The shattered timbers of the outermost mud house explode into a violent cloud of gray dust and splintered wood. Through the choking haze, the enormous Wyvern emerges like a nightmare torn from the fabric of an ancient, unforgiving earth. Its long, leathery wings stretch outward with a terrifying breadth, catching the harsh sunlight and tearing effortlessly through the remaining clay walls as if they are nothing but dried leaves. The sheer force of its presence sends a shockwave through the immediate surroundings; nearby weeds flatten against the dirt, and the local birds fall into an absolute, paralyzed silence.
The beast drops its massive weight onto the earth, its two powerful, taloned legs scraping against the debris, searching ruthlessly through the ruins for a small, crying child huddled beneath a collapsed support beam. The child's screams are raw, piercing the heavy air, but the Wyvern's yellow eyes lock onto the movement with predatory precision.
"Halt, foul reptile! You face Comtois, the true hero and savior of this wretched valley!" Comtois shouts at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing off the burning ruins.
He charges forward across the uneven ground, his boots kicking up clods of dirt. Without a proper weapon drawn, his eyes dart to the side, locking onto a thick, jagged tree branch ripped from an oak by the beast's descent. He grabs the heavy branch with both hands, hoisting it high over his shoulder with an absurd, theatrical flourish.
"Excalibur!" he screams to the heavens, swinging the rough piece of wood with all the momentum his body can muster.
The heavy branch connects with a resounding thud against the Wyvern's scaly right leg. The sheer audacity of the strike, combined with the blunt force, causes the massive predator to recoil slightly, its balance shifting. Incensed by the irritation, the Wyvern twists its long, sinuous neck, its jaws snapping open to spit a thick jet of greenish venom directly at the intruder.
Comtois is quick enough to react. He throws his weight to the left, diving flat onto the grass, but the descending spray of venom catches the edge of his loose clothing and the outer layer of his armor. The potent acid corrodes him instantly, hissing violently as it eats through leather and iron alike, sending a sharp, biting stench into the air.
He pushes himself back up to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow, and scoffs loudly at the towering monstrosity.
"Is that the best you can do, you oversized lizard?" Comtois mocks, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he dusts off his ruined sleeve. "Too inexperienced! You lack the finesse of a true opponent!"
The Wyvern lets out a low, vibrating growl that rumbles through the very soles of Comtois's boots. It lunges forward with explosive speed, its jaws agape to swallow him whole. Comtois maneuvers nimbly, dodging to the side by a mere fraction of an inch as the massive head crashes into the dirt where he stood a second before.
He does not move with empty hands; as he rolls, his fingers wrap around the thick hemp rope he purchased at the weapons shop. With a wild, uncoordinated heave, he throws the rope into the air. By sheer, chaotic stroke of luck, the looped end gets caught around the ridges of the Wyvern's thrashing head.
The beast instantly rears back, its immense strength dragging Comtois violently along the ground. His body plows through the dirt and weeds, his fingers locking onto the coarse fibers as he is pulled at a terrifying velocity.
When the Wyvern suddenly twists its body around to look down and eliminate the source of the annoyance, its yellow eyes blink in confusion. It cannot find Comtois anywhere within its immediate field of vision.
[Now or never, you beautiful, wealthy beast!]
Comtois has already scrambled up its scales from the blind spot behind its shoulder. With a manic grin, he plunges his heavy scythe deep into the thick, fleshy part of the Wyvern's upper body. The iron blade bites true, anchoring him to the bucking creature.
The Wyvern takes off in a panicked, low-altitude sprint, thrashing its body to dislodge him, but Comtois chases after its movements while clinging to its back. He draws his short sword with his free hand, hacking down repeatedly with wild, uncontrolled swings until the sharp edge cuts cleanly through a critical section of its left wing membrane.
The Wyvern shrieked in an agony so piercing it vibrates the leaves off the nearby bushes. It turns its entire upper torso around in mid-air, trying to snap its jaws shut over its own spine to crush him.
"Stop spinning! Everything is turning upside down!" Comtois screams, his head rolling back as a wave of intense dizziness hits him.
He reaches into the pouch at his waist, his fingers closing around a heavy bag of coarse river sand he had scooped up earlier. With a desperate, sweeping motion, he hurls the bag directly at the Wyvern's massive, reptilian eyes. The leather breaks apart on impact, blinding the creature with a sudden cloud of scraping grit.
The Wyvern screams again, its long, muscular neck twisting into unnatural angles as it completely loses its bearings. In its blind panic, it opens its throat and spits an uncalculated, massive torrent of poison directly into the air above itself.
Comtois drives his short sword down again, inflicting a fresh, deep wound along the center of its spine, then immediately grabs his heavy iron pickaxe, driving the pointed tip deep into the flesh to stabilize his position against the bucking momentum.
