Elric awakened to the sound of hammering echoing through the hall. A pale golden light filtered across the wooden beams overhead. His muscles still ached from the previous day's meeting and pacing, but the wake‑up buzz of anticipation pushed him into motion.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stepped onto the worn floorboards, and made his way downstairs. The smell of fresh bread and brewing tea greeted him in the main hall, as Runa's crew was finishing up the renovations on the adjacent training yard. New targets had been set, a modest fence erected, and the ground had been leveled for drills.
Stacks of swords, shields, and leather armor lay neatly arranged against one wall—Elric's offer of guild‑supply as an incentive for recruits beginning to shape up the infrastructure.
Lyra and Harvin sat at the long visitor's table, poring over a stack of applications and pages of notes. Harvin looked sleep‑deprived, his spectacles misaligned, and ink stains decorating his fingertip.
"Morning, boss," Lyra greeted without looking up.
"Good morning." He nodded at Harvin. "How's the merchant caravan design going?"
Harvin sighed. "Complex enough that we may need to delay hiring until after the caravan. Much paperwork." He rubbed his temples.
Elric glanced at the pile of merchant requests Harvin had assembled—a few dozen contracts for traders, a couple of guild sponsorship forms, and one lengthy letter from the Silvershade Merchants' League.
He took a sip of tea. "Let's start with one deal. Not the biggest, but manageable. We have enough coin to invest—let's make sure we protect our investment."
Lyra leaned back. "There's a middle‑tier merchant, Darin Fael—wants an escort for three‑day run between Silverwall and Redport. Not shamelessly lucrative, but a steady 150 gold plus ten percent of profit. Low risk. High exposure."
Elric nodded: perfect. "Let's do it."
Harvin jotted notes. "I'll draft the contract and submit the escort authorization. We'll need at least six fighters, one medic or mage support."
Elric tapped a finger on the table. "Bring the best—Vella, Lyra, one trainer, and the two recruits who did well. Plus Lenn for magical backup."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "That leaves Torren and the others to stabilize here."
"Elric, you're taking the lead?" Harvin asked.
He met their gaze. "I'll ride with the caravan. It's time the guildmaster ran with the pack."
Lyra grinned. "That's a first."
Harvin coughed into his tea. "I genuinely applaud you. Just…" He paused. "Just come back, all right?"
"I will." Elric drained his mug. "Now let's get this rolling."
By midday, the recruits had assembled—breezing through last-minute checks while Runa's crew applied finishing touches to the yard. Elric walked through the bustling ground floor, briefly greeting staff, pointing to missing labels, and nodding as even new apprentices mounted shields and stocked pouches.
In the courtyard, his team stood ready:
Vella, upright and confident, her sword strapped to her back.
Lyra, shield in hand, eyes sharp as a hawk.
Markus, looking steadier today, free of the unsettled paleness he'd worn before.
Hilda, faltering but determined, the deadliness in her posture slight yet present.
Lenn, focused and calm, mage reagents looped at his belt.
Elric, clad in the same rugged uniform, leather satchel slung across his shoulder.
Harvin arrived—paperwork in hand—alongside a courier with the signed contract and deposit payment for Darin Fael.
"Good," Elric said. "We depart in an hour. Until then, supply check."
They verified potions, rations, medicinal herbs, spare clothing, weapons, and communicated orders to Lenn and Torren at the guild. Harvin sealed everything with official stamps.
In the small stables behind the guild, five horses had been rented and brought in. Stable hands finished saddling them, and a pair of carts awaited.
Elric stood with Darin Fael—a middle-aged man with auburn hair and merchant's chain, dressed in fine but practical robes. He glanced at the swords and mages.
"Looks well‑equipped."
Elric handed him the signed contract. "The Golden Fang guarantees safe escort from Silverwall to Redport and back."
He looked around at the assembled team. "Folks, this is Darin. He'll pay upon completion. Any trouble, I'll take responsibility."
Vella stepped forward. "We won't disappoint."
Lyra saluted dryly. "Just keep Darin alive."
He smiled politely.
The road out of Silverwall was blotched by late spring storms: mud, potholes, and puddles. A farmhand waved them off, and soon the caravan began its journey along the trade road. Horses kept even pace, carts lumbered, and the trees gave way to marshland as they descended toward the coast.
They had been on the road for two nights when danger struck.
It started with the weather—the sky turned sullen, and thick thunderheads rolled in overhead. The ground gave way to sloppy swamps—perfect for ambush.
Late afternoon: Bree returned from scout duty, breathless, eyes wide.
"Boss, we have incoming."
Elric stepped forward. "Details."
She swallowed. "Four mounted brigands, five foot. Heavy armor, crossbows."
He locked eyes with Vella. "Prepare defensive formation. Lenn, reinforce shields. Everyone else, ready weapons."
Then he approached Darin. "Sir, we may delay a bit. I'll explain."
Darin nodded, clutching the contract.
The marsh choke stuck in the horses' hooves like glue. Elric heard the hoofbeats before seeing them. Five riders, black‑cloaked, riding sturdy steeds. They dragged along three crossbowmen and a courier—likely scouts.
The lead rider raised a hand. "Hold."
Elric stepped forward, unsheathing a short sword. Not yet for killing—just to show they weren't defenseless.
The brigand stared. "Nice wagon. Good haul ahead."
Elric replied: "We're heading to Redport. Merchant run. Leave us be, and we'll go quietly."
