“Geri says I’m healing,” Loren said, voice clipped but firm. A faint grimace crossed his face as he shifted his weight on his injured leg. “But that demon attack left its mark. This limp is permanent, and I… can’t train the recruits like I used to.”
Asil observed the cane in his hand, recalling how he’d pushed through every injury for the fort’s sake. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me handle the day-to-day training. You can still command the men and oversee defenses. They trust you.”
A flicker of relief passed over Loren’s features, though admitting his limits visibly pained him. “Aye,” he said, exhaling. “But that’s not our only concern.” He turned his gaze to Bonvil. “Tell her the rest.”
Bonvil stepped forward. His deep voice carried the weight of grim news. “While Jon and I were traveling, recruiting new blood, we heard rumors everywhere—goblins wandering roads in packs, wolves said to have glowing eyes, even talk of demons creeping from the Dark Woods.” His jaw tightened. “Not just in these parts either. We got word from travelers heading north and south, same stories.”
Asil felt her stomach knot. Her mind raced to her own demon encounters—the sense of a threat larger than any single fortress. “I’ve seen the signs. It’s not idle chatter. They’re growing bolder, attacking in bigger numbers. We can’t hold off an entire horde alone.”
Loren nodded gravely. “We’ll need allies. Fort Warren to the north, Fort Brynn to the south. All of them were once strongholds like ours, but times changed—resources dwindled. If we unite, we might stand a chance.”
Bonvil crossed his arms, the flicker of an old soldier’s worry in his eyes. “Warren’s the nearer fort, maybe two or three days away. But the roads are dangerous, and we can’t spare too many fighters.”
Asil squared her shoulders, expression resolute. “I’ll lead a team to Fort Warren. We can leave in a week—that’ll give us time to prepare supplies and choose who goes. It’s risky, but risk is all we have left.”
Loren exchanged a look with Bonvil, then nodded. “Do it. But choose carefully. We can’t afford to lose anyone, not now.”
Asil stood, glancing at the tattered map pinned to the wall. “Count on it.” She could feel Loren’s eyes on her, a silent thanks that she was taking up the mantle he could no longer carry alone.
Meanwhile, the buzzing energy of Fort Harjil’s training yard gave way to the warm bustle of its kitchen. Pots clanked, fires crackled, and the mouthwatering scent of stew filled the air. Abby, apron dusted with flour and smudged with herbs, stirred a large pot simmering over the hearth. Nearby, two young orphans—Tobin, nine, and Serena, twelve—sat at a small wooden table under the soft glow of a lantern.
Tobin kicked his legs absently, an arithmetic sheet in front of him, random doodles decorating the margins. Serena, her brow furrowed in concentration, copied lines from an old lore book, carefully shaping each word.
“Abby?” Serena asked, voice tentative. “Can you help me with this word? ‘Resilience’?”
Abby set down the ladle and stepped over to peer at the text. “It means the ability to keep going, even when everything’s tough,” she explained gently.
Serena nodded a determined glint in her eyes. “Kinda like what we did… after we lost our parents,” she murmured, voice quivering just a touch.
Abby’s heart twinged at the reminder. “Exactly,” she said softly, placing a reassuring hand on Serena’s shoulder. “You’ve both been through so much—yet here you are, learning, helping. I’m proud of you.”
Tobin perked up, gaze locked on the practice dagger strapped to Abby’s hip. “D’you think we’ll ever be as strong as you… or Asil?” he asked, eyes wide with a flicker of longing.
Abby tussled his hair, smiling. “Maybe stronger. Keep at it, and you’ll surprise even Asil.”
Serena offered a small, grateful smile, then buried her nose back in the dusty lore book. For a time, the trio worked in companionable silence—Abby returning to her stew, Tobin finishing scrawled sums, and Serena flipping pages, mind abuzz with fresh vocabulary.
Later, the light outside had dimmed, the kitchen lantern becoming the main source of illumination. Abby finished stacking cleaned bowls, only to notice Serena staring, transfixed, at a small candle on the table. The flame’s dance became unnaturally bright, throwing elongated shadows across the walls.
Abby froze, breath catching in her throat. Magic? Here?
“Serena,” she asked quietly, stepping closer, “did you… do that?”
Serena glanced up, cheeks tinged pink. “I—I just wanted it brighter. Is that bad?” she whispered.
