He got up, cradled Hammy against his chest, and retraced his steps. Or at least, he tried to follow the path he believed he had taken.

The forest appeared different now that the last light had vanished from the sky. It felt darker and somehow more menacing.

"Okay," Greg said, mostly so he could hear his voice. "I think that's west... we just need to go east to get to the city."

A low growl broke through his thoughts. Greg froze, and without thinking, he reached for his arm guard. Hammy's chirping turned fearful once more as the slime inched closer to Greg's chest.

The growl echoed once more, and this time Greg spotted something shifting within the shadows between the trees. More movement followed, then even more.

Greg whispered, "Ah, fucking hell! Why am I so unlucky today?!"

In the darkness, glowing eyes began to appear, radiating an eerie green light. First, there was one pair, then three, followed by six, and soon there were far too many to count.

The creatures emerged from the shadows of the trees, stepping into the faint moonlight that filtered through the leaves. As they did, their shapes became more distinct.

Wolves in the woods. These were not the usual wolves that stayed away from people. These were the worst kinds, changed by dark magic or spending too much time in dangerous places.

They were bigger than regular wolves, with patches of exposed bone showing through their mangy fur. Their glowing eyes demonstrated their predatory nature.

Greg fully activated his shield, and the Guardian's Oath appeared as a glowing wall between him and the wolves that were closest to him.

They flinched at the light but didn't move back. Instead, they started to circle, working together as a pack.

"Easy there," Greg said, but he didn't know whether he was talking to the wolves or to himself. "We mean no harm. We're just about to leave so that nobody needs to get hurt."

One of the wolves jumped forward to see how well he could defend himself. Greg barely had time to turn his shield before the creature hit it hard enough to make his arm ring. The shield absorbed all of the kinetic energy, but Greg knew he couldn't keep the pressure up forever.

There were too many wolves. At least twenty were visible, and there could be even more lurking in the trees. They grew bolder with each passing second.

Another wolf charged at them from a different angle. Greg quickly spun around, and his shield absorbed the impact, sending the wolf tumbling away with a yelp. However, two more wolves were already rushing in to replace it, and he found himself unable to protect against attacks from all directions while still holding Hammy.

Greg said "Hammy" urgently, thinking of a choice he didn't like. "Pay attention to me. You have to go back to the city and find the others."

Hammy chirped like crazy and wouldn't move.

"I'm not kidding!" Greg's shield blocked another attack, and he let out some of the stored energy as a shockwave that sent three wolves flying back at once.

But more were getting closer. "I can't keep both of us safe. But I can keep them away if you leave. I'm fine, but you need to go NOW!"

He almost threw Hammy into a hole in the circle of wolves. The slime bounced once in confusion before it appeared to understand the situation. Hammy let out one last desperate chirp and then vanished into the bushes, where its see-through body quickly disappeared in the dark.

"Good," Greg said, now that both of his hands were free to face the wolves. "Now it's just you and me. Let's dance."

The wolves had stopped testing him; now, they were intent on killing. Greg's shield work was impeccable. It blocked and deflected blows, absorbed hits, and sent out shockwaves whenever they got too close.

However, to achieve perfection, he needed to maintain his focus, and with so many enemies surrounding him, staying centered was becoming increasingly difficult.

A wolf got past his guard and bit him on the leg. Greg screamed in pain and hit the creature's head with his shield hard enough to knock it out.

But the damage was already done. His pants were soaked with blood, and his leg buckled slightly.

"Come on," he said under his breath, changing his position even though it hurt. "Is that all you have?"

The wolves could smell blood now, and they took full advantage of the situation. Greg's efforts with the shield became more frantic and less accurate.

He began to lose ground, eventually backing up against a tree to protect his back. Another wolf slipped through his defenses, its claws scraping against his shoulder. Then came another bite on his other leg.

He was going down. Greg was completely sure of it.

He wasn't going to be able to return to the city. The number of wolves was overwhelming with their unmatched cooperation, and his injuries were already severe.

He thought that at least Hammy had escaped, but then another wolf lunged at his throat. However, the wolf never got to him.

Something flew through the air, and the wolf suddenly flew sideways, howling in pain. Greg blinked in confusion as his worn-out mind tried to figure out what had just happened.

When a figure stepped into the small area his shield was guarding, Greg's first thought was that it was a warrior who had heard the noise, but then he saw what they were holding. It was a pickaxe that was covered in mineral dust and blood, as if it had been used for years.

"Stay behind me!" A woman's voice yelled, and she swung the pickaxe with the kind of casual skill that showed she'd done this a lot before.

Another wolf fell, followed closely by another. The woman fought with a fluidity that suggested violence was as routine as mining for her.

The wolves started to back off when they sensed a bigger danger. When she stomped on the ground with such force that it knocked nearby wolves over, they decided it was better to be safe than sorry and ran away into the dark.

The clearing was quiet except for Greg's heavy breathing and the pounding of his heart. The woman asked, "Are you okay?" as she turned to look at him for the first time.

For the first time, Greg saw his rescuer. She was probably in her late twenties or early thirties.

Her brown hair was cut in a gorgeous wolf cut style that kept it out of her face while she worked. The leather and canvas clothes she wore were tough and showed signs of wear from real work, not fashion.

Her sleeves were rolled up, so you could see her strong arms. Her hands were rough from years of holding tools.

But it was her eyes that caught Greg's attention. They were sharp and judging, the kind of eyes that could tell the difference between an ore vein and a possible threat just as easily.

Greg looked down at his injured legs and said, "I've been better. Thanks for helping me. It could've turned out worse if you hadn't come."

"Wolves are bad at this time of the year," the woman said, easily throwing her pickaxe over her shoulder. "You're lucky I was close by checking my traps."

"What kind of fool goes into the woods by themselves at night during festival season?"

"The fool who was chasing a scared slime."

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