A subtle sense of anticipation simmered beneath the surface as Sinclair wandered through the orderly streets. The buildings were functional rather than decorative—solid, utilitarian structures representing the city's primary purpose as a mining hub. Being underground only reinforced this impression, with the architecture reflecting a community built on endurance and practicality.

His town representative guide walked beside him, pointing out various shops and landmarks. Two guards trailed behind at a respectful distance—close enough to intervene if needed but far enough to avoid intruding. The whole experience felt surreal. Sinclair couldn't help but marvel at how far he'd come. If someone had asked him where he'd be five years ago, "exploring a city on another planet" wouldn't have even made the list.

The streets were lined with rustic stone buildings carved directly from the surrounding earth, their sturdy facades exuding a quiet strength. Despite their simplicity, the structures seemed alive with residents' and traders' constant comings and goings. The air carried a strange vitality, an energy Sinclair found hard to define but impossible to ignore.

Sinclair had an appointment with the city's leader, a highly regarded woman named Garret Oreheart. According to a messenger who found him browsing in one of the shops, their meeting was set to take place at the third bell—roughly four hours from now.

Determined to use his waiting time productively, Sinclair immersed himself in the city's atmosphere. He spent nearly two hours exploring the shops, inspecting local wares, and making a few purchases—some practical, others simply intriguing. He wasn't entirely sure what a few of the items were, but his guide was happy to explain. Along the way, Sinclair learned about the local currency system, which he found reassuringly familiar. One gold converted to ten silver, and one silver to one hundred coppers. Other denominations, like platinum and mithril, existed but were reserved for rare, large-scale transactions.

The streets bustled with life. Blacksmiths hammered steel with rhythmic precision, their forges glowing like miniature suns. Vendors shouted enthusiastically to draw attention to their wares while children darted between passersby, their laughter echoing off the stone walls as they played. Yet beneath the vibrant activity, Sinclair detected an undercurrent of unease. Guards patrolled the walls and gates with watchful eyes, their hands never straying far from the hilts of their weapons. The tension in their postures suggested a community on edge for quite some time.

Distracted by his growling stomach, Sinclair was drawn to the tantalizing aromas wafting from food stalls. He purchased unique local treats, envisioning how his companions might enjoy them later. The act of shopping, simple as it was, felt grounding amidst the unfamiliarity. Yet even as he indulged in the city's charm, thoughts of his impending meeting with City Lady Garret loomed in his mind.

"It can't be worse than standing before a god," Sinclair muttered with a wry chuckle, though he couldn't shake the nervous anticipation pooling in his chest.

Sinclair's musings were abruptly interrupted by the guttural bellow of a horn echoing from the city wall—a piercing sound that instantly drowned out all other noise, leaving a jarring silence in its wake. The atmosphere shifted palpably as if the air itself had thickened. The guards' expressions morphed from caution to urgency, mirroring the tension Sinclair had sensed earlier but couldn't quite identify.

"Something's happening at the wall," one guard muttered to his comrade, eyes narrowing.

"No time to waste," the other guard responded, snapping Sinclair out of his reverie as he signaled for him to follow. "We need to see what's going on."

Rushing toward the source of the sound, Sinclair felt a foreboding sense of urgency knotting his stomach—a sensation that confirmed the nebulous threat he'd sensed earlier was now a vivid, immediate concern.

"What's happening?" Sinclair questioned one of the guards as they hastened through the alleyways.

"We're under attack—again," the guard grunted. "From the deep mine in the southeast corner. These recently overran it... these abominations. They're damned hard to kill."

The guards led Sinclair up staircases hewn from the living rock, each step taking them closer to the top of the city wall and the unknown dangers beyond. It clicked that this was what that feeling had been earlier—dread, thick as fog in the air.

Upon reaching the battlements, Sinclair was met with a scene of seasoned preparation: archers knocking their arrows, foot soldiers fastening their helmets tightly. Their focused eyes were locked onto the shadowy abyss of the deep mines, from which unsettling guttural growls ascended like dark smoke.