Abby’s mind spun. She’d recognized that flicker of power—the same subtle feeling she’d once had when discovering her own abilities. Adrenaline flooded her veins. Taking a steadying breath, she crouched down beside the girl.
“Not bad, Serena. Just… surprising.” She forced a smile, voice gentle. “Can you try again?”
Serena nodded tentatively, gaze flicking back to the candle. The flame rippled, then brightened a fraction more, bathing the entire table in warm light. Abby swallowed, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and worry. Another mage… how?
She placed a hand on Serena’s shoulder, meeting her eyes. “That’s incredible. But… maybe keep it quiet for now, okay? We’ll figure out what it means together.”
Serena nodded, eyes darting to the door as though expecting someone to barge in. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, voice barely above a whisper. “Our secret.”
Abby straightened, mind whirling with questions. What if Asil or Loren found out? She didn’t doubt the fort’s acceptance, but with tension rising across Aerothane, any emergent magic drew both awe and suspicion. I’ll protect her, Abby vowed silently, hugging Serena in reassurance. “You did nothing wrong,” she said firmly.
Serena’s shoulders relaxed, relief mingling with the thrill of discovering her power. Nearby, Tobin glanced up from his arithmetic, sensing the hush but too wrapped in puzzling out a math problem to ask. Abby gave him a soft pat on the head, grateful for the momentary peace.
As the evening wore on, Abby and the siblings finished tidying the kitchen. She watched them head off to their shared sleeping quarters, Tobin yawning widely while Serena carried the battered lore book under her arm like a treasured secret.
Left alone for a moment, Abby leaned against the hearth, mind buzzing with tomorrow’s tasks. She was no stranger to oddities—this entire “game” world bristled with them—but stumbling onto a magically gifted child felt especially crucial. Does this tie into the demon sightings? She shook her head, uncertain.
Outside, the fort had settled into a lull, lanterns dotting the walls. Soldiers kept vigilant watch, the distant ring of metal from the armory a reminder that constant preparation was the new normal. A swirl of intangible tension clung to the air, an unspoken fear that demons or monstrous creatures might strike again at any moment.
We’re all bracing for a storm we barely understand, Abby thought, stepping away from the warmth of the hearth. But maybe that’s what resilience is—pressing on, one candle’s flame at a time, no matter how dark.
Clutching that fragile sense of determination, Abby vowed to speak to Asil soon about these new developments—Fort Warren and Serena’s budding power included. For now, she’d let the children sleep in peace, letting tomorrow’s revelations come in their own time. The fort might be battered, but hope glimmered here and there—among orphans forging a new life, and in the bright spark of a girl discovering magic for the first time.
Evening dimness cast long shadows through the barracks room where Asil and Abby sat on their bunks. The soft scratch of quill on parchment and the occasional rustle of pages were the only sounds as they pored over their journals—the strange tomes that guided their powers in a land otherwise starved of magic.
Abby glanced up from her scribbled notes, a faint smile lighting her face. “Hey, check this out,” she said, flipping to her status page and holding it up for Asil to see:
Human: Abigail Levine (Level 3)
Class: Shadow Dancer
Power Drawn: Shadow Energy (energy from the Shadow Realms)
Shadow Meld (Level 2):
- Blend into nearby shadows, gaining invisibility + movement speed.
- Duration: 10 seconds after initial attack.
- Cost: Low Shadow Energy.
- Cooldown: 10 seconds.
Backstab (Level 1):
- Appear behind a target for massive critical damage.
- Cost: Medium Shadow Energy.
- Cooldown: 20 seconds.
Ebon Echo (Level 1):
- Create an illusory double to confuse enemies + coordinate attacks.
- Cost: High Shadow Energy.
- Duration: 20 seconds.
- Cooldown: 60 seconds.
“You’ve come a long way,” Asil observed, leaning in to read the details. “Remember when we first got here? You were so unsure about how real this… VR world was?”
Abby snorted softly, recalling their initial confusion—both enthralled by the “game mechanics” yet unnerved by how lethal it all felt. “Yeah. But all those demon hunts at night—exhausting as they were—really leveled me up.” She tapped the lines about upgrading Shadow Meld. “I’ve poured my skill points into Willpower, to bolster my shadow energy regen, and it’s paid off.”
A glimmer of pride warmed Asil’s expression. “And you’ve earned every bit of it.” She then opened her own journal, scanning the lines of text with a practiced eye:
Human: Asil Hart (Level 4)
Class: Blade Dancer
Power Drawn: Stamina
Whirling Slash (Level 2):
- Spin forward, damaging nearby foes.
