Death Guns In Another World

The sun was barely above the horizon when Saeko stepped into the Mercenary Guild of Rivermere. The guild hall buzzed with the usual energy—mercenaries bickering over contracts, recruiters sorting through mission scrolls, and the scent of steel oil and sweat lingering in the air. It was a place where money and reputation held equal weight, and Saeko, with her calm presence and katana slung over one shoulder, drew quiet nods of recognition as she entered.

She approached the mission board, scanning the array of parchments pinned to the weathered oak. Her gaze settled on one that felt fated—a return escort to Avila, the Mercenary City.

It was a caravan of herbalists and alchemists, heading toward Avila to sell rare ingredients and potions to the guild districts. The coin was decent, the route familiar, and Saeko knew the roads well.

But more than anything, she felt the time had come to return home, to her temporary base.

The magic caravan set off by midday. Three wagons, each pulled by sturdy draft horses and guarded by a small team of younger, less-experienced mercenaries. Saeko was the only senior among them—appointed by the guild as the mission lead.

Most of her companions were fresh faces: a quiet archer named Nyel with sky-blue eyes and a too-serious face; twins called Bram and Bera, armed with short spears and endless energy; and a healer named Sienne who had never left Rivermere until now.

They traveled through winding forest paths and open plains, the air warm and dry. Birds chirped overhead, and for most of the first two days, the journey was uneventful. The younger mercenaries shared food and stories at night. Saeko mostly listened, offering the occasional correction or tip—small things that, over time, began to earn their trust.

She wasn’t the loudest. She wasn’t the friendliest.

But she was steady. And they noticed.

By the third day, the trees began to thicken. The road narrowed. The air grew colder, more humid. Saeko recognized this place—the Mirewood Stretch.

And with it came a memory: rumors of strange creatures that roamed after dark.

It began near twilight.

The mist rolled in, thick and sudden. The sun vanished behind gray veils of fog. Birds fell silent. The horses grew restless. Saeko called for the wagons to stop.

“Form up,” she ordered quietly. “Weapons out. No fires. Stay close.”

The younger mercs obeyed, their earlier laughter gone.

A low growl echoed through the trees. Then another.

Out of the fog, eyes gleamed—amber and hungry.

Werewolves.

Five of them emerged first, moving on all fours. Mangy fur, claws like curved daggers, muscles rippling beneath sickly skin. They didn’t speak. They didn’t hesitate.

They charged.

“Hold!” Saeko barked.

Nyel let fly a perfect arrow, striking one in the shoulder. Bram and Bera leapt to flank, driving their spears into the side of another. Sienne remained near the center, protecting the alchemists with a trembling barrier spell.

Saeko moved like the wind—silent and sharp. She met the first werewolf head-on, sidestepping its lunge and drawing her katana in a flash of silver. One clean arc, and its throat spilled black blood into the mist.

Another creature lunged from behind, but she spun, letting the wind guide her step. Her blade met it mid-air, slicing into its ribcage with surgical precision.

The younger mercenaries fought bravely, but they were green. Bera was knocked to the ground by a blow she hadn’t seen. Nyel’s quiver was half-empty within minutes. Sienne’s spells flickered under stress.

Saeko didn’t panic.

She became the center.

A storm around which everything else moved.

“Bram, flank left. Sienne, don’t overextend. Nyel, eyes on the rear!” she called out, each order sharp and decisive.

They obeyed. They trusted her.

Another werewolf fell, impaled by Bram’s spear thanks to Saeko’s well-timed distraction. Two fled into the woods, tails between their legs. The last, massive and scarred, leapt straight for Saeko.

She stood her ground.

At the final moment, she let the wind surge around her, enhancing her leap. She met the beast mid-air in a dazzling spin, her katana cleaving through its chest. It landed hard, snarled once—and fell silent.

Silence returned.

The fog began to thin. The horses quieted. The caravan was safe.

The battle had lasted only minutes—but the mark it left would last far longer.

That night, they made camp with tighter circles. The fire was low, but the camaraderie burned higher than ever.

“You’ve done this a lot, haven’t you?” Bera asked, nursing a bandaged shoulder.

Saeko nodded. “Enough to know it doesn’t get easier. But it gets clearer.”

Sienne looked down. “I was scared.”

“We all are,” Saeko replied softly. “The goal is never to be fearless. It’s to keep moving despite the fear.”

Nyel handed her a cup of warm herbal tea. “You were like… a force out there. I didn’t even see you breathe.”

She took the cup, managing a quiet smile. “I breathe after.”

The fire crackled between them. The fear faded into fatigue, and eventually, laughter returned. It wasn’t forced this time. It was earned.

Two days later, the gray spires of Avila rose from the horizon like blades piercing the sky.

As the magic caravan passed through the massive gate, Saeko’s chest tightened. Not in dread—but in familiarity.

She was home.

The alchemists thanked her, offering a small vial of shimmering blue liquid—a rare elixir “for when the wind needs help,” one said with a wink.

The younger mercenaries clapped her on the back, already bragging about the werewolf fight as if they hadn’t feared for their lives.

Saeko gave one last nod to them before peeling off toward her quarters.

But before she left, Nyel called out. “Hey, Saeko!”

She turned.

“Thanks for being our storm.”

°°°

In her quarters, Saeko set down her belongings and unsheathed her blade for cleaning. The motions were familiar—slow, steady, sacred.

She paused only once, catching sight of her reflection in the polished metal.

Tired eyes. A quiet strength.

Unknowingly the once frail girl was no more, right now she had matured, more experienced more beautiful, she had lost too many things. Shaking her head she forced her melancholy down. She must not dwell too much on the past, she must learn from it in order to advance for a better future.