At that moment, Garret, whom Sinclair had used his Valkyrie's Gaze skill to identify as the city leader, approached him. "It seems we have subterranean visitors," she said, her tone heavy with regret. "This isn't the kind of introduction to our city I had hoped to offer you."

Before Sinclair could ask more about what was happening, Garret began to speak, almost as if reading his thoughts. "Creatures from the deep mines," she gestured toward the edge of the illuminated zone below them, "usually they keep to their depths. But lately, something's been driving them further from the lower levels where they typically dwell."

Sinclair followed her gaze toward the mines. The entrance was shrouded in shadow, the faint flicker of torchlight barely illuminating the foreboding maw. With each passing moment, growls and clicks echoed from the depths, growing louder and more menacing.

"What's changed?" Sinclair asked, his voice low but steady.

Garret's expression darkened. "That's the question, isn't it? Something's stirring them up—something big. And if we don't stop them here, they'll overrun the city. We've fortified the walls, but they won't hold forever."

Sinclair's hand instinctively went to the grip of his weapon, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the approaching threat. "Then we make sure they don't get that chance."

Garret gave him a curt nod, the weight of leadership evident in her every movement. "I hope you're as good as the rumors say, Wolf Lord. Because we're going to need all the help we can get."

The guttural growls became chilling shrieks as the first shadows emerged from the mine. The battle was about to begin.

Sinclair's eyes met Garret's. "So far, sending a team down to investigate has proven impossible," Garret continued, her voice tinged with frustration. "Every attempt has been met with aggression. These creatures are coming up from levels they've never ventured from before, and it's never good news when they start doing things out of character."

Though this was far from the cordial meeting he had anticipated with the city leader, Sinclair felt his presence at this precarious moment was anything but coincidental. The System seemed to enjoy throwing him into chaotic situations like this. Fidgeting from restless energy, he unnecessarily tightened the few straps on his gear, mentally preparing for the assault.

As if on cue, further convincing him that the System had it out for him, forms began to manifest from the inky blackness of the mines. Gnashing and snapping, grotesque creatures surged toward the city wall in a terrible procession. The monsters were numerous; some vaguely familiar to Sinclair, but others defied any classification. One thing was sure—they all looked sickly and twisted.

Sinclair turned to Garret. "Have they always appeared this way?"

Garret shook her head, her expression grim. "No, this is new and deeply concerning. I've already reached out for additional clerics to come and assess the situation."

Eyeing the pathway that sloped downward from the wall toward the mine entrance, Sinclair noted its narrowness. "Looks like only fifteen or twenty can approach at a time."

Garret nodded. "A small mercy, perhaps, but one we'll take."

Sinclair clenched his fists and felt a grin spread across his face. "Well, it seems my visit just became a working one," he said, activating Visage of the Wolf. The wolf's ethereal aura enveloped him, and his eyes glowing with a fierce light. There was no sense in holding back now; the people could use the morale boost.

Seizing the moment, Sinclair also triggered Yggdrasil's Authority. The effect was immediate: every defender seemed to shake themselves awake, standing taller and surer than before as if jolted by an electric charge.

Garret smiled wryly at Sinclair. "Welcome to the frontier."

The creatures continued to pour out of the mine, a roiling mass of claws, fangs, and grotesque limbs. The defenders atop the wall braced themselves, archers aiming while foot soldiers steadied their shields. The tension was palpable as Sinclair moved to the edge of the wall, his axe glinting faintly in the light of the torches.

"Hold the line!" Garret shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Do not let them breach the gates!"

Sinclair scanned the oncoming horde, his mind already calculating. "Focus fire on the larger ones first. If they break through, they'll tear apart the ranks," he said, pointing to a hulking beast at the swarm's center. It stood taller than the rest, its gnarled limbs bristling with jagged, bone-like protrusions.

The archers aimed and fired a volley of arrows, the shafts finding their marks in the creature's mottled hide. The beast roared in defiance, but the onslaught slowed, giving the defenders precious seconds to regroup.

