After extracting crystals from the four goblin corpses—each one requiring the same nauseating process of tearing through tough hide to reach the glowing stones within—Aeon forced himself to continue deeper into the dungeon. His collection now numbered five crystals total, their combined weight a reassuring presence in his torn pockets.
The corridor the goblins had emerged from stretched ahead, wider than the previous passages and marked with crude symbols carved into the stone walls. These weren't random scratches but deliberate markings—territory markers, perhaps, or directions to something important.
Aeon followed the passage as it curved and branched, staying in the shadows cast by the ever-present torches. His broken hand had swollen to nearly twice its normal size, and every step sent jolts of pain through his collection of wounds. But he had learned to function through agony—it was just another form of data to be processed and overcome.
The passage opened into a cavern so vast that the torchlight couldn't reach its far walls. And what Aeon saw there made his blood freeze.
A village. An entire goblin settlement carved into the cavern floor and walls, complete with crude huts, weapon racks, cooking fires, and what appeared to be organized streets. Hundreds of goblins moved through the settlement—warriors, workers, younglings, elderly. An entire functioning society of the creatures that had nearly killed him multiple times.
At the center of the village stood a structure that dwarfed the surrounding huts—a crude palace built from stacked stones and decorated with skulls. Two figures dominated a raised platform in front of the palace, clearly visible even from Aeon's position at the cavern entrance.
The first was a goblin unlike any he had encountered. Massive, easily twice the size of the others, with muscles that strained against crude armor made from scavenged metal and bone. A chieftain, carrying a war axe that looked capable of splitting a man in half.
Beside the chief stood a figure that made Aeon's skin crawl—a goblin draped in robes and trinkets, holding a staff topped with what looked like glowing crystals fused together. The creature's eyes burned with intelligence that went far beyond the animalistic cunning of the warriors. A shaman. A magic user.
There's no way.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. Everything he had endured—the individual fights, the desperate struggles, the growing confidence from his small victories—all of it was meaningless in the face of what lay before him.
He couldn't fight hundreds of goblins. He couldn't face a chieftain whose weapons could cleave him in half. He certainly couldn't contend with whatever magical abilities the shaman possessed.
A direct assault would be suicide. Even attempting to sneak through the village would be impossible with this many creatures. The moment one of them spotted him, the entire settlement would converge on his position.
Think. There has to be a way. Every system has weaknesses.
Aeon studied the cavern layout with the analytical mind that had served him in his previous life. The village was contained within a natural cave system with limited air circulation. The cooking fires, torches, and the sheer number of breathing creatures would consume oxygen at a significant rate.
And fires needed oxygen to burn.
What happens when you introduce too much fire into a confined space?
The answer came from half-remembered engineering courses and safety training. Oxygen depletion. The fires would consume available air faster than the cavern's ventilation could replace it. The goblins would begin to suffocate, forcing them to flee toward sources of fresh air.
A dungeon break. He had heard the bandits mention the phenomenon—when dungeon creatures abandoned their territories en masse, usually due to environmental threats or the emergence of more dangerous predators.
If he could create a large enough fire in the right location, he might be able to force the entire goblin population to evacuate the cavern. They would stampede toward the exits, including the passage he had used to enter.
Two birds with one stone. Eliminate the threat and create his opportunity to escape in the chaos.
But setting such a fire would require getting close to the village, which meant exposing himself to discovery. And he would need to move fast once the flames started—the same oxygen depletion that drove out the goblins would eventually kill him too.
Risk versus reward. Certain death if I try to fight. Probable death if I try to sneak past. Possible death if I burn them out.
The mathematics were clear.
Aeon began studying the village layout more carefully, looking for the optimal target. The largest concentration of combustible materials appeared to be near the weapon racks and supply areas—piles of dried wood, cloth, and what looked like oil containers. If he could reach that area and start a fire large enough...
The goblin patrols moved in predictable patterns around the village perimeter. Three-creature teams walking regular routes, leaving gaps in coverage that a small, careful infiltrator might exploit.
Aeon waited and watched, timing the patrol movements while his broken hand throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat. When the next gap appeared, he slipped from the cavern entrance and began making his way toward the village outskirts.
Every step was a calculated risk. Every shadow might hide discovery and death. But he had learned something important during his time in this nightmare dungeon.
Sometimes the most dangerous plan was also the only one that offered any hope of survival.
And he would rather die attempting something audacious than live as prey waiting to be consumed.
The goblin village spread before him, unaware that their newest visitor intended to burn their world to ash and flee in the resulting chaos.
It was time to see if desperation could triumph over overwhelming odds once again.