“Do you see anything?” Wulf whispered to Kalee.

  “Nothing,” she replied.

  “Then—”

  A howl cut him off. It was almost as shrill as an eagle’s cry, but there was a deep moan beneath it, too, which was almost mournful.

  “And there she is,” Thalin grumbled. “Stick behind me.”

  The trees to their left swayed, and a deep, woody crack rang out through the night. A seven-foot-tall gorilla burst through the trees. Its fur was entirely white, though mud, dried leaves, and twigs stained it. A mane of ice spikes ran down its back, and when it opened its mouth, it unhinged much farther than it should’ve, with a maw much wider than a regular gorilla’s. Two rows of icicles formed its teeth, and they were stained red from a previous meal.

  With a single swipe, it smashed a tree, then craned its neck back and bellowed once more. Wulf winced. It was almost loud enough to make his ears ring.

  Foul breath washed over him. He nearly gagged on the stench of rotting meat and bile, but he held his supper down.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d fought a yeti, but the stench usually caught him off-guard, regardless. In his past life, they’d used yetis for training, as they were about the same size as a golem. But right now, he didn’t have a golem.

  Both Wulf and Kalee held out their arms. With a well-practiced push of mana and intent, Wulf sent a tendril of sensing out his body. It washed over the yeti, and when it returned, it triggered his enchanted paper.

  [Yeti – Low-Coal]

  “Keep yelling, you big oaf,” Thalin grumbled, then set his lantern down. He widened his stance, breathed in, then shot his arm out toward the yeti. The Field trembled, and a Skill activated. Flame roared out his palm and washed over the yeti in an uncontained wave. That must’ve been Thalin’s aspect.

  After a few seconds, a runic circle formed around his hand, glowing flame-orange as well—marking it as a spell Skill. To maintain it for long periods of time, Thalin began chanting under his breath, barely louder than a whisper.

  But he chanted in a different language. It was some older form of the Common Tongue, and all Mages used it, willing the Field to maintain their Skills. That was what made them spell Skills.

  Wulf, of course, had no reason to learn what the spell language was, nor what they were saying. He still didn’t.

  The wave of flame poured over the yeti. At first it didn’t do much. Maybe singed the tips of the yeti’s hairs. It bellowed, lowering its head, and pushing against the current of fire.

  But it was only a Coal against an Iron.

  After another second, its hair flashed off, like snow evaporating in the sun—but in an instant. Its teeth and mane melted, then its flesh burned away, leaving only a pile of ash. A wall of heat flowed back, singing Wulf’s cheeks, but otherwise, they were unharmed.

  Thalin stopped chanting, and the spell faded away. The rune circle disintegrated, and he turned around.

  Both Wulf and Kalee had settled into fighting stances.

  “Eager, are we?” Thalin asked. “Come along, now. You might get a chance to fight later today, if we’re seeing one this early. We’ll hunt around here for another hour, then turn back.”

  Wulf shook out his hands and rose back to his normal position. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry,” Kalee echoed.

  “Just stay close.” Thalin picked up his lantern and set off into the woods again. “If there are this many, there must be something going on. I’ve never known them to be in the breeding mood this late, but perhaps that’s the reason.”

  A sense of dread welled up inside Wulf’s stomach. As they walked, Thalin began humming to himself, and though he was probably paying attention, it didn’t fill Wulf with confidence. He might have the knowledge of a past life, but with that came the wisdom that it was a bad idea to try fighting something well above your tier—especially without a golem.

  He took stock of his potion inventory. There hadn’t been time to make new potions before Dr. Langold sent him off to the woods, so all he had was a luck potion, a few poisonous potions, and a weak corrosive potion.

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  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get creative as they walked. He offered to carry the lantern, and Thalin gladly accepted. Then, he scooped up a handful of snow and filled the empty vial he’d held his strength potion in earlier that day.

  When they passed a tree with sparkshrooms on it, a tree close to the path, Wulf snuck off for a few steps and snapped the conks off. Thalin either didn’t notice or didn’t care, but he didn’t say anything.

  The Field registered the sparkshrooms as High-Wood tier, and these were small ones. Larger ones would have to be higher tier, as they’d existed for longer.

  Wulf mashed them into a pulp with his fingers. They weren’t too hard, though it felt more like trying to crush spring ice. Harder than a mushroom ought to be. That was a product of it being higher-tier, though.

  He placed the sparkshroom pulp in the vial with the snow, then held it over the lantern until the snow melted. He opened the lantern’s window and pressed the tip of the vial directly into the flame, too, to heat it up. The water simmered, then began boiling.

