While the guards fought the wolves ahead, chaos broke out behind them:
"Someone's injured, pull him back here. Check his condition."
"He's still alive, but looks like a few ribs are broken."
"Quick, give him this to drink."
"I'll grab some bandages."
…
The group unable to fight included the merchant and his assistant, several coachmen, and a few passengers. They busied themselves tending to the wounded while anxiously whispering among themselves.
The situation at the front suddenly worsened: one guard was killed, another gravely injured and unable to fight. Unease spread through the group.
Among them, a short, stout middle-aged man asked the person beside him:
"What do you think?"
That man was the merchant leading the caravan.
His assistant replied, voice uneasy:
"Liam looks tense. That wolf won't be easy to handle."
Merchant:
"Then tell everyone to be ready. If things go badly, we'll have to move the wagons immediately, even in the dark."
Assistant: "Alright, I'll inform the coachmen first."
Merchant: "Let's hope he wins. May the god Stratos bless us."
Stratos, the god of wealth, was worshipped by many merchants and adventurers.
At that moment, the merchant prayed for divine protection to see the caravan safely through.
* * * * * * * * * *
Liam's weapon was a long-handled battle axe with a spear-like point. Gripping it with both hands, he advanced toward the wolf.
Seeing him approach, the wolf raised its head, opened its jaws, and howled—launching a bullet of wind straight at his chest.
Liam swung his axe, splitting the projectile in two.
Just as he swung the axe, the wolf lunged at the same time.
In a stance where swinging the axe to strike was difficult, Liam used the pointed end of his weapon like a spear, thrusting toward the charging wolf.
The wolf dodged deftly, circling to the side, and fired another wind bullet.
Liam carried the momentum of his thrust forward, advancing as he avoided the bullet.
And then, instead of continuing at him, the wolf turned on another adventurer.
"Damn it!" Liam cursed.
Clearly, this wolf had intelligence—it exploited openings in battle.
Treating it as a mere beast would be fatal.
Caught off guard by the alpha wolf's sudden attack, the adventurer was forced to defend in haste.
With the help of his comrades, he managed to retreat successfully, but lost his left arm in the process.
Knowing he couldn't let the wolf exploit its speed again, Liam stayed close, forcing a direct fight.
A fierce duel erupted: axe strikes, wind bullets, and the wolf's claws exchanged in rapid succession.
Both moved swiftly, attacking and defending, searching for weakness. A single misstep could mean death.
While the two were still locked in a struggle, fortunately, elsewhere the adventurers managed to slay two wolves from the pack, gaining a major advantage in the battle.
They began to use their numbers to quickly suppress the remaining wolves.
Sensing the tide turning, the alpha wolf forced Liam back with a sudden strike, then retreated and howled.
At its call, the pack broke off and fled into the night.
Another wolf was slain during the retreat.
Though they were in a winning position, the adventurers and the caravan guards dared not continue the pursuit, for they still had to protect those behind them and were hindered by the darkness of night.
Even though they had succeeded in driving off the wolves, none could rejoice—for one unfortunate soul had been lost forever.
On top of that, two gravely wounded men had become burdens, unable to fight for the remainder of the journey.
By calculation, it would still take more than a day before the caravan could reach the city of Aldor.
Thus, everyone carried a heavy heart, unable to hide their worries.
And so the first night of the journey came to a close.
* * * * * * * * * *
The wolves' raid had failed. Not only had they gained no prey, but nearly a third of the pack was slain.
Resentment simmered, but none dared challenge the alpha—the gap in strength was too great.
The alpha itself was furious. It had misjudged the humans, not expecting one capable of standing against it.
Growling in frustration, it led the pack back to its territory.
But not far from retreat, a flock of mysterious birds swooped from the trees.
Even with sharp senses, the wolves hadn't noticed them until the attack began.
From the birds' beaks, volleys of 'magic bullets' shot forth, all aimed at the alpha.
Surrounded, it couldn't dodge them all—one blast blew off its leg, another struck its side.
Crying out in agony, the wolf collapsed in its own blood.
After their successful ambush, the birds did not stop but continued firing at the surrounding wolves.
Two other wolves were struck by bullets and collapsed, while the rest of the pack, terrified, tucked their tails and scattered in flight.
The birds did not chase the remaining wolves but instead struck, smashing the heads of the three that had already been hit, ensuring they were truly dead.
Afterwards, the birds descended, using their wings to slice open the chests of the dead wolves. The sweep of their wings was sharper even than a strike from real blades.
After the prey's body was torn open, the birds used their talons to seize the beautiful crystal hidden within its chest.
Having secured their spoils, the flock beat their wings and flew off silently into the night.