Sung-Il stared at the broken post.
"I just fixed that."
The creature standing over the shattered wood had six glowing eyes, thick black fur, and claws longer than the nails he had spent the entire afternoon hammering into place. Its shoulders rose above the pig enclosure. A broken leather restraint collar hung from its neck, the long strap dragging in the dirt behind it.
It did not apologize.
Brina seized the back of Sung-Il’s collar and yanked him hard toward the farmhouse as a second section of fence collapsed under the creature’s weight. A panicked pig squeezed past his legs. Another pig ran straight into an empty feed bucket, got its head stuck inside, and kept running while wearing the bucket like a helmet.
"Run toward the house," Brina ordered.
"What’s that thing?" Sung-Il asked.
"Moonfang. Young one."
"Young what? Disaster?"
Brina shoved a round wooden buckler into his hands and pulled the broad sword that had been leaning against the porch railing. It was the same oversized blade he had seen across her back in the market. In her hands, it looked considerably less decorative.
Somewhere beyond the farm, a man was shouting about a broken wheel.
Excellent. Somebody else could pay for this.
Brina stepped between the animal and the farmhouse, sword held low at her side. The Moonfang snapped irritably at the dangling leather strap still attached to its collar. She advanced half a pace. The Moonfang lunged at her.
Brina sidestepped the charge and struck its shoulder with the flat of her sword. The crack turned its head. One claw snagged the sleeve of her shirt and tore the cloth open as she pulled free.
"Inside!" Brina shouted at Sung-Il.
Sung-Il scrambled onto the porch.
Six-Ears was not there.
He looked back across the yard. The small yellow creature stood beside the pig that still had the feed bucket stuck on its head. Six-Ears was trying to bite through the wooden handle that had gotten caught around the pig’s neck.
Of course it was. The creature had followed him across a strange world and now intended to die for a pig.
Sung-Il swore. He had only just found somewhere willing to feed both of them.
Sung-Il grabbed a metal feed scoop from the porch and threw it hard across the yard. The scoop clanged off a wooden barrel.
The Moonfang’s six eyes snapped toward the sudden noise.
Brina used the distraction immediately. She drove the animal farther away from the pigpen, boots digging into the loose soil as she forced it to give ground. While the Moonfang was turned, Sung-Il ran low along the fence line, caught the bucket still stuck on the pig’s head, and yanked it free.
The pig rewarded him by stepping directly on his foot.
"Gratitude," Sung-Il muttered to the pig. "Learn it."
He scooped Six-Ears up under one arm. The Moonfang spun toward them, pivoting around Brina.
"Six-Ears, if you are secretly the strongest sorcerer of today, now is the time for one Hollow Purple."
Six-Ears clung to his shirt.
"Not even a small one?"
Brina forced the Moonfang sideways along the fence. From behind the porch steps, Sung-Il kept its hindquarters in view for two uninterrupted seconds.
[ANATOMY: UNFAMILIAR.]
[LOWER ABDOMINAL COMPRESSION: ELEVATED.]
That was all the system gave him.
No weak point. No recommended attack. No polite instruction that said PLEASE HIT HERE.
Sung-Il guessed the elevated compression meant the animal was about to leap and threw himself flat on the ground.
The creature did not leap. It twisted its body sideways instead and bit angrily at the leather restraint still tangled around its legs.
Brina stepped over Sung-Il’s prone body and smashed the heavy metal guard of her sword into the Moonfang’s muzzle.
"If you lie there, it can reach you!" she snapped.
"Useful information!" Sung-Il yelled back.
He scrambled up and ducked behind a long stone water trough that stood near the center of the yard. Claws scraped loudly against the opposite side of the trough. Six-Ears clung to his shirt with all four feet, claws digging in.
A man appeared at the broken section of fence carrying a long wooden pole with a metal fork at the end.
"Menagerie recovery cart!" the man shouted. "Lost a wheel on the ramp!"
"Your animal found my house!" Brina shouted back.
"I noticed!" the handler replied. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
"Notice harder!" Brina snapped.
The handler jabbed the forked end of the pole toward the dangling leather restraint. The Moonfang struck the pole aside with one swipe of a paw and advanced on the man. The handler backed up until he was pressed against the broken fence posts.
The trough blocked Brina’s direct route. If she circled it, the Moonfang would reach the handler first. Jumping would put her between the creature and the fence, with no room to swing.
Sung-Il was not strong enough to stop the animal.
He couldn’t move the trough. He could make the Moonfang lose its footing beside it.
The stone trough had a wooden shutter covering its water outlet. He grabbed the shutter and pulled it open.
Cold water poured out across the sloping yard, turning the packed dirt into slick mud within seconds. The Moonfang planted one heavy paw to change direction, slid sideways on the sudden mud, and checked its stride for a critical half-second.
Brina vaulted the narrow end of the trough and struck the animal’s shoulder before it could recover its footing.
The handler stumbled backward through the gap in the broken fence.
Sung-Il, briefly proud of himself, tried to stand up.
His own boot slid in the same mud.
He landed hard on his back, the impact driving the air from his lungs.
[LESSER IRON GUT ACTIVE]
Stamina reserve engaged.
