Mounted adventurers were not allowed into the [ territory ] in small groups; you had to have a small army to be permitted horses or vulleig.

As the [ territory ] reset frequently, it was impossible to predict how many large beasts were present, whether the beasts were carnivorous or simply territorial.

Outside of the [ territory ], using a mount to escape a beast was normal. Food was scarce and spooked adventurers often looked like a pot roast wrapped in armor.

But within the [ territory ], there were so many prey sources that a fleeing adventurer group often became the more difficult option. It was easier to give up on hunting the humans with their magic and weapons in favor of the herds of ungulates and deer-like creatures.

And, most importantly, the gryphon population loved hunting mounted adventurers.

This was a continuous flight of gryphons, kept fed and populated within the [ territory ] boundaries. They were smart beasts, having learned to take down the horse first to leave the adventurer for a fun snack later.

Going on foot was fine by Hallvar. They knew they would eventually have to confess that they weren't good at riding horses, but as long as there was a convenient excuse? That could stay secret.

Besides, maybe they didn't need a horse. If they managed to get an offensive and defensive form, those could be sort of horse-like, right? And that wasn't counting the travel form itself – the fish hawk couldn't carry luggage, but it had very little constraints on movement.

As contemplative as this all was, it was time-filler while Hallvar hiked behind the others.

It had become quickly obvious that the beastmaster was not to be allowed to march at the front; they were used to solo adventures and failed to remember that the casters in the back had less endurance.

Grim kept up by virtue of his armsbreaker class, as the basically-a-zweihander had to add at least 10 pounds, not to mention the heavy armor Grim wore. His class demanded endurance and strength or nothing at all. The armsbreaker weapons didn't come in small sizes.

Now Ikraam and Grim chatted in the lead, keeping an eye on the surroundings. Dagmær and Nalini followed behind, both with these curious clips on their belts to hike up their collective layers of skirts.

The [ territory ] was relatively calm near the entrance to Claylake Post. As Hallvar understood it, they were on a culling mission for something called bahārim – a yellow-green ostrich beast that ran in a flock.

Although Claylake Post had no singular authority, there were permanent researchers present who calculated the actions of the nearby [ territory ] with startling accuracy. It reminded Hallvar of a Farmer's Almanac, a yearly release of when to expect the worst and best weather, when to plant and harvest, what to grow, et cetera, except this Territory Almanac was pinpointed to one location only.

The researchers predicted that a refresh would happen soon, filling up the [ territory ] with beasts of varying levels of aggression and threat, all of which pushed the more passive surviving beasts out into Amnasín.

It took a while to convey the concept of native versus non-native versus invasive to the adventurers, as although those were terms in Aestrux, they were hardly used by the average individual. When Hallvar did breakthrough the language barrier, they learned that culls were usually called on invasive and destructive non-native beasts.

The bruntekeros – a name easily understood by Hallvar as the sort-of rhinos – were invasive. If left unchecked, they wandered to the coastal marshes and ate everything.

The adventurers didn't know why that was bad, but Hallvar did. Destruction of grasses and shallow rooted plants meant that the sandy shoreline creeped inward, causing erosion by wind and water. It decimated the habitat for other beasts and plants.

The bahārim were non-native but merely fucking annoying, as described by Grim. The Tawha wolves ate the big birds as part of their prey group, so bahārim didn't last too long in the true wilds, but the beasts followed the paths of least resistance along roads to farmland. A wheatfield or vegetable patch was a feast for the large birds.

They were often the first beast to flee the [ territory ] during a reset, so as cruel as it seemed, they needed to be culled.

Hallvar wasn't a stranger to eradication of invasive species. In their home world, it was mostly a concept associated with plants or bugs.

People didn't attribute emotions to killing those creatures, but when it came to reptiles like massive pythons invading the swamps? Hatred was a common sentiment. But if you suggested killing off a mammal or a cute creature? Vehemently opposed.

Not that that ever happened in Hallvar's old world. Mammals were likely to be endangered more than invasive.

Aestrux was a weird place. The system kept the world running, provided fodder for adventurers, and guaranteed local species persisted.

And part of that system maintenance was culling by adventurers.

Hallvar wondered if it was a spontaneous human activity that the system used to its benefit, or if there was another layer to the guildmaster's role, in which tasks were handed down by the system.

There was no answer, not without grilling Viktor, but Hallvar pondered the ethics and environmental responsibility of culling up until they reached a sizeable flock in the near distance.

Pipkin had no qualms about culling. She was doing her part by picking off insects and small lizards along their path, both of which would be re-introduced by the refresh. She landed on Hallvar's pauldron to eat a cricket as the adventurers regrouped.

The task was simple. Chase this flock around the [ territory ] until they grew tired, keep a count of the kills.

Ikraam noted that the porters were close behind. Hallvar could barely spot them in the distance through the trees, humans leading large bull-like beasts on leads. There seemed to be dogs too, keeping watch as they trotted along. Were these beastmasters?

The hero had a lot of questions, but it was time to get to work.

