We left Tonder, leaving behind the smell of formalin and carrying with us the scent of wolf fur and ambition.

  Mercenary squad "The Bums" now looked almost impressive (if viewed from afar, in fog, and squinting heavily).

  Otwin, our "Morale Manager," marched in the front row, proudly gripping the shaft of the Serpent Banner. He didn’t yet know that for any enemy archer, a bright rag above one’s head is a signal: [SHOOT HERE FOR BONUS XP].

  Baldur ("The Destroyer") walked along, tenderly stroking the spikes of his new Skull Hammer.

  "Good boy," Baldur whispered to the weapon. "Are you hungry, Mats?"

  "You named the hammer?" Jem asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "After the guy it killed back in the snow," Baldur nodded solemnly. "It tasted him first. Now his spirit is in the iron. Plus, there is still a piece of his ear stuck in the leather wrapping. I decided not to clean it. For luck."

  Gunther sighed heavily from the cart.

  "Updating inventory. Asset 'Two-Handed Skull Hammer' renamed to 'Mats'. Please try not to talk to the equipment, Baldur. It lowers the collective IQ of the squad."

  We entered the zone of interest of House Grauwald.

  In the very first village, a Knight rode up to us. He looked as if he had been forged from the same steel as his horse.

  "Mercenaries?" he asked, looking down at us through his visor.

  "Crisis Asset Management Agency 'The Bums'," Gunther corrected with the dignity of a man who has 20 crowns in his pocket.

  "Crisis..." the Knight snorted. "I have a crisis. A Barbarian King has built a fort on Three Skulls Hill. He is raiding my mines. I need that fort gone. I’ll pay 2,500 crowns."

  The Sergeant grabbed his sword hilt. Knut’s jaw dropped. 2,500 crowns! That was wealth.

  But Gunther raised a hand.

  "Intel?"

  "He has a garrison. Two dozen Thralls, five armored Chosen, and, rumor has it, an Armored Unhold on a chain."

  "We..." Gunther began, intending to say 'decline'.

  "We take it," the Captain interrupted.

  When the knight rode away, Gunther lunged at the Captain.

  "Are you insane? 25 barbarians! A fort! We are paupers in wolf skins! This isn't 'risk management', this is bankruptcy via suicide! My survival forecast is 0%!"

  "We can handle it," the Captain was calm. Too calm. "If we play dirty."

  We approached Three Skulls Hill.

  The fort was imposing. Palisades, watchtowers, shouts of drunken barbarians. Storming this head-on would be madness.

  "Well?" Gunther asked venomously, watching axes being sharpened on the walls. "Your plan, genius? Knock and ask them to surrender?"

  The Captain didn't answer. He sent Nasser to scout the foot of the hill, where huge tracks were visible in the snow.

  "Just check if they are home," he said.

  Five minutes later, the bushes crackled as if a hurricane was crashing through them.

  Nasser flew out of the forest. His face was the color of fresh snow. He wasn't running. He was flying on wings of terror.

  "RUUUUUUN!" the Thief shrieked. "THEY ARE THERE! SEVEN OF THEM!"

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Behind him, the forest exploded. Trees fell. The earth trembled.

  Out of the thicket burst a pack of Northern Unholds. Seven white mountains of meat, each the size of a barn. They were angry, they were hungry, and Nasser had woken them up.

  "This is the end," Gunther whispered, dropping his ledger. "We’re going to be eaten."

  "To the forest!" roared the Sergeant. "Scatter!"

  "NO!" the Captain barked. His voice drowned out the roar of the monsters. "To the fort! Everyone run to the fort gates!"

  "Are you an idiot?!" Gunther howled, already breaking into a run. "There are barbarians there! We’ll be between the hammer and the anvil!"

  "Run!" the Captain yelled, urging the lagging Tobias on with kicks. "We need to bring the 'Train' to the station!"

  It was the fastest sprint of our lives.

  We raced uphill, toward the fort gates. The bones of the world crunched behind our backs. The Unholds were gaining. Their heavy breathing burned the backs of our necks.