Warmth flared low in his stomach. His ribs still hurt, but he had enough strength left to roll onto his side and push himself upright. He dragged a breath in through his teeth.
Keeping the trough between himself and the creature, he staggered to the porch, shoved Six-Ears through the open door, and kicked it shut. One less idiot in the yard.
Unfortunately, he was still outside.
Brina drove the Moonfang backward with short swings, keeping it away from the farmhouse and the pigs.
The broken leather strap had become tangled tightly around the Moonfang’s hind legs. Every time the animal tried to turn or pivot, the strap pulled tighter and made it panic harder. Sung-Il could see the problem clearly even without the system’s help.
He could also see the small loading pen beside the barn.
The loading pen had an iron frame, a barred roof, and a heavy wooden gate reinforced with metal straps.
Sung-Il pointed. "Will that hold it?"
The handler looked over. "If you get the bar across!"
The gate opened inward. The far wall was solid stone.
"Can you put it in there?" Sung-Il shouted, pointing at the loading pen.
Brina’s eyes followed his hand.
"Can you close the gate?" she called back.
Sung-Il measured the distance to the gate. It looked much shorter than he would have liked.
"Yes," he said. Brina was looking at him, which had always been a dangerous condition under which to make promises.
The handler tossed him a coil of thick rope. "Pull from behind the post!"
That improved the plan considerably.
Sung-Il ran to the loading pen, threaded the rope through the iron ring on the outside of the gate with shaking hands, and took a firm grip. Brina began backing toward the open pen, keeping her sword between herself and the Moonfang at all times. The handler moved to the opposite side, using his forked pole to block the easy escape route back through the broken fence.
The Moonfang lunged at Brina.
Brina backed through the big gate. The Moonfang charged after her, and she slipped out through the narrow feeding door in the side wall, slamming it behind her. The animal hit the solid rear wall with a crash.
Sung-Il pulled hard on the rope.
The big gate swung halfway closed — then stopped against a fallen wooden board that had been left leaning against the frame.
"No. No, no—" Sung-Il muttered.
The Moonfang spun around inside the pen. Its heavy shoulder slammed into the partially closed gate. The rope tore through Sung-Il’s palms, dragging him forward several steps.
He let go rather than lose the skin off his hands.
The gate sprang back open.
The Moonfang swung toward the opening. Brina was still rounding the pen’s outside corner. The handler had his pole through the bars, trying to keep its head turned away from Sung-Il.
Sung-Il jammed the rim of his wooden buckler between the gate slats and the fallen board, using it as a lever. The board lifted a few inches. He kicked the obstruction clear with his boot.
Something enormous crashed into the other side.
Wood pressed against his chest. His ribs felt as though they were trying to meet his spine.
Pain shot through his ribs. He bent his knees, set one boot behind the other, and kept pushing. The warmth in his stomach thinned. His legs shook.
He needed the gate to hold for another second. Just one.
The pole clattered to the ground. The handler reached him and threw his shoulder against the gate. Together they forced it shut. Brina caught the iron bar from its bracket and drove it across the outer frame.
The weight came off Sung-Il’s chest.
The Moonfang threw itself against the gate one final time.
The bar held.
For several long seconds, nobody spoke.
Then the pig that had previously been wearing the bucket wandered past, calmly chewing on the hem of Sung-Il’s shirt.
Sung-Il sat down hard in the mud.
"I’m going to eat you," he told the pig.
Brina crouched beside him. The sleeve of her shirt hung in torn strips. There was a thin line of blood on her forearm, but her hands were steady when she checked his shoulders and ribs for injury.
"Can you breathe?" she asked.
"Unfortunately," Sung-Il answered.
Brina laughed once — short and a little shaky.
Sung-Il looked at the Moonfang behind the bars. "The stamina helped. The analysis mostly encouraged me to lie down and be eaten."
"You opened the water. You found the pen. You closed the gate," Brina said.
"None of that was the analysis."
"I wasn’t thanking your ability."
He looked at her.
More handlers arrived with a reinforced transport crate and a healer. Only then did Sung-Il stop watching the bar.
The recovery-cart driver kept apologizing. Brina made him write down his employer’s full name and contact information. Sung-Il leaned over the paper.
"The fence, the post, and the shirt," he said.
The man looked at him. "The shirt?"
Sung-Il pointed at the pig chewing its hem. "Damage sustained during recovery of your animal."
"The pig did that."
"And before your arrival, we had an excellent professional relationship."
Brina took the paper before he could add emotional damages. She checked the name and handed it back for a signature.
Sung-Il counted the pigs.
Seven.
He counted them a second time just to be sure.
When he finally managed to stand, Brina rested her uninjured hand briefly against the back of his neck.
"Come inside."
Sung-Il looked at the shattered fence, the flooded yard, and his dented buckler lying in the mud beside the loading-pen gate.
"Tomorrow," he said, "I’m getting a job indoors."
The handler paused over his incident form. "Your name?"
"Sung-Il-Kook. Put it beside the repairs."
"I need it for the recovery report. The Guild will want to know who helped contain it."
Sung-Il glanced at Brina. "Does that pay?"
"Ask them tomorrow," she said.
He looked back at the form. "Spell it correctly."