven't pulled back. They're not repositioning. They're circling."
"Great. So they're vultures with swords."
"No," Hoarder said. "Vultures wait for things to die. These ones are helping."
That earned him a glance from Embergleam, but she didn't say anything. Just tied off the last bandage, stood, and walked toward the supply ring like her spine was made of rope and fury.
I stayed on the stone a little longer.
The flame was steady now. Not flickering. But it wasn't warm either. Not really. It watched me the way a hawk watches a field—interested, but not invested.
Then the system whispered.
[Flame-Kin Domain Reinforcement – Tier I Unlocked]
[Activate Sovereign Anchor Commitment?]
[Mental Strain Risk: Moderate – Sync Will Be Permanent While Active]
I didn't touch it.
Didn't close it either.
Just let the prompt sit there in the corner of my vision, like a dare.
Quicktongue approached, slower than usual, and passed me a fresh relay strip. His claws were twitchy.
"Intercepted glyph," he said. "Not meant for us. Came from their backline, got caught in our snare-net."
I unrolled it. Read it twice.
Didn't like it either time.
"'Clean-up team dispatched,'" I read aloud. "'Hero class authorized. Squad confirmed. Estimated arrival—imminent.'"
Hoarder frowned. "They're sending someone with a title?"
"Apparently."
"What's a hero class?"
"No idea," I said. "But if the system doesn't like them, I'm guessing it involves swords, speeches, or both."
Quicktongue looked like she wanted to laugh. She didn't.
System pinged again, cheerfully unbothered.
[Enemy Composition Update: Incoming Tactical Unit – Class: Hero (Confirmed)]
[Advisory: Local Defenses Not Optimized for Myth-Class Adversary Types]
"Cool," I muttered. "Thanks for that. I'll be sure to let the golems know they're underleveled."
The wind changed before they appeared.
It wasn't magic. Not exactly. Just a shift in pressure. Like the dungeon itself had decided to inhale, hold its breath, and wait.
I stood at the edge of the ridge, flame sheathed, claws twitching.
They came through the Verge in no formation I recognized—no standard square, no obvious flank cover, no vanguard scout line.
Just four of them.
One in front, walking like the world made space for him.
And three behind, each exactly far enough to cover the gaps he didn't have.
They didn't move fast.
They didn't need to.
The leader was human. Tall. Armored in clean lines of silver-threaded chain with dull black overplate. No ornamentation. No visible crest.
He wore his sword sheathed across his back, like it wasn't there to be drawn.
Moss curled away from his boots as he walked.
The mage behind him moved like a shadow—robes shaped for movement, not ritual. He didn't chant. Just touched a gem at his belt and sent a pulse forward. The earth rippled. A tripwire I'd forgotten about went silent.
The shieldbearer was quietest of all. Big. Methodical. Her armor was runed, but not glowing. Practical defense runes. Real tank work.
The fourth—a ranger—kept to the flanks. Loose stance, bow notched but not raised, scanning the treeline like it owed her a confession.
No one spoke.
They knew exactly what they were walking into.
Splitjaw stood beside me. He didn't say anything at first.
Then: "That him?"
"Hero-class," I said. "Sir Edrin Vale."
"You sure?"
"No. But the system sounded worried. That's close enough."
He clicked his teeth together once, slow and sharp. "We ready for this?"
"No," I said. "But we're not backing up either."
They reached the outer line in three minutes.
Sector F3.
A light perimeter. Not trap-heavy. Two golems on patrol.
The mage flicked his wrist.
The air pulsed.
The first golem staggered. Not disabled—just confused. Its anchor spun without resistance, like someone had blurred its orders mid-function.
The second golem advanced.
The hero didn't draw his sword.
He stepped forward and touched the golem's leg with his palm.
The flame inside it dimmed.
Not extinguished. Just... calmed.
The golem froze. Stepped back. Sat down.
Voluntarily.
I felt it in my gut like a punch.
"Sovereign override?" I whispered.
"No," said the system.
[System Note: External Flame Authority Detected – Relic Class Suppression Artifact Active]
[Assessment: Unknown Interaction Type – Relic-Sync Disruption Possible]
"Even better," I muttered. "He's got a firekiller."
Then the ranger turned and loosed a shot.
It struck the ridge three kobolds north of me were hiding behind.
Didn't kill. Didn't even hit them directly.
It snapped the stone they were using for cover—and forced them to shift positions.
Subtle.
Deadly.
The ranger didn't even smile.
[Advisory: Target exhibits combat calmness. Possible tags: Professional, Murder Bard, Therapist Who Lost Faith][Note: Avoid drawing aggro unless you're confident, suicidal, or both]
System pinged one more time.
[Tactical Integrity Breach – Sector F3 Marked Unstable]
[New Strategic Objective Available: Delay, Observe, Contain]
[Engagement With Hero-Class Advised Only With Sovereign Support Tier II or Higher]
I didn't answer.
Didn't close it.
I wanted to shout something dramatic.
Like "Ashring bows to no crown!"
Or "Come take it, hero boy!"
But the words got stuck behind my teeth.
Instead I just stared at the man standing in our field with his hands down, his sword undrawn, and the quiet confidence of someone who'd already decided what this story was going to be.
Let's see if he was right.