  The barbarians on the walls saw us.

  "Enemies!" a sentry yelled. "The meat has delivered itself!"

  "Open the gates!" roared the Barbarian King. "Slaughter them while they are tired!"

  The gates began to slowly open. A crowd of barbarians with axes and flails spilled out, anticipating an easy massacre. They saw only us. They didn't see what was running behind, hidden by the curve of the hill.

  We reached the kill zone. The barbarians were already winding up to throw axes.

  "NOW!" screamed the Captain. "INTO THE DITCH! GET DOWN!"

  This was rehearsed (or rather, it was panic channeled in the right direction). The entire "Bums" squad dove into a deep, snow-covered ditch on the right side of the road, right under the noses of the barbarians.

  The barbarians were dumbfounded.

  "Where?! Get out here, cowards..." one of the Chosen began.

  And then the earth shook.

  The Unholds burst onto the crest of the hill.

  They didn't brake. They saw the open gates. They saw the crowd of barbarians.

  The "Predator" instinct overrode everything. We, lying in the ditch under the snow, ceased to interest them. Before them was a bigger buffet.

  "...Mother of god," the Barbarian King managed to say.

  Seven white giants crashed into the barbarian line like an avalanche.

  "Bloodbath," Jem commented, cautiously peeking out of the ditch. "Game mechanic 'Aggro Switch' in action. Genius, Captain. You just dumped the aggro onto another tank."

  It was Hell.

  The barbarians forgot about us. They had no time for mercenaries.

  One Unhold grabbed a Thrall and tore him in half like a roasted chicken. Another smashed through the palisade with a running charge, bursting inside the fort.

  "Look at that," Gunther whispered, clutching his ledger to his chest. "They are killing each other. For free. My forecast is changing... ROI is rising... This isn't suicide. This is... Outsourcing!"

  We lay in the snow for twenty minutes, listening to the crunching and screaming.

  Gradually, the noise subsided.

  The Unholds won, but at a heavy cost. Four monsters died under a hail of heavy hammer blows. The remaining three, wounded and full, wandered among the ruins, lazily finishing off the remnants of the garrison.

  "Phase Two," the Captain brushed snow off his shoulders. "Cleanup."

  Three survivors were crawling away from the gates. The Barbarian King and two of his bodyguards. Beaten, armor torn, they were making their way to the forest, hoping to disappear.

  We climbed out of the ditch and blocked their path. Fresh. Angry.

  The King froze. He leaned on a broken sword.

  "You..." he wheezed. "You brought them... Cowards! Where is your honor?"

  "Written off the balance sheet," Gunther answered. "Your fort has been condemned. Demolition with tenants inside."

  The fight was short.

  The Sergeant and Knut pinned the guards with shields.

  And Baldur stepped toward the King, raising 'The Mats'.

  "Bonk?" asked Baldur.

  "NO!" Gunther barked habitually. "I need the head intact! It’s the proof of contract!"

  Baldur sighed and struck the chest with the Skull Hammer.

  CRUNCH.

  The barbarian's cuirass crumpled inward. The King collapsed.

  "Mats works!" the Destroyer beamed. "180% efficiency!"

  We returned to the knight of House Grauwald.

  The Sergeant casually tossed the King’s head at his feet.

  "Fort destroyed," Gunther reported. "Garrison liquidated by... subcontractors."

  The Knight kicked the head incredulously.

  "You? Did this? There was an army there! How?!"

  The Captain remained silent. He just wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  "Trade secret," Jem answered for him. "It's called 'Kiting the Train'."

  They brought out the chest.

  Gunther opened it. 2,500 crowns.

  The Accountant’s hands were trembling.

  "We’re rich," whispered Knut.

  "We’re alive," exhaled Tobias.

  "We are putting this in the Reserve Fund," Gunther cut off, slamming the lid shut. "The Captain is right. Sometimes madness is the hardest currency."

  We left for the South. Fast. Very fast.

  Because somewhere in the forest, three very well-fed Unholds were sleeping, and we were the only ones who knew they now had a taste for human flesh.