Grim patted Hallvar on the shoulder as he unsheathed his sword, a massive cleaver-like blade. They'd seen it once before, but at this close of a distance, Hallvar could tell that it was augmented with bone or horn of some kind. Was this a weapon made to fight beasts?

"If you can manage Ser Kiran, the bahārim won't be a threat." Grim said as he walked away, grinning at Hallvar. "But they're agile. Keep up, hero."

The beastmaster had no time to retort; Grim jogged off to the front, Ikraam in the middle, Nalini and Dagmær paired together. Aside from companionship, it was clear why the two were paired together.

Dagmær was a caster, as her entire everything suggested, but while Nalini's flair and general style suggested the personality of a caster, it seemed she was not. Or, not traditionally.

Hallvar was stumped to see her wielding a blade, a curved sabre if they remembered correctly from Kiran's hell-like training. The confusion came from the absolute lack of a sheath or a weapon on Nalini's person the entire trek, from tavern to flock.

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However, this sabre glowed and it left an afterimage of color, like a neon light in motion. Magic?

The hero had to move on from their curiosity, jogging to catch up to the front of the group. Hallvar engaged in melee combat, though not a fighter in the system's ledgers.

"If you have anything to increase your agility, now is the time to use it," Ikraam called out as they gathered throwing knives from their belt.

Wait, yes. Hallvar did have something. [ skill: bull rush ] would augment their strength and agility; the last time they used it the duration was just over two minutes. That was ample time in combat.

With a veritable roar, Grim charged the flock. The broad sweeps of his weapon were akin to a nipping cattledog; the beasts that missed the blade darted away and hid in numbers.

And Grim wasn't positioning himself in the middle, but to the side.

Hallvar didn't know exactly what was going on, but there were a few bahārim acting strangely in the center, confusing the flock's flow.

With Nalini guarding Dagmær, the other flank was left for the beastmaster to control.

Group dynamics. Right. They would have swore, but it was a waste of time. Hallvar activated [ skill: bull rush ] and sprinted toward the beasts with axe and dagger in hand.

There was a part of Hallvar – the entirely human part from their old world that watched way too much television – that wanted to leap upon these green ostrich's back and ride forth. Crocodile Dundee had never done this before.

Yet, survival instinct won.

Hallvar sprinted toward the birds as they squawked and flapped aimlessly. They had flock behavior, each following the one immediately ahead, so as the central bahārim stood still or circled aimlessly, so did the rest.

They were still far more nimble than the hero.

Hallvar whiffed a few times as they tried to connect their axe to the beasts, any beast, but they heard Kiran screeching in the back of their mind before using the beard of their axe as a hook.

The elongated, spike-lined neck of the bahārim was practically made to be caught, like a shepherd's crook pulling a frantic cartoon off-stage.

The beastmaster lost one target to a lack of preparedness, the hooking motion throwing the bird away from Hallvar's reach.

They switched their grip and swung in the opposite direction. The squawking bahārim was pulled into the reach of Hallvar's dagger; a mildly informed but still guesswork stab to the point of contact between the neck and body ended the squawking entirely.

Hallvar slowed to watch the beast, ensuring it was dead. They were startled as a throwing knife impaled the bahārim at a terrifying speed; Ikraam gave the hero a nod as they met eyes.

Right. The killing blow wasn't necessarily Hallvar's job.

[ skill: bull rush ] was ticking downward, so the beastmaster got on with the bloody work.

It truly wasn't a physical challenge, as Grim stated, more of the mental gymnastics and muscle memory required of a border collie herding sheep, if one gave that border collie an axe. Wolf. Hallvar should have thought of wolves as the example.

The bahārim spat something acidic, sharp smelling and sticky. The spit lingered on their clothing and skin, reeking but otherwise ineffectual. Well, Hallvar imagined if it got in their eyes, it would do something but so far, they'd been lucky enough to avoid that revelation.

The pace was difficult to match, if only because Grim, Ikraam, Dagmær, and Nalini were used to group dynamics, whereas Hallvar was a perpetual loner.

The beastmaster pushed inward when the flow of the bahārim receded; they held their line when the creatures came close, threatening to dart out of the confusion vortex.

A bird broke formation and charged Hallvar. It was bigger than the others, with a bright yellow comb and –

The training with Viktor kicked in. Hallvar dropped their dagger as they sidestepped an aimed kick from the bahārim bull, avoiding the six-inch stabbing claw targeting Hallvar's chest.

Sure, close combat dagger training wasn't meant for giant ostriches – or actually cassowaries, as Hallvar was learning – but they grabbed onto the beast's leg any way. In lieu of unarmed talon strikes, Hallvar swung down the axe onto the weird elbow-ankle of beast.

It tried to kick again with the other foot, but Hallvar darted backwards, yanking the creature off-balance so that another axe-strike could hit the joint.

Back in their home world, Hallvar learned about culture via the internet, as their immediate family wasn't terribly adventurous. They grew up culturally isolated, but branched out in college, as far as their paychecks would let them.

Maybe Hallvar wasn't a fan of eating chicken feet, but what they did know, was that a butcher knife to the joint of a chicken leg was very efficient.

Fuck, they needed Grim's massive cleaver.