- Cost: Medium Stamina.
- Cooldown: 10 seconds.
Phantom Step (Level 1):
- Short-distance dash or teleport for repositioning.
- Cost: Low Stamina.
- Cooldown: 10 seconds.
Crescent Strike (Level 2):
- Sword arc imbued with mystic energy, slicing multiple enemies.
- Cost: High Stamina.
- Cooldown: 30 seconds.
“Level four,” Asil murmured, a hint of satisfaction coloring her voice. “Not bad for—” she paused with a small chuckle, “—an old lady.”
Abby let out a playful laugh. “You’re hardly old. More like seasoned.” She remembered the day Asil’s last sword nearly disintegrated from the energy surge of Crescent Strike. “You definitely push your gear to the limit.”
Asil’s brow furrowed in a momentary grimace. “I do. I’ve funneled skill points into Stamina for quicker regen and upgrading Whirling Slash and Crescent Strike. But I need a stronger sword if I’m not to break every blade I touch.”
Abby nodded in sympathy. “Well, you’re unstoppable with a decent weapon. I’d hate to see what you’d do with a really good one.”
The brief levity ebbed as Asil’s expression turned serious. “Speaking of unstoppable, I need to fill you in on the meeting. Loren’s injuries mean he can’t train the fort’s recruits like before.” She summarized her talk with Loren, Bonvil, and Jon, explaining the plan to travel to Fort Warren for potential alliances, given the rising monster sightings across Aerothane.
Abby’s eyes narrowed, recalling the rumors of demon encroachment. “That’s probably wise,” she said. “I’d volunteer in a heartbeat. And maybe—” she paused, mind racing, “—we bring Frederick, Cressa, Gideon, and Eamon. They’ve proven they can work together.”
Asil considered each name, her expression thoughtful. “Frederick has the stamina to keep morale high, Gideon’s our ranged cover, Cressa’s a frontline powerhouse, and Eamon’s knowledge of demon lore or old references might come in handy.” She gave a decisive nod. “I’ll mention it to Loren and Bonvil.”
The following dawn broke clear and bright, the training yard echoing with clashing steel and shouted drills. By midmorning, Asil had pulled Cressa, Gideon, and Eamon aside, with Abby standing at her shoulder.
“This is a simple patrol,” Asil told them, her gaze sweeping across the small group. “We’ll skirt the Dark Woods perimeter, see if there’s anything suspicious. Treat it like a test run to see how you coordinate.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Cressa’s face lit up with anticipation. “Finally. I’ve been itching for real action.”
Gideon rested a hand on his bow, his expression subdued but intense. “Any known threats?” he asked quietly.
Asil shrugged. “We can’t be sure. Possibly wolves, goblins, or something new. The point is to stay alert and watch each other’s backs.”
Eamon shifted his backpack full of scrolls, adjusting his glasses. “I’ll try to identify any unusual tracks or signs of demonic corruption. I’ve been combing through old bestiaries all week.”
“Perfect,” Asil said. “Let’s move out.”
They set off, the sun climbing higher as the fortress gate closed behind them. The rolling plains around Fort Harjil soon gave way to dense foliage, the distant line of the Dark Woods looming. As they walked, a comfortable banter welled up: Cressa ribbed Eamon about being a “scholar in armor,” Gideon chimed in with dry wit, and Abby’s easy laugh helped smooth the edges of any tension.
Eventually, the tree canopy thickened, gloom settling across the underbrush. Asil raised a hand to halt them. “We’re near the territory where sightings have spiked.”
Gideon murmured, “I’ll take the rear, keep an arrow nocked.” He stepped back, scanning for threats.
Eamon knelt, brushing aside leaves to reveal a set of strange prints. “Could be… goblins,” he whispered. “But bigger than the usual size.”
Asil’s hand moved to her sword hilt, lips pressed tight. “Everyone keep close. Abby—why don’t you scout ahead?”
Abby nodded, letting the shadow around her swirl. With a soft exhale, she activated Shadow Meld, melting into the dimness. The hush of the forest magnified every rustle of leaves, but her footsteps were silent as a breeze. She advanced fifty paces, scanning for movement. Satisfied there was no immediate threat, she signaled for the rest to follow.
