The goblin village buzzed with energy, torches flickering in the night as the small green warriors scurried about, preparing a feast fit for heroes. At the head of the gathering, sitting on a carved wooden throne, was Chief Rukzar, his elaborate bone headdress swaying as he addressed the gathered crowd.

  "You have saved our ancestral lands!" Rukzar’s gravelly voice rang through the village, his sharp-toothed grin wide with gratitude. "Tonight, we feast in your honor!"

  John, still sore from the battle, stretched with a groan before smirking. "Hell yeah. I could eat."

  The goblins moved with practiced efficiency, roasting meats over open flames, filling wooden mugs with some suspiciously strong ale, and piling plates high with unfamiliar but mouthwatering dishes. As the three adventurers sat at the chief’s table, John recounted their battle against Tiffany in vivid detail, emphasizing her nauseating pink aesthetic.

  Kaia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded. "She was vile. The world’s better off without her."

  John raised his mug. "Agreed. That was way too much pink for anyone."

  Laughter and cheers erupted from the goblins as they clinked their cups together in approval.

  The long wooden tables were covered in food—simple but hearty dishes that reminded John of something he’d seen in an old documentary about indigenous South American tribes. Large clay pots of thick, steaming stew sat in the center, filled with roasted meat, root vegetables, and wild herbs. Flat, crispy rounds of cornbread-like bread were passed around, along with woven baskets filled with roasted nuts and dried berries.

  John picked up a clay bottle of dark liquid and took a sip—immediately coughing as fire spread down his throat. "Damn, what is this? Goblin whiskey?"

  Rukzar let out a cackling laugh, slapping John on the back hard enough to nearly knock the drink from his hands. "Goblins call it Fire Gut! Good for belly, bad for head tomorrow!"

  Thorin, already on his second cup, wiped his beard and grinned. "Now this is my kind of feast!" He reached for a platter of unfamiliar meat, chewing thoughtfully before narrowing his eyes. "So… what exactly is this?"

  A nearby goblin turned to him, puzzled. "It’s boar. Slow-roasted over fire with wild honey glaze."

  Thorin nodded, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Not… children?"

  The goblin groaned, throwing up his hands. "Again with this?! NO! Human superstition! Goblins no eat people! You people are weird!"

  John nearly choked on his drink laughing, while Kaia just shook her head, muttering, "Unbelievable."

  As they ate, goblins performed in the open space before them, dancing wildly to the beat of drums and wooden flutes. Their movements were surprisingly agile, full of twirls, stomps, and flips that defied their stout frames. Others sang deep, throaty songs in a language John didn’t understand but could feel—songs of ancient battles, lost warriors, and victories over darkness.

  A hunched elder goblin, draped in colorful woven fabrics, stepped forward as the crowd hushed. She began to tell a story, her voice rising and falling with the crackling of the fire. She spoke of the village’s ancestors, of spirits that watched over the land, and of ancient evils that had been fought before.

  John found himself drawn in, the flickering fire making the old goblin’s eyes glisten as she spun her tale. A thought crossed his mind—one day, would someone tell stories of them? Of the three adventurers who had come to save the goblin lands?

  As the night stretched on, the food and drink flowed freely. For the first time in what felt like forever, John let himself relax. The weight of battle, of near-death encounters, of constant danger—it all lifted, if only for a moment.

  Kaia sighed contentedly, swirling the last of her drink in her cup. "This is nice. We don’t get many nights like this."

  Thorin grunted in agreement, tearing another piece of roasted meat off the bone.

  John leaned back, taking it all in—the laughter, the stories, the warmth of a people finally free from fear. He raised his cup with a grin.

  "Yeah. Here’s to more of them."

  And with that, they drank deep into the night.

  The great feast table was a mess of half-eaten platters, overturned mugs, and discarded bones, but the mood was still lively. Goblins sang, laughed, and clinked their drinks together, celebrating their return to their homeland. Chief Rukzar leaned back in his wooden throne, picking at his sharp teeth with a small bone, his expression one of deep satisfaction.

  "In the morning, we begin the move," Rukzar declared, his voice carrying over the crackling of the great fire. "It has been too long since we walked our own lands without fear. We will rebuild. Stronger than before."

  John nodded, glancing out beyond the village where the scarred land was already starting to recover. The creeping blight that had corrupted the ground was receding, leaving behind patches of green where there had once been only rot.

