A Welcome Party

The five warriors stood before Gruxgar, battered but unyielding. The market's usual noise had died down as bystanders took in the carnage—twisted bodies, the scent of fresh blood in the air, and the unmistakable proof that something new had been forged in the dirt of the Broken Tooth Market.

The Ironfang Sect was no longer just an idea. It had blood in its veins now.

Gruxgar eyed each of them, arms crossed, Ironrend resting against his shoulder.

"From now on," he said, his voice rough like grinding stone, "you fight under my banner. You follow my orders. You don't get soft, and you sure as hell don't hesitate when steel is drawn." His gaze hardened. "Disloyalty is death."

Silkfang chuckled, running a finger along one of her scars. "Brutal. I like it."

Varka the Butcher cracked his neck. "Long as there's coin and killing, I don't give a damn what you call it."

Juno the Red wiped blood from her lip, grinning. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Hrothgar Ironspine merely nodded, his old eyes sizing Gruxgar up, while Grim stood silent as a grave marker.

Darian whistled low. "That's one mean-looking crew."

Eilwyn leaned against the wooden post of the yard, arms folded. "Mean is good. But mean without discipline? That's just a pack of rabid dogs." He looked at Gruxgar. "What's next?"

Gruxgar turned and walked toward the forge he had been working in the night before. "You lot can fight. That's clear enough. But you're not just killers. You're Ironfang."

He grabbed a pair of iron tongs and pulled something from the flames.

It was a small metal badge, shaped like the head of a snarling wolf with jagged fangs. Still red-hot, its edges shimmered with heat. Gruxgar tossed it onto the anvil, lifted his hammer, and struck it once. Sparks flared, and the shape hardened.

He held it up. "This mark is yours now."

The five warriors stepped forward, watching as he cooled the first badge in a barrel of water. Steam hissed.

One by one, he hammered out four more, each one bearing the same insignia. When they were done, he tossed them to their new owners.

"Wear it, carry it, do whatever the hell you want with it," Gruxgar said. "But anyone who sees it will know exactly who you are. And if they cross you—" He grinned. "—they'll learn what it means to bleed by Ironfang steel."

Varka grunted in approval, pinning the badge onto his belt. Juno slid hers into a pouch, while Silkfang ran a finger over the metal, smirking. Hrothgar simply nodded, and Grim, wordless as ever, tucked his away into his sleeve.

Eilwyn whistled. "I'll give you this, dwarf. You know how to make an impression."

Gruxgar snorted. "It's not just an impression. It's a promise." He turned back to the group. "First job's already lined up. We leave in the morning."

Darian raised an eyebrow. "Already?"

Gruxgar cracked his knuckles. "Aye. If we're going to carve out a name, we start now."

That night, the Broken Tooth Market was filled with whispers. The Ironfang Sect had been born in blood, and those who had witnessed it knew one thing for certain—this wasn't just another mercenary band.

This was something different. Something dangerous.

And it was only the beginning.

Morning came with the scent of charred meat and damp earth. The Ironfang's newest members gathered outside the forge, their wounds from the trial bandaged but still fresh. The air was cool, laced with the faint scent of iron and smoke—a familiar comfort to Gruxgar, who was already tightening the straps of his pack.

Darian yawned and stretched. "So, fearless leader, what's this grand first job of ours?"

Gruxgar slung his war axe, Ironrend, over his shoulder and motioned for them to follow. "Simple. There's a noble outside of Whitefang City who needs protection."

Juno groaned. "Ugh. Guard duty? I thought we were mercenaries, not glorified wet nurses."

Gruxgar smirked. "That's because you don't know the real job yet."

Eilwyn quirked an eyebrow. "I'm assuming there's more to this than standing around and looking menacing?"

"Aye," Gruxgar said, stepping onto the road. "Turns out this noble isn't just afraid of bandits—he's got assassins on his tail. Hired blades. And not the kind that go down easy."

Silkfang grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. "Oh, now I'm interested."

Varka let out a chuckle. "Sounds messy. I like messy."

Grim, as usual, said nothing.