Sinclair turned to Chewy and Leia, who had followed him to the wall. Their fiery eyes locked onto the enemy and growled in unison, ready to leap into action. "Stay close," Sinclair commanded. "We'll need to wallop them when they reach the base of the wall."

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As the monsters streamed forward, arrows flew in thick waves, their flights tracing deadly arcs through the air. Sinclair and Garret joined the defenders at the wall's edge, readying themselves for the onslaught.

The air grew thick with the acrid smell of sweat and the metallic twang of arrows slicing through it. Below, a roiling mass of monsters threw themselves at the base of the city wall. The larger ones crushed their smaller brethren underfoot, even as vicious snarling fights broke out among the creatures whenever one was stepped on or jostled too roughly.

Above them, the defenders unleashed another relentless volley of arrows and ballistae bolts. The projectiles whistled through the air, striking monstrous flesh with brutal precision. Yet some creatures—twisted, agile things—managed to claw their way up the stone wall, leaping or scrabbling toward the parapets.

A few reached the top of Sinclair's section of the wall, their claws grasping for purchase on the stonework. With a swift motion, he readied his weapon, cutting down the first creature to make it over, its body tumbling back down into the throng below.

Time stretched and compressed at odd intervals. Defenders chanted battle hymns in deep, sonorous voices, a tradition to bolster courage and keep spirits from flagging. The rhythm of the battle cries mingled with the cacophony of combat, forging a strange kind of symphony.

Then, from somewhere along the wall, a solitary voice began to sing—clear and defiant, rising above the din:

"Stand fast, stand true, ye sons and daughters bold

For this here ground we claim, for hearth and stories told.

The shadows creep and crawl, but here, we make our stand

With sword and bow in hand, we guard this sacred land!"

Another voice joined in, then another, until the melody cascaded down the length of the wall, carrying on every defender's breath.

"Oh, the night is long, and the beasts are many-faced

But we won't step back, not a single pace.

In brotherhood, we fight; our spirits never wane

Till morning's light we hold, till we see the sun again!"

The chant filled the air, weaving through the clamor of combat and infusing the weary fighters with renewed vigor. For a brief moment, the overwhelming danger seemed to recede, eclipsed by the song's powerful sense of unity and purpose. Even Sinclair, caught in the emotional surge, felt it. It was as if the very stones of the wall vibrated with the collective will to survive, fight, and prevail.

Every twenty minutes, or when someone sustained an injury that couldn't be ignored, fresh fighters rotated in to replace the weary or wounded. Despite their best efforts, two lives were lost when defenders were pulled over the wall before anyone could react, disappearing into the sea of gnashing teeth and claws below. The mournful call of a horn marked their sacrifice, but the battle raged on.

Amidst the chaos, Sinclair felt a deep respect for these frontier defenders. They had likely been facing horrors like this for longer than he could imagine, yet they stood resolute, their spirit unyielding in the face of relentless adversity.

But as the hours dragged on, one question loomed in everyone's mind: how much longer could they hold? Would this ceaseless tide of abominations ever relent?

Sinclair's eyes locked onto a new threat emerging at the back. Towering over the horde, standing nearly half the height of the wall, was a monstrous behemoth with arms thicker than his torso. Sinclair felt the blood in his veins heat, the familiar fire of battle stirring within him. This was his fight. He couldn't directly command the city's troops; that responsibility rested with their leaders. Instead, he focused on contributing in the way he knew best—through direct action.

Taking a steadying breath, Sinclair activated Leap. He soared off the battlements in a breathtaking display of agility and power, landing amid the smaller creatures lurking at the back. The impact sent dust and debris flying, creating a shallow crater around him. He smirked, mentally quipping that hero landings were as incredible as they looked—or so he hoped.

Wasting no time, Sinclair triggered his Wild Shout skill. A bone-chilling roar erupted from his lips, amplified by the magic coursing through him. The sound reverberated across the battlefield, demanding attention. Monsters turned as one, their focus drawn entirely to him, away from the beleaguered defenders on the wall.

