CHAPTER 32: CHAPTER 32 - A CALL FOR HELP

The sound cut through the forest with a loud ring. Morena instantly recognized it. It wasn’t the signal for the hunt’s end, nor the cheer of a successful kill. It was the whistle given to signal nearby people for help.

Morena’s body moved before her thoughts had fully settled. Her legs bent, pushing off the forest floor, spear in hand as she sprinted toward the sound.

Branches whipped at her cloak, and twigs snapped beneath her boots. The forest blurred as her body pushed faster than any normal person could maintain. Her ribs ached where the boar had grazed her earlier, her arm still burned from the wolf’s bite, but she ignored it and moved forward.

"AI. Distance?"

[1.2 kilometers.]

Her feet veered without pause, following the invisible guide in her mind.

The whistle blared again—shorter this time, desperate.

She increased her pace and used the trees to her advantage, swinging on low-hanging branches to avoid bushes and jump small hills. Whoever had blown it was still alive, for now, but they were clearly in a bad situation.

It took less than ten minutes to reach the source. She slowed at the edge of a clearing, dropping low, eyes narrowing at the scene before her.

While she came here with the intention of helping, that did not mean she would dive headfirst into danger. If she couldn’t handle it, she would unfortunately have to leave.

Three figures. Two young nobles, their armor dented, blades flashing weakly in trembling hands. Behind them, another boy crouched, clutching his leg where blood spilled freely through torn mail.

And circling them—wolves. Not direwolves but regular juvenile wolves, no less threatening for the wounded and exhausted. A pack of five, their fur was dry and thin, with eyes blinded by hunger.

The nobles were cornered, their backs to a low ridge. If they slipped, they’d fall into the stream below and be washed away. If they were lucky, they might be able to get out further down the stream, but with their armor on and injured? Only death would be the outcome.

One wolf lunged, snapping at a boy’s arm. He barely parried, the impact knocking him sprawling. Another wolf darted for the wounded one on the ground.

Having observed the wolves, Morena could tell they were much weaker than the direwolves she had fought; while troublesome, she believed that she could handle them.

So, she made her move.

Her spear sang as she vaulted from the underbrush, the tip driving through the wolf’s side mid-leap. The beast yelped, twisting on the shaft as momentum slammed it into the dirt.

The other wolves whipped their heads toward her, snarling.

"Up. Hold your ground."

Her voice was calm, cutting through the boys’ panic as she wrenched the spear free and reset her stance.

The one on the ground blinked at her, wide-eyed, then scrambled back behind her shadow. The other two rose shakily, rallying at the sudden reprieve.

The wolves spread, fanning to surround them. Morena’s breathing slowed.

[Five wolves. Estimated weight: 60–80 kilograms each. Probability of victory: 74%. Risk of injury: High.]

"Good enough."

She inhaled deeply, pressing her energy into circulation. Her ribs hummed with the rhythm, letters inside her glowing faintly as she called upon the energy she had left.

"Watch my sides, if they charge from the sides, block them."

She commanded the boys that stood behind her, and they took her heed. While they were panicked, they weren’t weak. As young nobles, they had all the resources they needed to train and should be much better than a normal man.

Their performance thus far could only be attributed to their fear, but with Morena taking the lead, they had no choice but to push that aside.

The first wolf charged. She sidestepped, thrusting low—its throat opened in a gush of blood. She pivoted instantly, bringing the spear back across her body as another lunged from the right. The spear’s butt slammed into its jaw with a crack, sending it tumbling.

But the third was already on her.

Its weight crashed into her side, teeth sinking into the leather of her shoulder guard, but it didn’t break through. She hissed through clenched teeth, twisting with its momentum instead of fighting against it. The motion carried them both into the dirt, but her dagger was already in her hand.

One quick thrust into the ribs, another into the throat, and the wolf went limp.

She rolled free, boots sliding across wet earth, rising back to her feet.

The nobles behind her struck at the wolf that had staggered from her blow earlier. It yelped, retreating with a gash across its snout.

That left two.

They circled now, wary, but hunger blinded them to retreat.

One feinted, darting forward, then back. The other used the distraction to lunge low at her legs.

She reacted instantly. Her spear dipped, catching the lunging wolf mid-throat, and blood fountained as she tore the weapon free.

The last howled—half in fury, half in fear—before it turned tail and vanished into the brush.

Silence fell, broken only by ragged breathing. The nobles staggered back, weapons still raised, though there was nothing left to fight.

Morena exhaled slowly, wiping her dagger clean on the grass before sheathing it.

"Is anyone badly hurt?"

The boy on the ground grimaced, blood and other liquids soaking his trousers.

"My leg... It tore deep."

She crouched beside him, examining the wound. Even without the AI’s help, she had a rough idea of how bad the wound was; teeth had ripped through muscle, but not bone. Painful, crippling for now, but not fatal.

"Hold still."

She tore another strip from her already tattered cloak and bound the wound tight, using her energy circulation to steady her hands despite the ache in her own body.

The boy winced but didn’t cry out.

"That’ll hold until you’re carried back. Let a professional treat you better."

One of the standing nobles cleared his throat, still staring at her as if he wasn’t sure she was real.

"You—Lady Ravenscroft, yes? You saved us."

Morena rose, spear in hand once more, eyes flicking back toward the trees.

"You saved yourselves. You held long enough for help to arrive; that alone is a feat worth celebrating."

Her tone was even, giving no room for argument.

"But—"

"No buts. Get him on his feet, take your time. I’ll cover until you reach safer ground."

They hesitated, then obeyed. Together they pulled the wounded boy up, slinging his arms across their shoulders.

’AI. Path to the nearest patrol?’

[Northwest. 600 meters. Probability of encountering additional wolves: 18%.]

"Let’s head northwest. You’ll find others there. Don’t stop until you do."

They nodded quickly, still pale, and began the slow trek away.

Morena followed after them, but she avoided pushing herself too much. Her body was still wounded, and while she didn’t get too badly hurt in that fight, she was running very low on energy.