  "It looks like the land is healing," John admitted. "But it’s gonna be a lot of work, especially since… well, I kinda blew up an entire city in the process."

  Rukzar threw his head back and let out a roaring laugh, his bone headdress shaking. The goblins around the table grinned, some chuckling as well.

  "Hah! Work is no fear to goblins!" the chief said proudly, pounding a fist against his chest. "We are builders, survivors! And besides..." He waggled his bushy eyebrows and leaned forward. "Goblins make babies fast."

  Thorin, mid-drink, sputtered into his mug and coughed. Kaia just sighed, shaking her head.

  "Well, that’s one way to repopulate," John said, trying not to laugh. "Glad you’ve got a plan."

  Rukzar grinned. "The land will be ours again. What about you, human? What is next for John the Mad?"

  John smirked at the nickname but leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "We’re heading to a dungeon next. I need to get my hands on these things called ‘seals.’ If I collect enough of them, I can enter a big tournament where the winner gets a wish granted." His smirk faded slightly, his voice turning more serious. "That’s my ticket home."

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  The goblin chief studied him for a moment, his grin fading just a bit. Then he nodded solemnly. "A great journey still ahead. But you are strong, and luck follows those who make their own fate." He lifted his mug, raising it toward John.

  "To the mad human and his path home!"

  The goblins echoed the toast, banging mugs on the table and cheering. John clinked his cup against Rukzar’s, downing the last of the fiery drink with a grin.

  "To the goblins and their new home," he said in return.

  

  Later, bellies full and pleasantly buzzed, the trio was led to a guest hut at the edge of the village. Inside, soft furs covered the wooden floor, and the glow of a small fire cast warm shadows on the walls. As they settled in, the air grew heavier with the weight of unfinished business.

  "So… you think that’s the last we’ll see of Tiffany and her dad?" John asked, lying back with his hands behind his head.

  Kaia frowned, her fingers toying with the edge of her cloak. "No. We’re not done with them. Something tells me they have a role in all of this—maybe even something to do with the Grandfather’s disappearance."

  Thorin grunted, stretching out with a tired sigh. "I’m sick of mysteries. Give me a sword, an enemy, and a good fight. That’s all I want."

  John chuckled. "I agree, Scooby."

  Thorin shot him a look, but John just grinned. Kaia rolled her eyes and pulled her blanket up, ignoring the bait.

  As the fire crackled softly, John stared at the ceiling, a wave of exhaustion finally washing over him. He still couldn’t believe they pulled that off. There were a few moments where things got real sketchy. But they made it.

  And now, back to Bjornfell for a little rest before the next challenge—the dungeon.

  He exhaled, shaking his head. "Man, not long ago, I was working retail… now I’m killing necromancers."

  A quiet chuckle escaped him before his eyes drifted shut.

  The morning sun cast golden light over the goblin village as John, Kaia, and Thorin packed up their things, stretching out sore muscles from the battle and the night of feasting. The goblins were already busy, loading up supplies and preparing for their journey back to their ancestral home. The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement, their chatter filled with plans to rebuild, to reclaim what was once theirs.

  The goblin chief approached, bowing his head in gratitude. "You have done us a great honor. Our people will sing of your deeds for generations."

  John smirked. "Just make sure my verse is the best one."

  With final goodbyes exchanged, the trio left the village behind, stepping onto the well-worn path back to Bjornfell. The morning air was crisp, and for the first time in what felt like forever, they weren’t trudging through it under the weight of impending doom.

  Kaia inhaled deeply, exhaling with a content sigh. "It feels… lighter, doesn’t it? Like the whole world isn’t pressing down on us anymore."

  John stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, like the sun’s a little brighter, the birds are a little chirpier, and I definitely smell less death in the air. It’s an improvement."

  Kaia smiled, then glanced at John thoughtfully. "Now that we’ve handled Tiffany, we can focus on getting you to level ten. Once you’re there, we can head for the dungeon."

  John grinned, the kind of smug, self-satisfied grin that made Kaia immediately suspicious.

  "Oh, I already am."

  Kaia blinked. "What?"

  John gestured dramatically. "It’s been a chaotic week, but that last battle with Tiffany did it. I hit level ten."

  Thorin raised an eyebrow. "That quick?"

  John shrugged. "Guess I’m just built different."

  Kaia folded her arms, giving him a scrutinizing look. "And you conveniently forgot to mention

  it until now?"

