Chapter 29: Edge of the Warren
The faint rasp of a whetstone against steel was the only sound around Ethan as he sat on a fallen log, running the blade of his longsword against the stone with steady, practiced strokes. The faint scent of dried ogre blood clung to the steel. His movements were calm and precise, the ritual of someone who knew battle would come again before long.
Level 6 (3,581 / 6,430)
If the progress stayed like this, he thought, he could hit Level 8 even if he only scraped the edges of the fighting. Level 9 would just be a matter of time.
The march continued. The massive ogre ambush from before didn't repeat, but danger never left the road. Groups of enemies emerged to harry their advance — goblin warriors with jagged spears, quick-footed slashers darting in from the flanks, the occasional armored brute, and sometimes an ogre lumbering at the rear like living artillery. The B-ranked adventurers didn't rush in. Their job was to ensure the raid didn't collapse, not to shield the others from every risk. They were already being paid generously just to accompany the march. Unless things became truly dangerous, they let the lower ranks fight.
That suited Ethan perfectly.
A goblin slasher darted in from the side, blades flashing for his ribs. He stepped back, letting it overextend, then cut clean through its back in a single, sharp motion. Another goblin lunged with a spear; Ethan hooked the shaft with his longsword, wrenched it aside, and slashed across its exposed neck in one smooth arc.
The ground shook as an ogre charged, scattering its smaller allies. Ethan moved forward into the swing, letting the club's momentum pass behind him, then carved deep into the tendon behind its knee. As it dropped, he shifted his weight and drove the longsword's point through its throat. The beast crumpled before it could even cry out.
Not long after, a particularly large rogue ogre burst from the treeline, barreling toward the flank. Wolf, the human monk leading Ethan's squad, stepped in without hesitation. His stance lowered, gauntleted fists tightening. The ogre swung down, but Wolf slipped inside its reach, fists blurring in a rapid series of mana-infused strikes to the ribs, neck, and jaw. The final blow — an uppercut that cracked like a thunderclap — sent the creature reeling just in time for him to drive a knee into its face.
The ogre hit the ground hard, unmoving. Wolf exhaled, shaking the tension from his shoulders.
Before anyone could breathe, another ogre lurched out from the side. Ethan stepped forward. In one clean sequence, he severed its leg, pivoted around its fall, and drove his sword through the base of its skull. The fight lasted barely ten seconds.
A low whistle came from somewhere in the squad.
"Was that… faster than Wolf?" one adventurer muttered.
"Almost the same speed," another said in disbelief. "And he doesn't even look twenty…"
"Kid fights like he's been doing this for decades."
Wolf looked over at Ethan, studying him in silence for a moment. Even for a monk who had trained his whole life, handling an ogre in ten seconds took effort. Ethan had just done it in that time with surgical precision. This young… and already this good, he thought.
Unbeknownst to Ethan, the title Will of the Crown carried more than just the prestige and presence he assumed. It subtly honed his mind in battle — sharpening his perception, refining his movements, and allowing him to absorb techniques at an accelerated pace. Every strike, every feint, every mistake was etched into his muscle memory with uncanny efficiency. What took others months to master, he could grasp in hours, instinctively streamlining it for himself. It was a gift… and a danger, should others discover it.
The fighting became easier for him with each skirmish. His blade found weak points without hesitation. His movements wasted nothing. The more he fought, the faster and more efficient each kill became.
By the time the treeline thinned and the air grew heavy with the foul stench of the goblin warren, he checked his status.
Level 8 (23,753 / 34,015)
Eight unassigned stat points pulsed at the edge of his vision, but he left them untouched. He could take down an ogre in under twenty seconds now — or less, if he pushed himself. Wolf's calculating gaze lingered on him longer than before, a faint grin curling his lips as he flexed his gauntleted fists.
"Not bad, kid," Wolf said quietly, just for him. "Not bad at all."
By the time they put up camp to rest, night had already fallen. In the distance, a faint glow marked Route 1's group—they had arrived first. The night passed in shifts of watch duty, and by dawn, the final day of the raid had begun.
[System Quest] – Stand Above the Rest
Objective: Become the most notable contributor in the raid.
Progress: 83%
Rewards: +20 Stat Points, 4000 SP, Duskfang – Shadowforged Longblade
Basic Longsword Techniques – 99% Mastery (Intermediate)
Let's go.
By now, Ethan's armor was a mess of dents, scratches, and cracked plates, the once-polished surface now dulled and scarred by countless strikes. Only the faint herbal scent of a mid-grade healing potion kept the truth of the battle from showing on his body. The potion—thick and crimson, with faint silver motes swirling inside—still lingered in his system, knitting torn flesh and soothing bruises, leaving nothing but a faint ache beneath the skin.
The company finally reached the gaping, jagged entrance of the goblin warren just as the other teams began arriving. Faces were grim as the tally was made—seventeen dead in total. Every group had suffered from the sudden ambush earlier: five ogres, one of them unusually strong.
Whispers spread quickly.
"A strong ogre acting alone?"
"No… this was planned."
The truth chilled everyone—the goblin king wasn't just some overgrown brute. It had intelligence. And not just enough to lead—it was capable of strategy. Setting up ambushes? That meant this expedition had just crossed from dangerous into deadly.
During the short respite, adventurers mingled, exchanging hurried intel. Ethan scanned the crowd and spotted Max's group. Not far away, he saw Lirael as well—calm, poised, but with a subtle tension between her and the men beside her.
Max's eyes narrowed as he followed he looked at his party.
'Tsk… I didn't actually think there'd be a real goblin king here… and now I'm losing these chicks too. Damn it. Finding another party that lets me do whatever I want won't be easy. Didn't even get the chance to taste them… what a waste.'
Alex's thoughts were darker still.
'Only if that bastard hadn't shown up back then… this is all because of him. What was his name again? Ethan, right? Don't let me catch you alone… or I'll tear you apart. Lirael… oh, my beautiful Lirael…'
Lirael noticed Ethan's battered appearance but saw the truth in his steady stance. 'He looks worn… but he's fine. That's good.'
Max and Alex had already noticed her glance toward Ethan. Their gazes followed and settled on his battered armor, their expressions twisting into mockery.
Alex's voice cut through the morning murmur like a blade.
"Heh… so this is the 'hero' everyone keeps talking about? Looks like you barely made it through in one piece. Must've been cozy hiding behind the real fighters."
Max's laugh was low and mean. "Yeah… some people have a knack for showing up at the end and looking important. Shame that doesn't win battles."
Alex leaned forward slightly, making sure others could hear. "Hope that sightseeing tour of the raid was worth it, Goblin slayer. The frontlines aren't for everyone, after all."