Chương 62: Chapter 47: Ironfang Winter (Part 2)

That evening, Grub sat with Dravak, Throk, and Kesh. No urgent threat had brought them together. The four had simply gathered near Dravak's stone seat after the tribe settled, with the ordinary concerns of winter laid before them. Kesh reported that the northern paths remained passable, though one Scout had found old goblin tracks near the far edge of Ironfang territory.

The prints had been softened by fresh snow before anyone reached them, leaving little beyond their direction and the certainty that several goblins had crossed the boundary together. Throk wanted two more Warriors placed with every hunting party until they learned whether the tracks belonged to wanderers or something more deliberate. Dravak listened, ordered an additional patrol along the northern edge, and decided against slowing every hunting party until the Scouts returned with firmer information.

When that matter was finished, Kesh lowered her slate. Grub waited for the silence to settle before speaking.

"When does the System offer a Class?" Throk looked toward him.

"Level Five." The answer came so quickly that Grub almost thought he had misunderstood it.

"Every time?"

"Every time," Kesh said.

"When you reach Level Five, the System presents your choices."

"How many?

"That depends."

"On what?" Throk's expression suggested that Grub had already asked one question too many. Kesh answered before he could complain.

"What you've done before reaching the threshold. The Skills and Spells you've developed. How you fight, work, lead, or survive. Achievements may influence the choices as well."

"So two people might reach Level Five and receive entirely different Classes."

"Yes."

"Even if they have the same Race?"

"Of course." Grub looked between them.

"Does the System explain what each Class does?"

"Enough to choose," Kesh said.

"It shows the path's Stat growth and gives some sense of what the Class is meant to become."

"Some sense?"

"It doesn't show you every Skill or Spell you might gain before you gain it." Grub frowned.

"That would make choosing easier." Throk grunted.

"Choosing isn't meant to be easy."

"How do you know?"

"Because it wasn't." Kesh's mouth moved faintly. Grub glanced toward her.

"What did you choose?"

"Goblin Scoutmaster."

"Were you already leading Scouts?"

"Not formally. I was taking responsibility for them, watching how they moved, correcting mistakes, and deciding which paths were worth following. The Class strengthened something I'd already begun." Grub turned toward Throk.

"Goblin Fighter," Throk said before he could ask.

"It offered strength. I chose it."

"Were the other choices also about fighting?"

"One was."

"And the rest?" Throk's brow furrowed as he searched through an old memory he had apparently never considered worth preserving.

"One was tied to endurance. Another to hunting, I think."

"You don't remember?"

"I remember the correct choice." Kesh looked down at her slate, hiding the small shift at the corner of her mouth. Grub turned to Dravak. He shook his head.

"Some secrets are worth keeping." Grub was about to argue, then realized what had happened. He gave Dravak a half-hearted glare.

"Fair enough. Anything you can tell me?" Dravak grinned at him, then shrugged.

"The Class reflects what you've already begun," he said.

"Yes," Kesh replied.

"But it also decides which part of that beginning will grow strongest." Grub glanced toward the wounded alcove, then toward the Builder work area farther along the cavern wall. He had treated wounds, carved stone, helped reshape the den, trained wolves, advised the Chief, and used earth magic in ways none of them fully understood. That gave the System plenty of directions from which to choose. Possibly too many.

"What Level are you?" Kesh asked.

"Three." Throk leaned back against the stone.

"Then you're asking early."

"Spring won't wait for me to be ready." Dravak's attention settled more fully on him. Grub continued.

"You've already said the Ironfang will raid once winter breaks. If Level Five gives me a Class, I want it before then. Whatever the System offers will make me stronger, and I'd rather have time to learn what that strength can do before I need it in a real fight." Throk grunted his approval.

"Good." Grub looked toward him.

"You agree?"

"You want strength before battle. That is the first sensible thing you've said."

"I've said several sensible things."

"Not several." Dravak ignored them.

"Experience comes fastest through danger and victory. You've gained some through the work you've done for the tribe, but not enough to reach two more levels before spring."

"I know."

"Then hunt." Grub looked at him. Dravak nodded toward Sable, who slept near the hearth with her head resting across her forelegs.

"The wolves are large enough to range beyond the clearing. You want experience, and the tribe needs meat. Join the hunting parties. Learn their work and help bring down prey." Grub considered that.

"Would killing animals give enough?"

"If the prey is strong enough," Kesh said.

"And if your contribution matters."

"So I don't necessarily need the final blow?"

"No. The System recognizes more than the hand that kills. A Hunter who drives prey into a spear can earn experience. So can the goblin whose wound weakens it enough for another to finish." That was useful. It meant he wouldn't need to turn every hunt into a contest over who struck last. Grub rubbed his thumb against his palm, thoughts shifting toward the Spells he would use.