  Despite the heat, Wulf held onto the glass and swirled it around. His fingers would regret it tomorrow, but it wasn’t scalding. Yet.

  He tried to listen to the patterns of bubbles and shifting orange liquid, but with the size of the vial, it was hard. Eventually, he picked up a twig and, holding it in his teeth, used it to stir the vial.

  “Is this how you make all your potions?” Kalee whispered.

  “No,” Wulf mumbled through clenched teeth. “My actual setup is much better.”

  “Shame. It’s a perfect mental image.”

  “You can forget it as soon as we’re done here.”

  “Not happening.” She crossed her arms. “You might want to get yourself some proper tools, though.”

  “I have…proper tools.”

  “The way you say that makes me doubt you.”

  “Alright, well,” Wulf grunted, “a quill works fine to stir my potions.”

  “And having yourself a nice set of tongs and stir-sticks would work more than fine, right?” Kalee tilted her head. “I was an Artificer in my past life, you know.”

  “I was about to ask,” Wulf said, keeping his voice low. Between his song, and the crunch of their footsteps of fallen pine needles and snow, Thalin wouldn’t hear a thing. “I was a Pilot last time. Just a regular Pilot.”

  “Now, I’m a Mage,” Kalee replied. “But…it’s odd.”

  “Unique classes tend to be.” Wulf pulled his distilled potion from the lantern’s flame, then spat his twig off to the side of the trail. His haphazard workmanship hadn’t reduced the tier, thankfully, but it hadn’t raised the pseudo-tincure’s tier either. He took a glug of his luck potion, then infused the vial with his aura.

  “What was that?” Kalee whispered. “There was an…aura. It sprang up around you.”

  Wulf glanced at her cautiously. It’d take many years of refinement to tune one’s senses enough to detect such a weak aura like his. But, then again, she was still receiving the same stimuli, just reacting to it with many years of experience.

  Still, Wulf hadn’t expected anyone under High-Iron to even notice his aura.

  “It’s…one of the Marks that I was reborn with,” he whispered. “I was…thinking, actually. You might be able to answer this with your knowledge of artificing. If I were to use the aura to fuel a magic object…it’d become actual mana in the magic object, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then…is there a way to draw it out and bring it into my own personal supplies?”

  She blew a puff of air out her nose. This late at night, it turned to steam. “Yeah. There’s a way, though it’d take some complex runes.”

  “Could you still make it?” As far as Wulf knew, the act of artificing itself didn’t take any Skills. An Artificer’s Skills allowed them to bend metals and feel the Field, let it speak to them and guide their creations, and most importantly, to build enormous weapons and repair golems while in action.

  But someone with a knowledge of runes and materials could make rudimentary objects, Artificer Class or not.

  “I…I think I could,” Kalee said. “It wouldn’t be easy. Certainly not a construct for beginners.”

  “I could give you something in return,” he said. “What sort of potion would be most valuable to you?” He held up his newly made potion for emphasis, and as he did, he turned his bracer out toward her, so she could see the result as well.

  Speed and Consumption Potion (Middle-Coal Quality)

  Greatly increases the user’s speed for thirty seconds. Grants the user a small stipend of mana. Inflicts a blinding poison on the user.

  [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 41%]

  This time, his additional luck had added an additional positive effect, but hadn’t avoided the negative effect.

  “I’m guessing you have a Mark to resist poisons,” Kalee whispered.

  “...Yeah. But the potions aren’t always poisonous.” He showed her the remains of the luck potion.

  “Anything that could help me in combat,” she said. “That would be helpful. Preferably, without a debilitating poison.”

  Wulf nodded. “What’s a fair trade? Ten potions for…”

  “...For three constructs,” she said.

  “It’s a deal.” He was about to tell her he’d have them to her as soon as possible, but Thalin stopped in his tracks and held out his hand. The dwarf stopped humming to himself.

  Wulf slammed the lantern’s window shut, then tucked his newly-made potion into his jacket. At least now, with his new Mark, he’d gain slight boosts with every potion he used, and the more he used, the less physically useless he’d be. Less squishy, more all-around capable. And he could transfer those bonuses to his golem and Oronith.

  But as usual, he was getting ahead of himself. Too excited.

  They had yetis to deal with, and sure enough, a screech broke through the forest—just like the first yeti’s holler, but a little deeper.

  And then came two more in close succession.

  Thalin huffed, then snapped his fingers. “Alright, you two. You might need to pull your weight after all. It seems we’ve found a pack.”