She dove to one side, rolling with trained precision, but still caught a glancing blow from the goblin’s meaty thigh. The force spun her agile roll into a vicious tumble, the impact rattling her bones. She slammed into the ground hard enough to jolt the breath from her lungs.
Scrambling upright, sword still in hand, Asil glanced over at the alpha goblin. In its rage-fueled momentum, the beast had overshot its mark and crashed headlong into a massive tree. The trunk splintered under the collision, shards of bark and wood erupting into the air. The goblin staggered, stunned but swift to recover, turning its bloodshot eyes back on Asil.
For the first time, the alpha goblin paused to register the carnage around it. Its underlings—a dozen lesser goblins—lay dead and mutilated on the forest floor, scattered like abandoned rag dolls. An incoherent shriek tore from its throat at the sight of its fallen brood. But as it considered charging again, it hesitated. Its foe was no longer alone.
Asil steadied herself, heart pounding, sword raised. In her peripheral vision, she saw Cressa and Abby taking position on her left, Frederick and Gideon on her right. Their faces were hardened with resolve. The alpha goblin roared, a deafening challenge that seemed to shake the very leaves overhead. Asil allowed a tight, grim smile—this time, she had backup.
Bellowing, the alpha goblin sprang into motion once more. Its massive feet tore up chunks of earth as it barreled straight for Asil. Instead of darting aside, she dropped prone, letting the beast thunder overhead. In the split-second between its strides, she thrust her sword upward, slicing into the creature’s groin. Blood splattered across her blade, the goblin’s momentum dragging it forward as it howled in pain.
Immediately, Gideon struck. Leaping to one side, he released an arrow with lethal precision—finding the goblin’s left eye buried deep into the socket. Simultaneously, Cressa sidestepped the beast, her mace swinging with brutal force against the goblin’s right knee. A sickening crunch signaled the joint’s shattering, and the alpha goblin stumbled with a guttural snarl.
That vicious impact threw Cressa off balance as well. She spun from the momentum, but Abby caught her, bearing the brunt of the collision. Though smaller, Abby’s deft footwork turned the collision into a minor tumble rather than a disastrous fall. Cressa shot her a nod of thanks, quickly regaining her stance.
The alpha goblin sank to one knee, crippled by a shattered leg, half-blind from Gideon’s arrow, and bleeding profusely from Asil’s earlier strike. Yet its rage refused to subside. It reached for some final spark of murderous strength. Abby capitalized on its hesitation, shadow-stepping onto the goblin’s broad back, activating her Backstab skill. Her dagger plunged into the monster’s remaining eye, the blade biting deep.
But even half-blind and mortally wounded, the alpha goblin proved deadly. With a guttural snarl, it snatched Abby’s arm mid-air as she tried to somersault away, flinging her aside like a ragdoll. She crashed into the ground, rolling to a sudden halt—motionless.
“ABBY!” Asil’s anguished scream echoed through the clearing. Fear spiked in her chest, warring with a surge of fury. She wanted to dash to her friend’s side to check for a pulse, but the alpha goblin was already groaning its way upright, blindly fumbling toward the noise of Asil’s voice.
It roared again, a guttural chorus of pain and hatred, and lurched forward. Slower now, but still monstrous. Asil forced herself to stay focused, sword raised. She let out a scream of her own—her voice raw with rage. The two forces charged each other head-on.
At the last possible second, Cressa slid in front of Asil, dropping to her knees. Asil pivoted, placing a foot on Cressa’s shoulders and springboarding off her. She soared overhead as she activated Crescent Strike. Mana flared around her sword, forging a bright, lethal arc in midair.
Steel met flesh with a flash of light, slicing cleanly through the goblin’s thick neck. Its final roar truncated into a gurgling rasp. The alpha’s head toppled away, its massive body slumping in a final, heavy crash across the bloody forest floor.
Alpha Goblin (Level 5) has died. Experience gained.
Asil landed in a deft roll, coming up on one knee. The sword hilt crumbled to dust in her grip—another blade ruined by the sheer power of her strike. But she wasted no time lamenting it. Her gaze darted across the clearing, zeroing in on Abby’s limp form.
Cressa barely managed to dodge the headless goblin corpse as it slid, momentum spent at last. Around them, the forest fell abruptly quiet, no more roars or clangs of steel. But for Asil, the battle wasn’t over. She dashed to Abby, her heart pounding with fear, ignoring her wounds in a rush of concern.
Victory hung in the air—but the cost remained unknown until she knew Abby was safe.
Asil sprinted to Abby’s side, panic twisting her gut as she fell to her knees beside the unmoving form. Abby lay face-down in the dirt, limbs splayed at awkward angles. Fear hammered through Asil’s chest as she carefully turned her over, bracing for the worst.
A weak groan escaped Abby’s lips. “Give me ten more minutes, Mom,” she muttered, voice strained but unmistakably alive.