"That brings me to another question." Throk closed his eyes briefly.

"Of course it does." Grub ignored him.

"When does a Spell reach Tier Two?" The three leaders fell silent. Kesh glanced toward Dravak. Dravak looked at Throk. Throk opened his eyes again and frowned at Grub.

"You don't know?" Grub asked.

"No," Dravak said. Grub stared.

"None of you?"

"Our Spells haven't reached Tier Two," Kesh replied with a shrug. Grub looked at her.

"What's the highest?"

"My Hawk Sight is Level Six."" Battlefield Presence is Level Eight," Dravak said. Throk grunted." Fury Surge is Level Four." Grub blinked.

"Your highest Spell is Level Four?"

"I use weapons."

"You have magic."

"I also have a sword."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"It answers every question that matters." Kesh cut across them before the exchange could continue.

"Why are you asking?"" Stone Chip is already Level Eight. It's getting close to Level Nine." That drew their attention more effectively than anything else he'd said. Dravak's eyes narrowed.

"Eight?" Grub nodded.

"How often have you used it?"

"I stopped counting somewhere during the vent. Probably close to a thousand times?" Throk gave a low whistle.

"And it still hasn't changed beyond the levels?" Dravak asked.

"No. The Spell has become easier to control and more effective, but it's still Tier One." Kesh tapped one finger against her slate.

"Then Level Ten is the most likely threshold." Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"Why ten?"

"Because the System favors clean divisions," she said.

"Five for a Class. Health, Stamina, and Mana all in multiples of ten." She shrugged again.

"Ten may mark the end of a Spell's first stage."

"That's a guess."

"Yes." Throk folded his arms.

"A good guess."

"Based on what?"

"Ten comes after nine." Grub stared at him. Throk stared back without embarrassment. Dravak considered the matter more seriously.

"None of us can give you certainty. If Stone Chip reaches Level Ten and remains Tier One, then the threshold lies elsewhere."

"And if it changes," Grub said, "we'll know." Kesh nodded.

"You may be the first among us to reach it." The thought settled strangely in his mind. Soon, he might have information they lacked.

"What does Stone Chip do now?" Throk asked.

"It breaks pieces from stone."

"It did that at Level One."

"It breaks larger pieces more cleanly. I can control where the fracture begins, and the stone gives way more easily." Throk looked unimpressed.

"Still not much use in a fight."

"It isn't meant for fighting."

"Then train the Spell that is." Grub glanced toward him." Pebble Toss," Throk continued.

"If you want strength before spring, stop wasting every cast on walls and racks. Use the Spell that can kill."" Stone Chip may become something more useful when it reaches Tier Two."

"Maybe. Or it may become better at making holes."

"Which could still be useful."

"Not when something is charging you with a spear in hand." Grub opened his mouth, then closed it. Throk wasn't entirely wrong. Pebble Toss remained his only Spell designed to harm a living target. It had saved him against the slaves in the cage and helped him survive the wolves during Dravak's test, but he had used it far less often than Stone Chip. The opportunities had simply been fewer.

"You want Level Five before spring," Throk said.

"Then hunt. Kill with the Spell you want stronger. If the System changes Spells at Level Ten, better to learn what an offensive Spell becomes than discover Stone Chip can remove a slightly larger piece of rock." Grub's irritation rose.

"You really don't value anything that can't kill someone."

"I value many things." Throk rested one hand upon the hilt of his sword.

"But you asked how to become stronger for raids." Grub had no answer to that. Dravak looked toward Kesh.

"Is there a hunting party leaving tomorrow?"

"Yes. Four Hunters along the lower stream route." Kesh looked toward Grub.

"You and Sable may join them." Grub straightened.

"What do I need to bring?"

"Your spear. Food. Water. Every smooth stone you can carry without slowing Sable." Throk grinned.

"And enough sense not to throw yourself beneath the first boar you see."

"I've fought worse than a boar."

"You've survived worse. That isn't the same." Kesh lifted her slate again.

"You stay near the rear until the Hunters tell you otherwise. You follow their signals, don't cast across another goblin's path, and don't chase anything that breaks from the group."

"I understand." Dravak grunted.

"If a Hunter orders you back, you return." Grub turned to look at him.

"I'm a Lieutenant."

"Inside the cavern, yes," Dravak said. Grub frowned at him.

"But outside this cavern, experience decides who leads," the Chief continued.

"You know little about hunting and even less about fighting from Sable's back. You will listen to those who know more." Grub glanced toward Sable. She remained asleep, entirely unconcerned by the plans being made for her morning.

"Yes, Chief."

"And if you ruin the hunt," Throk added, "I'll drag you back by one ankle."