And then came the Rage of the Berserkir.

Unleashing the skill, Sinclair felt an unparalleled surge of energy flood his limbs. His eyes burned with ferocity and focus as he swung his weapon in wide, devastating arcs. Each strike carved through the horde like a force of nature, brutally cutting down monsters. Even the bloodthirsty creatures hesitated, their primal instincts warning them of the danger he posed. That hesitation cost them dearly as Sinclair's blade met no resistance, tearing through any who dared stand before him.

As he fought, a thought lingered in the back of his mind—the looming menace of the Myrkr. Was this attack connected? This planet had its history with the Myrkr, though not to the catastrophic extent suffered by Midgard. Right now, though, his immediate concern was the ever-approaching giant monstrosity closing in on the wall and the soldiers who had only one chance to hold the line.

Name: Nidhogg Spawn/Rock Troll

Race: Myrkr Chimera

Description: Mutated Nidhogg Spawn are the horrifying result of a fusion between the progeny of the great serpent Nidhogg and the formidable rock trolls of Svartálfheim. These abominations possess the serpentine body and malevolent glow of their serpent lineage combined with a rock troll's muscular arms and legs, creating a nightmarish hybrid.

Their scales, dark as the void, are interspersed with jagged rock-like protrusions, providing them with additional armor. Their eyes, glowing with an eerie, malevolent light, can paralyze prey with a single gaze. These creatures move with unsettling agility, and their troll limbs allow them to climb and burrow through solid rock effortlessly.

Well, that answered one question about where they came from. Now, where did the hybrid thing come from? Sinclair wondered. The system displayed two distinct races fused rather than a single, mutated entity. Cataloging this for research later, he sprinted forward, eager to continue testing himself and growing stronger.

As soon as he cleared enough space from his landing, Chewy and Leia followed, landing beside him in a stunning display of speed and strength. Their synchronized movement was both impressive and reassuring. Above him, the City Lord's urgent voice, sharp and clear, carried down from the battlements.

"It's at least level 82. Get back up here!" she shouted, her tone edging with warning and disbelief.

Though he appreciated her concern, Sinclair knew that he, more than anyone else here, was uniquely prepared for this confrontation.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind as he prepared to unleash the Will of the Norns. Was this overwhelming energy what the city's dignitaries sensed in the audience chamber? There was no time to dwell on the question. Focus, he scolded himself.

Locking eyes with the gargantuan monstrosity before him, Sinclair channeled his will. Every ounce of fear, frustration, and fury he'd accumulated over the past weeks coalesced into a tangible force radiating outward from him in an almost visible wave. The sheer intensity of the aura caused even those on the city walls, over fifty yards away, to take involuntary steps back. Faces paled, breaths quickened, and a heavy silence fell over the defenders as though they were teetering at the edge of an abyss.

With a defiant shrug, Sinclair unleashed a primal howl, a raw declaration of intent reverberating across the battlefield. Chewy and Leia joined in, their powerful howls intertwining with his own, creating a haunting, ethereal cry that vibrated through the air.

Sinclair activated Focused Charge, feeling his muscles tighten as power coursed through him. He and his axe moved as one, the blade humming with the stored energy of a charged Cleave. For a brief moment, the world seemed to blur and fade into irrelevance. There was only the towering creature before him, the deadly arc his weapon would carve, and the singular purpose driving him forward.

And then, he charged.

*****

The City Lord, a strong and battle-hardened woman, stood atop the battlements, staring at the unfolding scene below in disbelief. She had done her time in the Legion and had received this post as a reward. She had seen people be heroes before, and it rarely worked out for them. Even after years of overseeing frontier defenses and facing unspeakable terrors from the deep mines, her eyes widened in sheer astonishment this time.

"By the gods, what is he doing?!" one of her generals muttered, eyes transfixed on the spectacle of Sinclair and his animal companions facing down the nightmarish monster.