The brigand laughed.
Vella moved behind Elric: "You have five seconds."
The brigand's laughs cut short—his men tensed, crossbows loaded. Elric pressed his index finger against his communicator stone.
"Torren, Lenn, set magical barrier ready."
The mage whispered in acknowledgment.
Elric took a breath. "You want coin? It's lawful. I'll pay. Or leave us alone." He swallowed.
They hesitated.
But a crossbow prodded from their flank. Threatening.
"Last warning," Elric said.
Suddenly the lead brigand smirked and signaled.
The others closed in.
Lenn's shield shimmered. A low barrier pulsed around the horses and carts. Harvin's banshee‑knock light chimed faintly in the hems of Lyra's pocket.
Vella lunged, blade slicing at bridles, cutting lines. Markus and Hilda flanked—shield and sword working in unison. Lyra stood her ground, shield raised.
In all, chaos erupted. Dusted mud and swung steel. Crossbow bolts ricocheted. Lenn unleashed a bolt of ice, freezing a horse leg and causing chaos. Elric, in the midst, parried bolt and blade alike. He slashed, thrust, and found solace in swordplay—the battle‑clarity he'd forgotten since Earth.
Hilda delivered a broken blow to one brigand's helm. Markus shouted a war‑cry and knocked a thug aside. Vella burned through the forward ranks; Lyra smashed crossbows before their bolts could fly. Lenn's magic fractured iron, and Torren's banshee‑knock rattled the brigands.
Within three minutes, the brigands were down—horses rearing, crossbows scattered, deathly quiet falling.
Elric held his blade at the throat of the defeated leader: "Tell me why you attacked."
The brigand coughed. "Coin. We thought you were easy prey."
Elric raised the sword. "Then we show them we're not." He gestured to the team. They pulled him back.
Darin stepped forward, knee weak under the stress. "That… was impressive."
Elric released his sword, motioned for Lenn to bind limbs, and barked: "Take them prisoner. Bring them to my guardhouse. I want confessions. I want their haul."
Vella sheathed her sword. "Boss, are you sure? Tied brigands can be a liability."
He nodded. "We'll hold them. The city will handle payment."
Lyra crossed her arms. "You're thinking ahead."
He smiled. "It's not just coin. It's reputation."
The sky cleared as they resumed the journey. The wagons rattled on, horses still tense but calm. Darin traveled behind Vella, pale and shaken.
Elric rode beside him. "Well…" he said. "Let's talk expectations."
Darin looked over. "Gold is fine. But loyalty matters more."
Elric nodded. "Understood."
They reached Redport two nights later without incident. Wharves and docks spun around the wagons; workers milled busy. The group arrived—a guild escort, banners proudly displayed.
At the administrative office, Vella handed over the brigands and debt bag, Harvin processed payment, and Darin received his goods.
Darin approached Elric. He shook his hand. "You exceeded expectations. Three hundred gold plus profit share."
Elric nodded. "It was necessary."
Darin smiled faintly. "This guild has promise."
Elric smiled back. "That's the plan."
Back in Silverwall, the welcome home was subtle but impactful. Caravans stopped to ask about payment. Merchants nodded as the Golden Fang crest passed. The Adventurer's Guild recognized the team—Harvin collected paperwork. Rumor spread: guild with first mission, with mounted team, with success.
Inside the guild hall, celebrations began in earnest—food, laughter, cheers. Staff busied strategy; recruits admired the tales. The training yard watched as recruits sparred in renewed spirit.
Elric sat at his desk later—guildmaster's desk now—turning over parchments. He tallied revenue, planned expansions, noted resource needs.
He paused when Lyra entered.
"You ready for this?" she asked softly.
He looked up.
"For what?"
She slid into the chair across: "Partnership with the Silvershade merchants."
He arched brows. "I was just about to finalize that."
She smiled at his surprise. "They approached us—on Darin's recommendation."
Elric leaned forward. "Give me the terms."
She pulled up the letter. "Five‑convoy contract per month. We supply escort and route security. Pay plus customs exemption at city gates. In exchange, a share of their exclusive goods."
He drummed fingers. Five convoys at three hundred gold each? Over fifteen hundred gold per month. Plus goods. Plus reputation.
He nodded slowly. "This changes everything."
She leaned in. "It does."
He shut his eyes, imagining The Golden Fang crest flying over mass production, caravans, mounted knights, magical research completed. A guild sweeping across the realm.
He opened his eyes. "We'll do it. Full terms."
She smiled. "One more thing."
He looked curious.
"Lyra wants to join me."
He paused. Then nodded. "Done."
She grinned. "Let's go get some sleep—planning starts early."
He rose. "Tomorrow we'll need staff in Redport. A warehouse. Mages for magical reinforcement. A stable."
Her voice low: "Successful beginnings masquerade as chaos."
He nodded. "Let's turn masquerade into empire."
Late that night, Elric stood alone in the courtyard, cool air blowing around his shoulders. Above, a sky heavy with stars. He studied the emblem etched on the door—the golden fang. That first battle, the march to Redport, the return. All had gone smoother than expected—little mistakes, lessons learned—but firm footing made.
He finally muttered, voice low:
"This is real."
He brushed a finger along the wood. "This is happening."
Then he turned and walked inside to his desk—where the next chapter waited to be written.
The Golden Fang had found its wings.
And the skies ahead were endless.