"You won't be there."

"I'll hear about it."

"You assume anyone would tell you." Throk's grin widened.

"They will." Kesh rolled her eyes.

"First light. Be ready." Grub nodded. The work began the following morning. Grub had trained all four of his Spells throughout winter, but repetition inside the cavern had shown him its limits. Stone Tap improved most when he used it intentionally to find weaknesses the Builders needed to understand rather than just to make a goblin jump when a sound came from the stone behind their head, although Grub still indulged every now and then.

Grain Shift responded better when packing loose ground around supports than when he moved dirt merely to watch it shift. Stone Chip grew faster through useful carving than through breaking stone for no reason beyond practice. Pebble Toss was no different. Launching stones at hanging scraps of bark had improved his aim, but slowly. A hunt would give every cast consequence. Kesh placed Grub with four experienced Hunters and ordered him to remain near the rear until they told him otherwise.

The forest moved differently from Sable's back. Snow that forced the Hunters to lift their knees barely slowed her, and she crossed drifts that would have swallowed Grub's legs to the thigh. At first, he tried to guide every step, only to discover that Sable understood the buried ground far better than he did. Once he stopped fighting her instincts and learned to follow the direction of her shoulders, the ride became easier. Their first hunt ended with two deer.

The Hunters drove the animals from a sheltered hollow, but Sable's speed turned what should have been a long pursuit into a short one. She swept ahead through the deep snow and forced the larger stag back toward the waiting Hunters. When a spear struck its flank without bringing it down, Grub waited until it stumbled, then sent a stone behind its eye with Pebble Toss. The System recognized the kill, but perhaps more importantly, the Hunters recognized what Sable could do.

She could cross ground they couldn't, close distances before prey found firmer footing, and carry Grub into positions no goblin on foot could reach quickly enough. Pebble Toss lacked the strength to bring down larger animals by itself, but a stone to the eye, muzzle, or foreleg could create the hesitation a Hunter needed. Ashpaw and the girl joined the next hunt. Kesh placed them beneath Grub's supervision, though the girl needed little encouragement to understand her task.

Ashpaw lacked Sable's speed, but his size and weight allowed him to force through drifts that slowed even the other wolves. Together, they circled ahead of a small group of deer and turned them directly toward the waiting Hunters. The girl returned to the cavern riding upright upon Ashpaw's back, blood drying across his muzzle. After that, the mounted youths and their wolves began joining the hunting parties more regularly. At first, only two went at a time.

They carried no weapons and served only as drivers, learning how to spread out, close escape routes, and return when the Hunters called them back. Mistakes were common. One boy chased a rabbit so far from the group that Kesh threatened to tie him under his wolf on the following hunt. He'd laughed until he realized she was serious. Another drove a deer away from the waiting spears and received enough verbal abuse from the Hunters that he never made the same mistake again.

But the wolves proved their worth almost immediately. Once several joined the same hunt, the pursuits became less chaotic and more deliberate. They spread wide, pressured prey from several directions, and closed escape routes before the animals realized they were being driven. Ashpaw's size allowed him to force deer away from open ground, while the smaller wolves harried boars and kept them turning until the Hunters were ready. What had once been scattered chases began to resemble traps.

The hunts became faster, and they returned successfully more often. Fresh meat filled the drying racks. Fat rendered beside the fires. Hides were scraped and stacked, sinew wound into cord, and bones carried to the Builders for tools. Feeding thirty-seven goblins had already strained the tribe's stores. Feeding eleven rapidly growing direwolves in addition had begun emptying them faster than the Hunters could replace what was taken.

But now, for the first time since the pups began growing in earnest, the balance shifted. The Ironfang weren't merely slowing the loss of their stored food. Hunt by hunt, they were replenishing it. Grub hunted at every available opportunity, often going out twice in a single day with Sable. Some outings brought nothing beyond old tracks, frozen hands, and hours spent moving through wind that erased their trail behind them.

Others ended with deer, boar, rabbits, or predators that had mistaken one of the hunting parties for easier prey. They killed several lean wolves while ranging farther north, and once encountered a great striped tiger. It burst from concealment toward one of the Hunters, only for Ashpaw to strike it out of the air and kill it before the other wolves could join him. The rare carcass earned loud celebration when they carried it home.

Such predators seldom wandered this far south, and the tribe took its presence as proof of how much farther the mounted parties could now travel before turning back for the den. Each success brought Grub one step closer to the next Level. Pebble Toss rose more quickly than it ever had inside the cavern. Grub learned to cast from Sable's back without throwing his weight sideways, while Sable learned what the movement of his hand toward the stone pouch meant.