With a sickening rip, a final strike de-legged the bahārim. Hallvar was a bit ashamed, but in the fight dirty mindset the training with Viktor instilled, the beastmaster found themselves smacking the downed bird with its own leg.

They dodged that mental crisis in favor of a different one, darting to grab their dagger before proceeding with the culling.

If they killed a bahārim bull – cock, really – then that put a damper in the breeding stability of this population...

The culling would do that too, but Hallvar had some lingering guilt about the entire scenario that latched onto this new worry.

The process required a few more [ skill: bull rush ] activations before a loud whistle came from Grim's direction. He stood leaning on his weapon hilt, lowering his fingers from his mouth after whistling. Ew. Gross. Weren't they bloody?

Hallvar trotted over, idly pondering the redness of oxygenated blood in a fantasy world – green blood was often a trope, right?

Out of the five adventurers, Dagmær seemed the most tired. She leaned on her staff, sun-bleached driftwood grey like her attire's color palette, and sighed audibly.

The beastmaster didn't ask questions, but they were thinking. Why was she tired when Hallvar hadn't seen a single spell fly by? There were invisible spells, surely, but nothing screamed magic to them within the bahārim flock. Maybe the—

Ah, right. The vortex was weird. Flock behavior, perhaps, or even fish-school behavior, but the central beasts stalling and stumbling was indeed odd.

Hallvar had a substantial amount of magic left to spend so they didn't feel magic fatigue, even with the repeated use of [ skill: bull rush ]. Their other skills weren't helpful with the culling, unless they wanted to tame a bahārim for a companion.

Grim was sweaty in the glorious way only tall himbos could be, perhaps even a bit winded after the combat. He had that massive weapon, after all, and wore heavy armor.

There were no old-world parallels for the way Grim stood, worn out but still confident, so Hallvar mentally substituted him into some news image of a firefighter post-blaze that their brain conjured up.

Yeah, that was the mood.

Nalini was a little less elegant than before, silks tied out of the way and hair wild from the heat of battle. Her charge was protecting Dagmær, but Hallvar spotted her picking off stray beasts with her sabre. The blade was clearly magical; it seemed to emit slashes of damaging energy within a few feet of Nalini.

If the genderfluid Nalini was a caster, as Hallvar expected, that meant she was… an enchantment caster? A weapons-summoning caster? Did that make her combatfluid, both magic and melee?

Hallvar snorted at their stupid joke.

Ikraam raised an eyebrow. The rogue was neither winded nor particularly sweaty, as they'd kept a careful distance and concentrated on finishing blows, not a full range of movement. Conservative, dignified, and cautious. That seemed to be Ikraam's modus operandi.

The hero silently thanked the system for their endurance. They were not remotely tired. Any hard breathing had stilled once their motions slowed.

Hallvar was, however, both sweaty and covered with bahārim blood and acid spit. It turned out that using a dagger to stab the beast's necks at point blank range was a messy business. Arteries and veins gushed out; damaged throats aspirated fine mists of red.

Grim was lucky that his weapon's range launched blood away from his body.

"What now?" the beastmaster asked, perhaps a little too cheerfully before crouching to wipe their weapons off on the grass.

Pipkin was already having the best time of her tiny life, even if the bahārim muscles were too big for her to rip and consume. Thankfully, this culling was too fresh for buzzards and corvids to be present, who would readily fight the akergryph for dominance.

The insects, however, were plentiful. She darted around one of the oldest corpses, snapping at flies.

The humans continued to stand in their half circle, oblivious to the feast occurring nearby.

"To the inn, I expect?" Nalini said bluntly, as if the query was a statement whose question mark was a matter of niceties.

"What's our count?" Grim's mind was on the assigned quest. Right, there was a quota.

"Thirty-six," Ikraam replied. "More than half of this flock, by my estimation."

The armsbreaker grunted and gave an affirming nod. The paperwork required a minimum of 15 confirmed kills to be considered fulfilled, with each additional 10 granting a bonus.

"Back to the Post, then."

Those were the only words the two casters needed to hear, as they turned around to take the slow return trek with no further discussion.

"Uh," came Hallvar's hesitant interruption.

Grim and Ikraam looked back curiously, having automatically fallen in line with the others to leave.

"Is it okay if I watch the porters? I can catch up on my own."

The adventurer pair shared a look. Grim nodded and made a subtle gesture with his head; Ikraam patted the armsbreaker on the shoulder before stepping over a bahārim corpse to join the hero.

Ah, wait. Hallvar didn't want to inconvenience anyone.

"I can cross the [ territory ] alone. Most beasts don't pay attention to me, if I'm quiet. You don't need to stay."

"I know," Ikraam agreed, touching Hallvar's shoulder in the same calm manner. "But I will."

They watched the others grow smaller in the distance, a quiet settling between them.

Ikraam always was willing to answer questions, so maybe this wasn't an inconvenience for them. It was an educational experience, maybe.

Hallvar had to rationalize it this way, because they couldn't fathom anyone wanting to stay in this stinking field of dead birds for much longer than necessary.

Anyone other than themselves, of course.

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