The Road to Whitefang City

The group made their way toward the city, moving at a steady pace along the beaten dirt road. Whitefang City was one of the larger trade hubs in the region—a place of high walls, deep pockets, and more scheming bastards than a viper's nest. Gruxgar had been there once before, years ago, when he was still just a nameless blacksmith's apprentice.

Now, he was returning with a warband at his back.

As they walked, Hrothgar finally broke his silence. "Who's the noble?"

Gruxgar sighed. "Some young lord named Cailen Voss. Son of a dead duke, heir to some crumbling estate. Apparently, he's made a few enemies."

Eilwyn scoffed. "Of course he has. Nobles don't breathe without offending someone."

Darian smirked. "You think he pissed off the wrong merchant? Maybe bedded the wrong man's wife?"

Juno snorted. "Or husband."

Gruxgar shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. What matters is, he's paying well."

Varka grinned. "And what's the price of his head?"

Gruxgar gave him a look. "Enough to put you down if you try it."

Varka just laughed.

The road was quiet—too quiet.

Gruxgar had been in enough fights to recognise the weight of an ambush hanging in the air. The trees lining the road were too still. The wind had shifted. Even the birds had gone silent.

He stopped. "Weapons out."

No one questioned him. Iron was drawn, and the moment they did—

—an arrow whistled through the air, missing Gruxgar's head by an inch.

Grim deflected another with his curved blade.

Juno grinned. "Finally, some fun!"

The trees exploded with movement. A dozen figures clad in dark, ragged cloaks rushed toward them, wielding short blades and curved daggers—assassins. Their eyes glowed faintly in the shadows, betraying their use of qi techniques.

Gruxgar's grip tightened on Ironrend.

"Kill 'em all."

The Ironfang Sect's first real fight had begun.

The assassins moved fast—too fast for ordinary killers. Their qi-infused footwork let them weave between the trees like shadows, their daggers gleaming with a faint, poisoned sheen. They were trained to kill quickly, efficiently.

But they weren't ready for Ironfang.

The first assassin lunged at Gruxgar, aiming for his throat with a curved dagger. A mistake.

CLANG!

Ironrend came up like a thunderclap, catching the assassin's blade mid-strike. Gruxgar twisted his wrist, wrenching the weapon aside before slamming his gauntleted fist into the man's face. Bone crunched. The assassin staggered—just long enough for Gruxgar to bury the hammer into his chest. Blood sprayed as the man crumpled to the dirt.

To Gruxgar's left, Juno the Red cackled as she danced through the chaos. She wasn't just fighting—she was playing. Her twin daggers flickered like fireflies, cutting across throats and bellies. "Ohhh, I love assassins," she purred. "They're so squishy!"

Silkfang moved with precision, her blade flashing in precise, practiced cuts. One assassin got too close, and she sidestepped his thrust, catching his wrist and twisting until the bone snapped. He barely had time to scream before she buried her knife into his temple.

Varka the Butcher fought like a war machine. A single swing of his massive cleaver took a man's arm clean off, sending it spinning through the air. Another assassin tried to leap at him from behind, but Varka backhanded him so hard his skull caved in. "COME ON THEN!" he roared. "DIE SCREAMING!"

Hrothgar Ironspine, the veteran, fought with the patience of a man who had seen too many battles. He parried each attack with cold efficiency, waiting for openings before striking. One assassin feinted left—Hrothgar didn't fall for it. Instead, he sidestepped and slammed his blade through the man's gut, twisting for good measure.

And Grim…

Grim didn't make a sound. He moved like a ghost, his curved blade slicing throats before his enemies even registered his presence. One assassin managed to block his strike—but only for a second. Grim twisted his wrist, reversing his grip, and stabbed upward, straight through the assassin's chin and into his brain. He pulled the blade free, wiping the blood off without a word.

The assassins quickly realised they had made a mistake.

This wasn't a group of simple mercenaries or sellswords. This was a pack of killers, fighters who thrived in the chaos of battle.

One of the remaining assassins—his face half-covered in blood—staggered back, eyes wide. "T-this wasn't supposed to—"

Gruxgar didn't let him finish.

CRACK!

He brought Ironrend down like a warhammer, splitting the man's skull with a single, brutal stroke. The assassin's body crumpled, twitching once before going still.

The last two assassins turned to run.