When the ground allowed, she steadied her stride for the cast. When he leaned low, she accelerated. When his weight shifted backward, she slowed before he pulled against the harness. They remained rough and inexperienced. But they were learning together. The level came finally came several hunts later. A wounded stag had broken from the drive and fled toward a narrow gap between two stone outcroppings. Ashpaw forced it away from the open slope, while Sable carried Grub close enough for him to cast.

The first stone struck the stag's jaw. The second caught its temple. The animal collapsed between the stones, and the System chimed twice in quick succession before Grub finished drawing breath. [You have slain Stag – Level 4. Experience earned.] [Congratulations! You have reached Level 4. 3 Free Stat Points Available.] [Proceed to Stat Allocation] Grub sat still upon Sable's back.

There was no rush of strength or dramatic revelation, only the quiet certainty that one of the two levels standing between him and his Class was gone. He placed two points into Intelligence and one into Wisdom, following the plan he'd settled on when he first began pushing seriously for levels. He checked his new Mana total and smiled. Mana: 48/90 (+7/10mins) More Mana meant more casts. Greater regeneration meant less time waiting between them. Exactly what he needed.

They returned to the cavern beneath the light of the moon. Near the cavern entrance, after he'd slid down from Sable's back, he rested one hand against her neck and, curious how much she had grown, used Identify. [Adolescent Direwolf – Level 4] Health: 80/80 | Stamina: 36/70 | Mana: 20/20 Grub stared longer than he intended. Level Four. The same as him. Sable huffed and pressed her head against his shoulder, impatient with whatever invisible thing had taken his attention.

"You have Mana." She stared at him.

"What are you going to do with it?" Sable licked blood from the fur around her mouth. Grub smiled.

"Helpful." Her Health already exceeded that of most goblins in the cavern. Her Stamina explained how she could run through deep snow for hours and still find enough energy to harass Ashpaw when they returned. The Mana remained a mystery. No Spell appeared beneath Identify, and Grub had never seen her produce any outward magic. Still, the pool existed. Perhaps Level Five would answer that question for her as well. The thought followed him through the heavy door and into the cavern's warmth.

The Hunters dragged the stag toward the butchering stones while others gathered with knives. A Medic knelt beside a wolf whose leg had been cut against buried rock and began to wrap it. Nearby, the Builders turned the sled over and began examining a cracked runner. Grub watched them work. Then, without warning, he remembered Max. A game glowing across the television.

Max leaning forward with a controller against one knee, grinning as he argued that there was no reason to avoid an easy fight when the reward was the same.

"XP is XP." The memory struck him hard enough that Grub stopped walking. He hadn't truly thought about Max in months. For several breaths, Grub could only stand there, one hand still resting against Sable's neck. There had been fragments here and there. A joke Max might have made. A phrase that surfaced without warning. Fleeting memories swallowed almost immediately by work, danger, hunger, and the endless demands of surviving another day. But Grub hadn't stopped to wonder where Max was.

What body he had awakened in. Whether he was safe, trapped, alone, or already dead again somewhere Grub would never find him. He had promised himself, back when he first woke in that small cave, that he would grow stronger. He had promised he would find Max, wherever in this world he had been sent. Then the Ironfang had consumed every piece of his attention. First survival. Then freedom. The wounded. The wall. The wolves. The tribe. Max had slipped farther and farther away without Grub noticing.

Guilt rose quickly, but Grub refused to let it become another useless weight. He hadn't forgotten Max. He simply hadn't been in any position to search for him. Even now, he had no idea where to begin. He knew almost nothing about the lands beyond the forest or how far they stretched. Humans and the other southern peoples likely saw goblins as monsters to kill before they came close enough to speak. Even if someone hesitated long enough for him to make contact, Grub didn't know their language.

He could leave tomorrow, climb onto Sable, and ride south until winter, hunger, or an arrow killed him. That wouldn't bring him any closer to Max. A vow wasn't fulfilled by throwing his life away. For now, he needed strength. Levels. A Class. Better Spells. He needed the Ironfang stable enough that his absence wouldn't leave wounds untreated, repairs abandoned, or plans waiting for his return. He needed allies, information, and a place to come back to.

He needed enough strength that entering the lands beyond the forest wouldn't amount to offering some human an easy kill. Grub looked across the cavern. The wall held winter outside. Smoke rose through the vent instead of settling over sleeping bodies. The Medics worked without waiting for him to direct them, while the Builders finished their repair of the sled with tools arranged neatly around them. Children moved among wolves large enough to terrify any ordinary traveler. He was already well on his way.

Not close enough to leave, but close enough that searching for Max no longer felt like an impossible dream. Grub placed one hand against Sable's neck.

"I'll find him," he whispered. Her head turned toward him.

"I don't know how yet. But I will."