Cressa’s mace rustled in the foliage, but she remained vigilant at Eamon’s side, ready to intercept any ambush. Gideon moved like a ghost, arrow already on the string.
Over the next hour, they circled the woodland perimeter, encountering only one stray wolf that Gideon dispatched with a swift arrow. The group functioned seamlessly, each role complementing the others:
- Cressa took point whenever they crossed a stream or thick bramble, defending Eamon as he studied tracks.
- Abby scouted ahead, slipping in and out of Shadow Meld to ensure no big threats lay waiting.
- Gideon watched their flanks, occasionally pointing out suspicious rustlings.
- Eamon scribbled notes on partial footprints or claw marks, mumbling about how these patterns matched older bestiaries detailing mutated goblins.
By mid-afternoon, Asil called for a return. “We’ve learned a bit,” she said, voice calm but pleased. “No major threats spotted, but we found fresh signs of goblin presence. Enough to report back.”
They traced their steps back toward Fort Harjil. The sun began dipping low, casting a golden hue over the forest’s edge. When at last the fort’s gate rose into view, Asil halted them, nodding approval.
“Not bad,” she said, eyes flicking across the four recruits. “You handled yourselves smoothly. No panic, no confusion. Good synergy.”
Cressa smirked, rolling her shoulders. “Told you we could hold our own.”
Gideon gave a curt nod, carefully unstringing his bow. “Feels like a solid team.”
Eamon pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the weight of his reference tomes shifting in his backpack. “I’ll document the tracks we saw and see if I can confirm goblin types or weird mutations.”
Abby grinned, her Shadow Dancer gear dusted with forest soil. “Honestly, I’m just glad no demons popped up. Next time, we might not be so lucky.”
They traded small chuckles, relieved tension dissipating as they walked under the fort’s walls. Asil followed behind a flicker of pride warming her usually reserved face. This was precisely the cohesion they needed—something that might hold strong in times of crisis. As they stepped through the gates, each member was more confident. Asil sensed they were one step closer to holding Aerothane together against the growing darkness.
A week slipped by in relative calm, Fort Harjil settling into a steady rhythm of watch rotations, combat drills, and tutoring sessions for the younger orphans. Tobin and Serena adapted well to their new life—though Serena’s undiscovered spark of magic flickered in secret. The new recruits grew closer, forging friendships amid the daily routine. In the evenings, Loren guided Asil in perfecting her command style, his leg injury limiting him physically but not dulling his sharp tactical mind.
“You’ve taken to this naturally,” Loren remarked one evening, studying the training schedule spread across the table in the command room. Despite the cane braced under one arm, his posture radiated authority. “I couldn’t have asked for a better successor.”
Asil placed a finger on a list of recruits, noting each day’s drill. “I’m just following your lead. I still feel like I’m filling shoes I can never quite match.”
Loren’s lips twitched—an unspoken mix of pride and regret. “I trained you to surpass me, not match me.” He turned toward Bonvil, who leaned against the wall with arms crossed. “How about you? You think we’re ready for this journey?”
Bonvil nodded, though his expression remained pensive. “The team you’ve assembled—Abby, Cressa, Gideon, Frederick, and Eamon—they’re strong. They complement each other’s strengths better than most ragtag squads I’ve seen. And Frederick’s grown, though… it’s tough letting him out of my sight.”
A gentle warmth filled Asil’s eyes. “Frederick will handle himself. He’s proven it time and again.”
Bonvil sighed, rubbing at the gray in his stubble. “I know. But he’s my son. Hard not to worry.”
The morning of departure dawned crisp and bright, the sun’s rays glinting off the fort’s palisade. Near the gates, Asil and her chosen group gathered—Abby adjusting her daggers at her waist, Cressa rolling her shoulders in anticipation, Gideon quietly checking his bow, Eamon juggling a few last-minute scrolls, and Frederick tightening the straps on his gear.
Loren approached, cane tapping lightly on the packed dirt. Bonvil stood beside him, a mix of fatherly pride and anxious tension in his stance.
“Stay sharp out there,” Loren said, voice low but carrying. “Fort Warren hasn’t answered any missives in twenty years. No telling what shape they’re in—if they’re in any shape at all.”
As the group prepared to leave Fort Harjil, Loren cleared his throat. “One more thing, Asil,” he said quietly, holding out a cloth-wrapped bundle. His grip on his cane tightened as he continued, “I, uh… commissioned this a few weeks back from Henry over in Pendle. I was waiting for the right time to give it to you. Well… here.”