Relief surged through Asil, so potent it left her momentarily lightheaded. She ignored Abby’s half-joke, quickly patting her friend’s arms and legs to check for major wounds. No broken bones, no severe bleeding—only bruises and shallow cuts. Sighing with shaky gratitude, Asil gave Abby a light smack on the shoulder in mock admonishment. Without another word, she helped her friend up, folding her into a fierce hug once Abby was sitting upright.
The rest of the group converged around them—Cressa and Gideon on one side, Frederick and Eamon on the other. Weariness lined their faces, but relief took center stage. Cressa rested a hand on Abby’s back while Gideon gave Asil an approving nod. Even stoic Eamon managed a small smile.
Frederick, of course, unleashed his usual excitement, bounding on his toes. “That… was… awesome!” he exclaimed, eyes shining. “Abby was over there, then—WHAM—over here! Then Asil was like ‘swoosh!’ and Cressa was like ‘CRASH!’ and Asil—‘AAAAA slash!’” He mimed each strike with exaggerated swings of an invisible weapon, grin infectious.
A soft laugh rippled through the group, tension easing at last. Asil helped Abby to her feet, supporting her as she gingerly tested her weight. “Ow, ow, ow,” Abby muttered, rolling her shoulders. “Everything hurts, but I’m still in one piece.”
Asil nodded, concern laced with firm practicality. “We should move—just a short distance, at least—somewhere not littered with dead goblins.” She scanned the bodies strewn across the forest floor. “We’ll rest for an hour before pressing on to Fort Warren.”
They traveled about fifteen minutes through the woods, eventually finding a shallow creek with a grassy bank. The water ran clear and cool, an inviting contrast to the battlefield’s grime. Taking turns, the team washed off blood and sweat. The adrenaline faded, replaced by exhaustion and quiet chatter.
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Gideon and Frederick lay on a soft patch of grass, promptly drifting into half-asleep stupors. Cressa, kneeling by the creek, scrubbed dried gore from her mace and arm guards. Eamon leaned against a tree, flipping through his notebook to record tactical notes on the alpha goblin. Abby and Asil, meanwhile, found a spot to sit side by side.
Pulling out their journals, they each claimed their battle rewards. Abby frowned at a new entry, popping open two glowing orbs in her palm. “Says here these are Goblin Cores. Low-level monster cores dropped by Level 4 creatures or higher?”
Asil nodded, consulting her own haul. “Same here—I got two Goblin Cores plus an Alpha Goblin Core. The journal mentions they can be currency or used to level up abilities. And apparently, there are more obscure uses we can discover.”
Both women had also leveled up from the fight. Asil reached Level 5, Abby Level 4. They spent skill points on their respective energy pools to speed regeneration, and Asil allowed herself a small smile. Upgrading Crescent Strike had proven crucial against that alpha goblin—though it did cost her a perfectly good sword in the process. Next time, she resolved, Phantom Step might need a boost. No telling what other threats they’d face on the road ahead.
Their other spoils included 253 copper coins each. Abby grinned when she found a pair of leather boots and gloves that fit her agile fighting style, while Asil received sturdy leather gauntlets. But the real treasure came from the alpha goblin’s drop: Abby’s eyes shone as she examined two newly acquired daggers:
Daggers of Vespa
+2 to damage
Return to storage if lost
34% chance of a critical strike when using Backstab
“These are perfect,” Abby whispered, testing a twirl with one blade. “Like they were made for me.”
Asil let out a low whistle while flipping through details of her own gear:
Blade Dancer’s Circlet
+3 to armor
+1 to Stamina
Self-Repair: Can fix itself over time if placed into storage.
A simple yet elegant gold band, the circlet offered practical benefits. Asil promptly slipped it on, smoothing back her hair. Abby regarded her with a warm smile. “Looks good. Functional and… kinda regal.”
After an hour of respite, Asil roused the group. Though still sore and not fully recovered, they’d lingered as long as they could afford. Darkness loomed, and Fort Warren remained hours away. With Cressa hefting her mace, Gideon stifling a yawn, and Eamon tucking his notes away, they set off once more.
As they trudged on, the unspoken bond forged in that brutal fight stayed with them. The weight of a shared victory lent them the courage to face the looming unknown. Abby offered Asil a half-smile, tapping her newly acquired daggers against her thigh as if saying, We’ve got this.
When they finally vanished deeper into the forest trail, the creek’s calm ripples were the only sign left of their passing. Blood and goblin corpses were behind them, Fort Warren ahead, and they pressed forward with unity—ready or not—to confront whatever lay in waiting in the hushed darkness of Aerothane’s night.
The remainder of the trek to the North Road passed without incident, the group pressing on beneath the faint glow of a waning moon. Underfoot, the road showed its age—cracked cobblestones and patches of encroaching weeds told of decades left untended. As they rounded a final bend, Fort Warren’s tallest tower emerged as a dark silhouette against the star-flecked sky.