The poison, carried downward by the unyielding pull of gravity, rains back down upon the beast's own body. It strikes the raw, open wound on its back, the corrosive fluid eating into its own exposed muscles. The Wyvern thrashes about with a frantic, self-destructive violence, crashing against the earth and tearing up massive patches of green turf.
Comtois drops the pickaxe, drawing his curved steel saber. He slides down toward the base of the right wing, hacking at the thick muscle joint. He works the blade back and forth with a frantic, awkward motion, the metal grinding heavily against the dense bone.
"Why didn't I buy a proper saw?!" Comtois grumbles loudly, his arms aching from the exertion. "A saw would have torn through this cartilage in three seconds! This saber is a luxury I cannot afford to waste time on!"
Despite his complaints, the crude, sawing motion splits the remaining tendons. The saber cuts off the right wing so quickly and completely that the limb detaches entirely, falling into the dirt with a heavy, wet thud. The creature is instantly rendered completely unable to fly, its balance shattered as it tilts heavily to one side.
Comtois climbs higher, clinging desperately to the remaining fragments of the rope wrapped around its neck. He slashes the raw wound with his short sword once more, then drives the steel saber deep into the meat of its flank, twisting the hilt with both hands.
The Wyvern gathers the absolute remainder of its monstrous strength for a final, desperate surge. It shakes its massive torso with such immense force that Comtois is violently thrown off, his fingers slipping from the hemp rope. He flies through the air, crashing hard into the tall grass.
The beast doesn't counterattack; it presses its bleeding, mutilated body down against the side of its severed wing, its internal organs convulsing as it sprays a strange, pale fluid from its glands that immediately ignites its remaining adrenaline. The chemical reaction increases its speed exponentially. With a pathetic, lurching leap, it uses its one remaining wing and its powerful legs to launch itself into the sky, flying away in a low, erratic trajectory toward the northern horizon.
Comtois hits the ground hard, rolling over several times through the mud and clover before coming to a halt. He scrambles back up to his feet, his face covered in dirt, his armor bent and dripping with green slime. He looks up at the sky, watching the distant, black silhouette of the Wyvern grow smaller against the crystal blue expanse.
He drops to his knees, rolling around in the grass as he begins to loudly complain and cry, his fists pounding against the earth.
"No! THAT VIOLATES BIOLOGY AND PHYSICS LAWS ! Come back here! My gold! My beautiful, glorious ale money is flying away!" Comtois wails to the empty fields, his voice cracking with genuine, agonizing despair. "I didn't get the trophy! The contract is ruined!"
A young village girl, dressed in a tattered cotton dress with a distinctive, faded floral pattern embroidered across the chest, steps out from the shadow of a surviving stone wall. She approaches him slowly, her hands clasped together, her face a mix of fear and profound gratitude, intending to thank the strange warrior for saving the child.
She stops dead in her tracks when she sees Comtois suddenly leap back to his feet. He raises his short sword high toward the empty sky, lets out a string of terrible, creative curses that color the morning air, and then begins to run at a full sprint down the road, chasing after the distant, flying Wyvern in a completely vain and hopeless pursuit.
Confused by his erratic behavior, the girl tilts her head to the side, her wide eyes watching the strange man disappear over the ridge, pursuing the airborne monster aimlessly across the vast, open plains.
Miles away to the north, the Wyvern continues its frantic flight, but the internal damage is too severe. The combination of its own corrosive poison eating through its spine and the massive blood loss from its severed wing drains the last remnants of its life force. In mid-air, its heart gives out entirely. The massive wings stiffen, and the carcass plummets from the sky like a fallen boulder, crashing with a tremendous, earth-shaking thud into a sprawling, dense field of lush clover.
This is Aldo's farmland.
By complete chance, Aldo is currently passing by on the intersecting dirt roads that divide the agricultural sectors, his heavy boots moving with his usual, calculated pace. The sudden impact of the monster's body sends a shower of green clover leaves and dark soil into the air.
Aldo stops. He looks at the massive, bleeding mountain of flesh obstructing his path. Without a single change in his flat, unreadable expression, he reaches behind his back and draws his long, heavy iron musket. He brings the butt of the rifle to his shoulder, aligns the iron sights with the beast's skull, and pulls the trigger.
BANG.
He reloads with mechanical, lightning-fast precision.
BANG.
He does not stop. He pumps another round into the chamber. BANG. He fires again, and again, and again, the thunderous reports echoing across the quiet farmland, scaring a flock of crows from the nearby trees. He shoots the corpse exactly TEN TIMES, ensuring absolute structural termination before he finally lowers the smoking barrel.
He approaches the carcass with slow, deliberate steps, his boots crunching against the flattened vegetation. As he leans over the massive neck, his eyes register a detail he hadn't noticed from the road. A finely crafted steel saber is plunged deep into the Wyvern's heart from its back, the hilt still vibrating slightly from the impact of the fall.