Juno giggled. "Oh, no you don't."

Before they could take five steps, an arrow whistled from the treeline—Eilwyn's shot, straight and true. The first assassin fell, his throat impaled. The second got a few steps farther… only for Grim to appear behind him and drive his blade through his spine.

The forest fell silent once more.

Gruxgar exhaled, resting Ironrend against his shoulder. Around him, the Ironfang warriors were bloodied but standing. They looked down at the bodies, some smirking, some indifferent.

Darian wiped blood off his sword with a sigh. "Well, that was messy."

Eilwyn emerged from the trees, bow still in hand. "They weren't bandits. These were trained killers."

Gruxgar nodded. "Aye. Someone sent them. And I'm guessing our client, young Lord Cailen, knows exactly why."

Varka grinned, wiping his cleaver. "Doesn't matter. We'll meet him soon enough."

Gruxgar turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the walls of Whitefang City loomed in the distance.

The Ironfang Sect had spilled its first blood. And soon, the city would learn their name.

Whitefang City

The sun hung low in the sky as the Ironfang Sect approached the towering walls of Whitefang City. Built from pale stone and reinforced with steel, the city was a fortress of trade and power, standing as a hub for merchants, mercenaries, and nobles alike.

The massive gate loomed ahead, guarded by a dozen armoured soldiers, their helms polished and spears resting against their shoulders. The road leading into the city was crowded with traders, travellers, and desperate refugees looking for work. The scent of roasted meat and damp horse dung filled the air.

Juno whistled. "Ah, Whitefang. Smells like overpriced ale and bad decisions."

Gruxgar adjusted the strap of his pack. "Best place to make money, then."

Silkfang pulled her hood lower, eyeing the guards. "And the best place to get stabbed in an alley."

Varka cracked his knuckles. "As long as it ain't us getting stabbed, I don't care."

As they entered, Gruxgar took in the sights. The main street was lined with open markets, street performers, and merchants haggling with customers. A gang of urchins darted between carts, swiping fruit and coin pouches alike.

Further down, the wealthier district rose above the rest, its pristine white stonework and gilded banners a stark contrast to the grime of the lower quarters. That was where Cailen Voss, their noble client, would be waiting.

Eilwyn eyed the city's high towers. "This place has changed since I was last here."

Gruxgar raised an eyebrow. "You been here before?"

She smirked. "I've been everywhere."

Before he could press further, a voice called out.

"You lot! Hold there."

A squad of city guards stepped forward, their leader—a grizzled man with a jagged scar down his cheek—eyeing them carefully. His gaze lingered on their weapons, still stained with the blood of assassins.

"State your business," he ordered.

Gruxgar stepped forward. "Hired blades. We've got work lined up with Lord Cailen Voss."

The guard scoffed. "Voss? That little lordling's in trouble again?"

Silkfang chuckled. "Sounds like a common problem."

The guard sighed and waved them through. "Try not to start any trouble."

Juno grinned. "No promises."

The Voss estate was smaller than Gruxgar expected, tucked within the wealthier district but lacking the extravagance of its neighbours. A pair of house guards stood at the gate, eyeing the Ironfang warriors with suspicion.

"We're here to see Lord Cailen," Gruxgar said.

The guards hesitated before one disappeared inside. Moments later, the gate creaked open. "Follow me."

They were led into a lavish sitting room where a young man in noble garb lounged with a goblet of wine in hand. He was handsome but thin, with dark circles under his eyes and a nervous energy that spoke of sleepless nights.

"You're the mercenaries?" Cailen asked, setting down his goblet.

Gruxgar folded his arms. "Aye. And I assume you knew someone was trying to kill you."

Cailen's face paled. "They've already made a move?"

Juno laughed. "Oh, they did more than try. They're feeding the crows now."

Cailen exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Damn it. That means they know I'm close."

Gruxgar narrowed his eyes. "Close to what?"

Cailen hesitated, looking between them. He licked his lips. "I… I didn't just hire you for protection." His voice dropped lower.

"I need you to help me kill someone."

Silence.

Then, Varka grinned. "Now we're talking."

Gruxgar leaned forward. "Who?"

Cailen clenched his fists. His voice was cold.

"The man who murdered my father."