At once, the sight reinvigorated them. Weariness gave way to anticipation, and they quickened their pace, drawn by the promise of shelter and answers. But upon reaching what seemed to be a forgotten guard post, Asil raised a hand in a swift command to halt. The rotted structure leaned precariously, half its roof gone, vines weaving through shattered beams.
“Should we camp here and approach at sunrise?” Abby asked, voice hushed. “Going up to the fort in the dark… feels risky.”
Asil didn’t respond right away. She scanned the overgrown path ahead, where the North Road appeared to end at the abandoned post, then vanished into tangled undergrowth. In the distance, Fort Warren loomed, gates dark and silent, like some brooding sentinel from ages past.
“I have a strange feeling,” Asil muttered eventually, drawing a backup sword—the ornate one Loren had gifted her. She’d dreaded using it in combat, especially after seeing how her enhanced Blade Dancer skills could destroy ordinary weapons. But an eerie sense around Fort Warren put her on edge. No more mishaps like the alpha goblin, she resolved. I won’t be caught off-guard.
“Cressa and Frederick, with me,” Asil ordered quietly. “Gideon, Eamon—stay here with Abby. Keep a sharp eye on the perimeter.”
Abby and Eamon slipped off the road, crouching behind a thick cluster of brambles. True to form, Gideon glided into the nearby woods, presumably finding a vantage point up in a tree. Abby watched Asil, Cressa, and Frederick pick their way down the overgrown trail, anxiety gnawing at her. I was just a high school freshman back home, she mused in disbelief. Now we’re dividing into squads like a real army?
Still, the plan made sense. Asil’s instincts tended to be spot-on, and after their encounter with the alpha goblin, Abby trusted her more than ever.
Ahead, Asil led Cressa and Frederick with deliberate stealth. The moon had dipped low behind a line of crooked trees, plunging the world into near-total darkness. Only the faint starlight guided them, along with their own trained senses. Asil communicated via quick hand signals—a silent language they’d developed during the training at Harjil.
Finally, they crested a small rise and confronted Fort Warren’s main gate. Once imposing, it now stood cloaked in shadows. Thick iron bars, half-choked by creeping ivy, had fused with layers of rust. The brush had grown chest-high at the base of the gate, as though nature sought to reclaim this fortress for itself.
Asil’s pulse quickened. No lights flickered from inside. No guards called a challenge. A hush enveloped the place, too deep to be natural.
This is wrong, she thought, irritated by how little she could see. If only she had a night-vision skill. The silence pressed in on her, urging caution, yet she’d come too far to simply turn back.
Steeling herself, Asil advanced with the new sword in hand, wincing at the memory of how easily her last blade had disintegrated after Crescent Strike. I’ll save that skill for a crisis, she decided, remembering the alpha goblin’s final moments.
Cressa and Frederick flanked her, the former gripping a mace tight, the latter holding a short sword at the ready.
Aiming to break the oppressive quiet, Asil tapped her blade against the iron bars. The dull clang reverberated through the still night. She cleared her throat, calling into the darkness. “We seek an audience with whoever commands this fort.”
Nothing. No voice answered. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath—no chirping insects or nocturnal birds. After a heavy pause, Asil let out a frustrated sigh. “We’ll have to find our own way in,” she muttered.
Inspecting the thick vines, she spotted a smaller door set within the main gate, presumably a sally port for single-person entry. Nudging it experimentally, she felt it shift a mere inch—blocked by something clinking inside. A rusty chain and lock had seized the door in place, thoroughly secured by time and neglect.
“Cressa,” Asil said, stepping back. “Your mace might do the trick on this lock.”
Cressa nodded, lifting her weapon overhead, ready to smash the chain. Frederick hovered nearby; sword angled defensively in case any hidden foes lurked behind the gate.
Just as Cressa tensed to swing, a raspy voice broke through the silence, chilling them all:
“Don’t.”
Cressa froze mid-strike, eyes going wide. Asil and Frederick spun around, swords raised, scanning the dense shadows. Somewhere beyond the bars, a silhouette shifted, masked by gloom.
Asil’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as she took a cautious step forward. “Who’s there?” she demanded, voice steady but laced with wary tension.
The shape leaned closer, breath hissing through the bars. “Do not enter,” the figure whispered, each word scraping like a rusted hinge.
Asil squared her shoulders, swallowing her fear. “Why?” she countered. “We’ve traveled far to see this fort—”
“Only death waits within,” the figure murmured, voice hollow. The oppressive quiet returned, heavier than before.
Cressa lowered her mace fractionally, exchanging a troubled look with Asil. Frederick’s knuckles whitened around his sword hilt. At that moment, a single question loomed in Asil’s mind: How much truth lay behind the stranger’s words—and how deep ran the peril hidden beyond these walls?