Aldo looks at the sword, his brow furrowing by a fraction of a millimeter. He looks back at the Wyvern's face, his voice flat and curious.
"Why are you here?" Aldo asks aloud to the dead beast.
"Commander... is it safe?" Onaga's voice whispers from behind him.
Onaga approaches with hesitant, tip-toeing steps, literally hiding his slender frame behind Aldo's massive shoulders, his hands gripping the back of Aldo's heavy coat as he peers over at the bloody carcass with wide, anxious eyes.
"What does this mean, Aldo?" Onaga asks, his voice trembling with a deep, analytical concern. "What is the feudal meaning and systemic fate of a high-tier Wyvern falling directly onto our sovereign agricultural jurisdiction? Is it an omen from the neighboring territories? A declaration of administrative friction?"
Hano strides up from the opposite side of the road, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, his eyes completely ignoring the sword as he stares hungrily at the thick, muscular thighs of the dead monster.
"Who cares about the feudal meaning, Onaga?" Hano asks, a wide, predatory grin splitting his face. "The real question we should be asking is simple: is the meat edible? Because that looks like enough protein to feed the entire 204th Company for a month."
While the three of them stand there, examining the Wyvern for a long, extended period of time, evaluating its properties and discussing its origin, a loud, rhythmic sound begins to echo down the dirt road.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
Comtois rides up on horseback, his posture completely chaotic. It is glaringly obvious that this is his very first time riding a horse; he is bouncing up and down violently in the leather saddle with every stride, his teeth clattering together, his arms flailing as he grips the reins for dear life. Despite his lack of control, his eyes are fixed on the carcass, and he continues to chant his manic mantra in time with the horse's hooves.
"Money, money, money... whoa! Money, money... stop this stupid beast!" Comtois yells, his face flushed as the horse skids to a halt near the ditch. He points a shaking finger at the mountain of scales. "That one... that one is mine! I tracked it all the way from the southern valley!"
Hano takes a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest as he glares at the disheveled rider with a look of profound, unadulterated disdain.
"Why the hell did you leave your overgrown pet here on our fields, you idiot?!" Hano yells back, his voice booming across the road. "It crushed our clover!"
Comtois pulls back on the reins, his chest swelling with an immediate, defensive pride. "I didn't leave it! I killed it out there in the villages to earn the official guild reward money! I need the coin to buy a decent supply of ale!"
Onaga peeks out from behind Aldo's arm, his eyes blinking at the blood still pooling around the creature's severed wing.
"Should we help you clear the road, traveler?" Onaga asks politely, his tone tentative. "It is blocking our primary transport route."
Before anyone can answer, the horse takes an unexpected, sudden step forward toward the edge of the irrigation channel. The sudden shift in momentum sends Comtois flying. He charges forward, completely losing his grip, and lands by leaping clean off its back, falling face-first directly into the deep, muddy water of the drainage ditch with a loud SPLASH.
The road falls silent for three seconds. Then, a wet, muddy hand grips the grassy bank. Comtois climbs out of the ditch, his face covered in green algae and black silt. He sits on the ridge, shakes his head violently, and suddenly spits a small, wriggling silver fish straight out of his mouth into the grass.
He wipes his lips with his sleeve, completely unbothered by the humiliation, and runs straight over to the three men, his eyes shining with renewed financial greed.
"Alright, look!" Comtois says rapidly, gesturing toward the beast's underbelly. "I'll offer my immediate help in cutting this massive thing open right now! If you help me dress the carcass and pack it for the guild, I'll promise you twenty-five percent of the total bounty reward!"
Aldo looks down at him, his expression remaining an unyielding wall of stone as he lowers his musket.
"I don't need your reward money," Aldo says cleanly, his voice carrying an absolute, structural authority. "But if we are going to clear this road, I need all the dense skeletal bones for our structural processing, and exactly one-fifth of the pristine outer scales, which I will personally sell to the northern merchants."
Hano doesn't wait for Comtois to agree. He glances down at the Wyvern's enormous, hammerhead-like tail, his eyes locking onto the flammable, oil-secreting bone mace protruding from the tip, and then shifts his gaze to the wide, muscular parameters of the wyvern's mouth.
"I want the venom," Hano interrupts, his voice dark and eager as he draws a long hunting knife from his belt. "Give me the venom and the primary venom glands from the throat, and you can keep one hundred percent of whatever coin the guild owes you. Deal?"
Comtois blinks, his mind quickly calculating the profit margins before his face breaks into a wide, greasy smile. "Deal! Let's get to work!"
Without wasting another syllable, the group steps into the flattened clover field, drawing their tools and setting about the systematic, bloody task of dissecting the massive creature under the bright, clear sky of the Farmland.