He lifted the parcel toward her, cheeks coloring slightly at the emotion constricting his words. Asil accepted it with a puzzled frown. Carefully unwrapping the fabric, she revealed a magnificent sword. The blade gleamed even in the subdued morning light, its polished steel etched with subtle, winding patterns reminiscent of Fort Harjil’s crest. The hilt bore a carved wooden grip—likely oak—secured by intricate silver filigree that caught the sun in delicate flashes.
Asil’s breath caught at the sword’s balance as she tested a few quick swings. The weight felt ideal in her hand, both sturdy and agile—perfect for a Blade Dancer. “Loren, I… don’t know what to say,” she murmured, her voice thick with gratitude. She glanced from the blade to the older man, then impulsively closed the distance, wrapping him in a fierce hug.
Taken by surprise, Loren half-laughed, half-wheezed. He returned the embrace as best he could with one arm, the other gripping his cane to steady himself. When Asil finally released him, he cleared his throat, blinking a little too fast. “You’ve more than earned it,” he managed softly, turning his head to hide the threatening tear in his eye.
Truth was, Loren and his wife Geraldine had no children of their own, and they’d always treated the recruits as family. But Asil—along with Abby—had become something akin to daughters to him these past few weeks. That paternal bond made this moment all the more meaningful.
He sniffed once, setting his jaw. “Fight well out there,” he said, patting the edge of the shining blade. “And come back safe.”
Asil nodded, expression solemn. “We’ll send word when we can.” She glanced around the group. “All right—move out.”
Having a sword already at her waist, she moved the gift to her pouch for safekeeping. With the delicate balance of her Crescent Strike ability, she did not want to ruin this sword until she figured out how to protect the weapon.
They set foot on the gravel road, leaving the fort behind. The first day passed with little incident, the flatlands unfolding in a patchwork of rolling fields and distant woodlands. As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, they chose a small clearing for camp, building a modest fire to ward off the chill.
Abby stirred a metal pot over the flames, its savory aroma wafting through the gathering dusk. “Not bad for trail grub,” she said, ladling stew into wooden bowls.
Cressa scoffed good-naturedly. “Beats the watery soup back at the fort.”
Eamon, hunched over a battered tome in his lap, glanced up with a wry grin. “I, for one, happen to enjoy the fort’s soup—if only because it means I’m not stuck with raw forest mushrooms in the middle of nowhere.”
Frederick rolled his eyes. “You would,” he teased, a faint smile brushing his lips.
Gideon sat quietly, sharpening an arrowhead, tension etched in his brow. After a moment, he glanced up. “Anyone else feel like… we’re not alone? Like someone’s watching us?”
The conversation died, replaced by the soft crackle of the fire. Asil’s hand drifted to her sword hilt. “You see or hear something?”
Gideon shrugged, his voice tight. “No, just a gut feeling. Maybe it’s nothing.”
Asil surveyed the surrounding darkness. The fields lay silent, only the rustle of tall grass in the breeze. Yet her instincts coiled, remembering how creatures in Aerothane could appear from nowhere, especially at night. “We’ll do double watch,” she decided, nodding to Abby. “Better safe than sorry.”
They hunkered down around the fire, finishing the stew in tense quiet. Asil organized them into shifts—Cressa and Eamon first, Gideon and Frederick second, Abby and Asil last. One by one, they slipped off to their bedrolls, the star-flecked sky arcing overhead. The night passed without any reveal of the phantom eyes Gideon had sensed, but a lingering unease settled in their bones.
Dawn arrived painted in rosy pinks and soft gold, a chilly wind sweeping across the plain. They packed up camp swiftly, pressing on. A direct route led them straight toward Fort Warren, avoiding both Pendle and the Dark Woods—the latter a place of rumors and creeping dangers. The road was lonely, trodden by few travelers, made more suspicious by each new rumor of roving monsters.
Walking in a loose formation, Asil, Frederick, and Cressa took the lead, discussing tactics and the best approach if they found Fort Warren in disarray. Abby lingered closer to Gideon and Eamon, occasionally drifting ahead to scout whenever the terrain allowed. They held an easy pace, leaning on the camaraderie forged through training.
Frederick broke a lull in conversation. “You think Fort Warren’s still loyal to Loren’s cause?” His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed curiosity.