  John laughed, holding up his hands. "Hey, I figured I’d let you have your little moment of planning before I dropped the big reveal. Besides, I wanted to see the look on your face."

  Kaia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the hint of a smile. "Fine. Then that means we’re ready to go to the dungeon."

  "Technically, yeah," John said, stretching his arms behind his head. "But let’s be real. This week’s been rough. I think we could all use a little downtime before diving headfirst into another nightmare."

  Thorin grunted in agreement. "Food first. Ale second. Then we talk about dungeons."

  Kaia exhaled, nodding. "Alright, I won’t argue. We do need to prepare. The dungeon won’t be forgiving if we rush in unready."

  "Exactly," John said. "I mean, I just fought a necromancer, battled an army of the undead, and nearly got soul-snatched by an evil ring demon. I think I’ve earned a hot meal and a soft bed."

  The group continued walking, the road to Bjornfell stretching ahead. It felt different now. The weight that had been pressing down on them since John first stepped into this world had lifted, even if just for a moment.

  They reached the outskirts of Bjornfell by late afternoon. The town was just as they left it—bustling with travelers, merchants, and adventurers looking for work. The familiar sight of the tavern came into view, and John nearly sighed in relief.

  "Alright," John said. "First order of business: food. Second order of business: beer. Third order of business: so much sleep."

  "And after that?" Kaia asked.

  John smirked. "Then we talk dungeons."

  Thorin pushed open the tavern door, and the warm, welcoming scent of roasted meat and fresh bread greeted them. John grinned. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t stepping into a fight—just a well-earned meal.

  And he was damn well going to enjoy it.

  ***

  The tavern in Bjornfell was lively that evening, packed with traders, mercenaries, and townsfolk looking to escape the troubles of the world with strong drink and warm company. Laughter and the clatter of mugs on wooden tables filled the air, blending with the flickering glow of the hearth. The scent of roasted meat and ale hung thick, comforting after the chaos of the past days.

  At a corner table near the fire, John, Kaia, and Thorin sat with full plates and overflowing mugs, basking in the warmth of victory.

  "—And then she actually had the nerve to say ‘Daddy’s going to be so mad at you!’ like that was gonna stop me!" John laughed, shaking his head. "I swear, that was the most ridiculous fight of my life."

  Thorin chuckled, raising his mug. "Ridiculous or not, she nearly took your head off with that pink fire nonsense." He took a deep swig. "Still, that was a good fight. Been too long since I got to smash something proper."

  Kaia smirked. "You two are impossible." She took a sip of her drink. "But at least it’s over. Tiffany’s gone, the goblins are safe, and now we can focus on what’s next."

  John leaned back in his chair, swirling his mug. "The dungeon." He grinned. "I can’t wait to see what kind of loot’s in there."

  Across the tavern, in the shadows of the farthest corner, a cloaked figure sat in silence, watching them with keen interest. His face remained hidden beneath the hood, but the gleam of his eyes followed their every move. He sat with an air of confidence, perfectly still, save for the idle motion of one gloved finger tracing the rim of his goblet.

  A serving wench approached, offering a wide smile. "Evening, stranger! Can I get you something?"

  His voice was smooth, measured. "A bottle of your finest wine." He placed a few coins on the table, more than enough to cover it.

  Her smile brightened at the generous payment. "Of course! You new in town?"

  He nodded slightly, giving no more than necessary. "Passing through. But I hear there’s been some excitement recently."

  The woman was all too eager to chat, resting a hand on her hip as she leaned in. "Oh, you must mean those three over there!" She gestured toward John and his companions. "Saved a whole goblin village from an evil necromancer, they did! Everyone’s talking about it. Nasty piece of work, that necromancer, but they took her down."

  The cloaked man tilted his head slightly. "Fascinating. And what’s next for our heroes?"

  The wench giggled. "They’re off to that dungeon in the mountains soon. Can’t imagine why—they only just got back! But, adventurers will be adventurers, I suppose."

  He exhaled a pleased sigh and slid a gold coin across the table. "Thank you. That’s most helpful."

  Her eyes widened at the tip, and she tucked the coin into her apron with a cheerful grin before hurrying off to fetch his wine.

  Alone once more, the man lifted his goblet and took a slow sip, savoring the rich taste. His gaze returned to John, watching the rogue with a predatory gleam in his eye.

  He set his goblet down, fingers tapping idly against the table.

  "A dungeon, is it?" he murmured, a malicious smile creeping onto his lips.

  "How perfect."