"He's a level 0," another general observed, bewildered. "How can he even stand against that thing? It's as if—"

"—as if he doesn't care that it should be impossible," Garret finished the sentence for him, her voice tinged with awe and a complicated swirl of other emotions.

The generals exchanged uneasy glances. "Do you think he might be a loose cannon, my Lady? A danger?"

Garret shook her head, her eyes never leaving the scene of the unfolding battle. "No, he's a Wolf Lord. You've heard the stories, which are the same as mine. These individuals are chosen for a unique role; they protect their people, sometimes with the sacrifice of their lives. A loose cannon doesn't charge into battle to defend a city he has no stake in."

"But the power he holds, untrained and young as he is—" another general started.

"It's terrifying," Garret admitted. "But it's also awe-inspiring. I've led men and women into battle for years and have seen bravery and recklessness in equal measure. I've seen power, too—lots of it. But…" she gestured toward Sinclair, who was now under his charge.

"He's like a force of nature," a general murmured.

"Yes," Garret nodded. "And nature is neither good nor evil. It simply is. It's what the gods do with it that defines it. And from what I've seen here, Sinclair is being used for his power to protect, not to destroy."

Still, she couldn't shake a sense of trepidation. The sheer energy emanating from Sinclair, the undeniable force of his aura, was palpable even from this distance. It was a wild, untamed power wielded by someone who still had so much to learn.

"He has a good heart," Garret murmured, reassuring herself. "But a good heart combined with that much raw power? We should all be wary of that, even as we're grateful for the protection it affords us today."

As she spoke, Garret couldn't take her eyes off Sinclair, the soon-to-be Wolf Lord, who had leaped into battle as if the impossible odds meant nothing. Watching him, she felt a strange sensation—a mix of dread and hope—as if the very fabric of the world was shifting beneath her feet, irrevocably altering everything she had known.

Garret's voice was crisp and commanding as she turned to her generals. "I want every nearby tunnel checked and rechecked. If this behemoth managed to get this close, there might be others lurking underground. You all know the dire omen a Nidhogg spawn represents."

"Aye, my Lady," the generals responded, signaling soldiers and dispatching messengers to carry out her commands.

When a sudden thunderous boom reverberated across the battlefield, Garret was about to instruct her aides to rotate the troops. Her eyes snapped back to the scene in time to see Sinclair's body launched through the air, flung as though by an invisible giant hand. He slammed into a boulder near the base of the wall, his frame crumpling against it like a rag doll wrapped around a playground ball.

"Gods above," she breathed, her heart sinking at the sight. Had they all underestimated these creatures?

"Archers, hold!" she commanded, raising her hand to signal the ceasefire. For a moment, every eye was locked on Sinclair, the tension on the wall as taut as a drawn bowstring.

Her thoughts raced. Sinclair had displayed power unlike anything she'd ever seen, but even he must have limits. Was this it? Was this where his strength faltered? Was he even still alive?

"Prepare a rescue team," she instructed her aide, her tone sharp with urgency. "And tell the clerics to be ready for the worst."

But as the words left her mouth, Garret's breath caught in her throat. Below, Sinclair began to stir. Slowly, almost painfully, he disentangled himself from the boulder's jagged embrace. From the walls, she could feel the collective exhale of her troops—a mix of relief and awe. They watched as Sinclair rose to his feet, shaking off dust and debris, his movements deliberate and unyielding. He hopped slightly, testing his balance, then adjusted his armor with practiced ease.

He retrieved a potion from his storage, downing it in one practiced motion. As the liquid took effect, he stretched his back and rolled his shoulders, looking less like a man who had just been thrown across the battlefield and more like a warrior ready to charge again.

Garret's emotions swirled in conflict. She couldn't decide whether she was more excited or terrified by what she had just witnessed. Perhaps it was both. One thing was clear: Sinclair, with his raw and untamed power, was not someone to be underestimated. He was a force of nature, unpredictable and unrelenting. He would have to be reckoned with by whatever horrors still lurked in the depths of those cursed mines.

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