Asil shrugged, scanning the horizon. “We’ll find out. It’s been two decades. If they’ve survived without outside help, they might be… different.”
Cressa chuckled darkly. “Or they just tossed Loren’s letters on the fire for warmth.”
Frederick let out a short laugh, though tension lingered in his features. “Guess we’ll know soon enough.”
A shrill, triple whistle from ahead cut him off. The entire group stilled, every muscle tensing. Abby’s signal.
“Spread out,” Asil commanded, voice low but urgent. “Cressa, you’re with me. Frederick, Eamon, slip into the brush. Gideon—cover our flank.”
They moved like a well-coordinated unit. Eamon nudged his glasses up, slipping behind a bush with Frederick. Gideon nocked an arrow, scanning for movement in the scraggly tree line. Asil and Cressa advanced cautiously, weapons at the ready.
Silence descended like a shroud. Even the wind hushed, as if the land itself held its breath. Asil’s grip tightened around her blade, heart pounding. If Abby spotted something…
Minutes stretched, and no foe emerged from the thinning wood. No snap of a twig or guttural snarl. Cressa shot Asil a questioning glance. Asil shook her head but didn’t lower her sword. “Stay sharp,” she mouthed.
Somewhere out there, Abby was hidden in shadows, watching for threats. The absence of chaos felt unnervingly wrong. Asil’s mind flickered to the rumors Bonvil mentioned—wolves with glowing eyes, demon sightings, monstrous hybrids. Could something be lurking right outside their line of sight?
Cressa whispered, “False alarm?”
Asil’s expression remained grim. “Abby wouldn’t raise that signal unless she was certain. Keep vigilant.”
They found the clearing by midday—a swath of toppled trees and makeshift barricades. Under the dappled sunlight, a swarm of large goblins, each standing taller than any typical breed, scurried about, piecing together crude huts and an unfinished guard tower. Wood piles and rough-cut logs littered the clearing, while raised platforms suggested early attempts at fortification.
Asil, crouched behind a fallen trunk with the rest of her team, took stock of the scene. Abby was already invisible, somewhere among the shadows, her Shadow Dancer training keeping her concealed. Asil scanned the clearing, quickly identifying each goblin’s position. There had to be at least a dozen—no, more—each armed with jagged blades or improvised clubs. The savage formation spread nearly in a semicircle, with five gathered in the center near a smoldering fire pit.
“Twelve… maybe thirteen,” Asil hissed, turning to Cressa, Gideon, Frederick, and Eamon. “They’re setting up a base. Right between here and the road north.”
Gideon squinted, perched in a nearby tree with an arrow already nocked. “They’re too close for comfort. If they hold this spot, they could ambush anyone traveling to Fort Warren.”
Eamon adjusted his glasses nervously. “It’s… actually well-placed. Potentially controlling traffic between the forts if left unchecked.”
Asil nodded, heart pounding. “We can’t sneak around them if we plan to keep the roads safe.” using hand signals they previously practised she gave direction: Cressa would handle the three goblins to the right, the ones already stacking logs for a secondary barricade. Gideon would pick off the four near the half-built wall. Frederick and Eamon remained together—Frederick to protect Eamon and dispatch any stragglers.
Asil herself would strike the five goblins milling around the center, including what looked like a bigger one—possibly a chieftain.
“Wait for my signal,” she murmured. “The moment I engage, the rest of you go.”
Asil caught the faintest flicker of Abby creeping behind a burly goblin sentry, the stealth nearly flawless. She suppressed a smirk of pride—Abby had come far.
Taking a steadying breath, Asil’s journal flashed in her mind’s eye:
Goblin (Level 3)
Goblin (Level 3)
Goblin (Level 4)
Goblin (Level 4)
Goblin (Level 3)
Goblin (Level 3)
Goblin (Level 3)
Goblin (Level 4)
Goblin (Level 3)
Goblin (Level 3)
Goblin (Level 4)
Goblin (Level 3)
Alpha Goblin (Level 5)
Her pulse quickened at the sight of so many. No turning back. Summoning a calm focus, she activated Phantom Step, blinking right into the midst of five goblins near the central fire pit. The moment she reappeared, she pivoted into Whirling Slash, a razor-edged spin that cut into four goblins simultaneously—including the hulking Alpha.
Chaos ripped through the clearing. A guttural cry from the goblins rose as they realized they were under attack.
Simultaneously, Abby struck from behind. Her Backstab sank deep into a guard’s spine; it howled, flailing in confusion at an attacker it couldn’t see. Still invisibly cloaked for a few more seconds, Abby darted around its body, landing rapid, precise jabs. The goblin whirled and swung its crude club, but Abby ducked low, driving both daggers into its unarmored side.
Goblin (Level 3) has died. Experience gained.
She exhaled, allowing her cloak of shadows to fade. Another goblin spun toward her, only for Abby to vanish behind a stack of fallen logs, weaving a dance of illusions and daggers.
High in a tree, Gideon remained steady. He loosed four arrows in fluid succession, each whistling through the air to impale three of the goblins along the half-built wall. One reeled, arrow embedded in its eye, collapsing instantly. Another collapsed with a shaft through its throat. A third took two arrows to the chest and fell mid-scream.
Goblin (Level 3) has died. Experience gained.
Goblin (Level 3) has died. Experience gained.
Goblin (Level 3) has died. Experience gained.
The fourth goblin there dove behind a plank of hastily nailed boards—Gideon’s arrow only severing its ear. Snarling in pain, it never saw Frederick leap from the brush. With a single, precise slash, Frederick lopped its head clean off.
Goblin (Level 3) has died. Experience gained.
Eamon, crouched behind Frederick, let out a shaky breath as he watched the goblin’s head roll. “Good… job,” he managed, swallowing hard.
On the right flank, Cressa barreled into her three targets before Asil’s Whirling Slash had even finished. Her mace crunched into the first goblin’s skull, the impact fierce enough to send bone fragments flying. She spun, yanking a short blade from her belt to gut the second goblin. Blood spilled across the ground as it staggered back, futilely clutching its intestines.
The third, narrowly missed by her blow, roared in fury and slashed a jagged sword at Cressa’s face. She twisted away, though the jarring shock reverberated through her arm. Now both wounded goblins circled her, the second trying to keep its insides from spilling out.
“Not so easy,” Cressa hissed, pushing through the pain. She surged forward with a savage jab to the uninjured goblin’s groin, even as she braced for the other’s blade—
But that blade never came. With a swift blur of motion, Abby appeared, driving her daggers into the reeling, gut-shot goblin’s head. It collapsed in a final gurgle.
Goblin (Level 3) has died. Experience gained.
Goblin (Level 3) has died. Experience gained.
Goblin (Level 3) has died. Experience gained.
Cressa nodded her thanks, breathing hard. “Nice timing.”
Abby grinned, flicking blood from her blades. “I like to make an entrance.”
At the center, Asil faced four Level 4 goblins and the towering Level 5 Alpha. She’d already cut down two of them in her initial whirlwind, the journaling system flashing confirmations in her mind:
Goblin (Level 4) has died. Experience gained.
Goblin (Level 4) has died. Experience gained.
But three remained—two battered Level 4s and the Alpha. The lesser goblins swung their crude swords relentlessly, forcing Asil to weave and dodge. Each slash sapped her stamina. The Alpha hurled a makeshift club that Asil narrowly evaded, clattering to the ground behind her.
Asil slashed across one goblin’s neck, fluidly evading the Alpha’s heavy swing. The second goblin reeled backward, choking on its own blood.
Goblin (Level 4) has died. Experience gained.
Before Asil could pivot, the Alpha elbowed her viciously in the back, knocking her to the ground. Her sword clattered away. Gasping, she rolled sideways to avoid the Alpha’s stomping foot. At the last second, she angled a dagger upward—driving it deep into the beast’s sole as it came down. The Alpha howled in agony.
Snatching up her sword, Asil spun to dispatch the final Level 4 goblin. She rammed the blade under its jaw, pushing the tip out the top of its skull.
Goblin (Level 4) has died. Experience gained.
That left her with the Alpha, staggering but alive. It roared, ignoring the dagger lodged in its foot, and glared at Asil with murderous intent. Suddenly, its muscles bulged, eyes glowing a sickly red. The beast lurched upward, adding nearly a foot to its height.
Alpha Goblin (Level 5) has activated Rage
Asil’s heart clenched at the text blazing in her mind. This can’t be good. She barely had time to suck in a breath before the massive creature charged, moving twice as fast as before. Its gnarled teeth bared in an unholy grin.
The Alpha’s raging cry reverberated through the clearing, echoing off fallen logs—and signaling the fight had only just begun.