Chapter 35 – Stand Above the Rest
A guttural goblin screech penetrated the cavern, echoing back off dripping walls. Ethan's head whipped in its direction. Lirael was already moving forward, bow strung, eyes fixed on the source.
Over rough stone until the tunnel opened into a vast open cavern.
At the center, a group of adventurers—bloodied and desperate—closed ranks into a close defensive circle around some wounded ones. A giant B-rank adventurer stood at the vanguard, spear glinting as he fought to hold the tide at bay. But the tide was merciless—ogres with matted fur and crude armor crashed against their line, goblins and hobgoblins peeling in from the sides with weapons smothered in filth.
The defenders were faltering.
Ethan didn't have to say anything. One look in Lirael's direction was sufficient.
He burst forward, slashing through the horde like a hot knife through a foam. The first ogre never even knew he was there before its head came off from its shoulders. The second gave him more trouble, slowing Ethan only long enough to slip behind its club and strike its neck before continuing on.
Goblins? Hobgoblins? They died in one swift blow apiece, not worth taking the time to slow down for.
Over the din of the impact, Lirael's arrows trilled. She wasn't shooting for kills—she was shooting for holes. An arrow blasted through an ogre's eye socket, staggering it long enough for Ethan to chop its spine out. Another buried itself deep within a hobgoblin's leg, causing it to drop its shield, its chest suddenly laid open to Ethan's sword.
Eyes. Shoulders. Thighs. Feet. Every shot was deliberate, precise, and perfectly timed.
Their movements flowed like a single rhythm—her confidence steady, his momentum unstoppable. Blood splattered the stone floor in crimson arcs, and the horde began to falter.
The B-rank adventurer found himself staring, momentarily forgetting to breathe.
Their coordination… it's like they've fought together for years. This is no ordinary team. This… is a miracle.
> Ding!
[System Quest] – Rise Above the Rest
Goal: Be the most prominent contributor to the raid.
Progress: 99%
Another alert flickered.
> Level Up!
Level 9 (12 / 78,235)
+4 Unassigned Stat Points
Total Unassigned Stat Points: 12
Ethan let out a slow breath, hardly registering the blood oozing from his sword.
Fhew… just a few more levels till I receive my class… Wonder what it will be.
The last goblin's body hit the ground with a dull thud, its dagger clattering away. The only sounds now were the ragged breaths of the survivors and the faint crackle of a torch guttering on the stone.
The B-rank adventurer approached, wiping ogre blood from his spear. Up close, he was broad-shouldered, with the kind of steady gaze that came from years of survival.
"You two," he said, voice low but firm, "we'd have lost half our number if you hadn't stepped in. My thanks."
Ethan nodded once, sheathing his blade. "You'd have done the same."
A faint smirk crossed the man's face. "Maybe. But there's no denying you stole the show out there." He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only they could hear. "I'm going to push for you to be promoted straight to C-rank along with wolf. And not just me—I will urge every B-rank here to back you. You've got the strength to make it stick."
Ethan blinked, caught off guard for a moment before a slow grin formed. "That… means a lot. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Just keep making results like that." With a final nod, the man turned away, moving toward the wounded to begin triage.
Ethan exhaled and glanced at Lirael. "Come on. Let's see what we can salvage."
They moved together through the battlefield, the scent of iron thick in the air, boots squelching in patches of darkening blood. Ethan pried a jagged crystal from an ogre's chest cavity, wiping it clean before slipping it into his pouch. Lirael bent to collect a goblin's crude amulet, her fingers brushing over the faintly warm metal.
When their pouches were filled and there was nothing left worth taking, they returned to the larger group and sank down beside the flickering firelight. The heat felt almost luxurious after the damp chill of the cavern.
They settled next to the fire side by side, the closeness not bothering them, the crackling heat soothing the bitter cold that clung to the cavern's atmosphere. Beyond them, the bigger cohort of adventurers ministered to wounds, repaired equipment, and spoke in hushed tones, but here, in their tiny niche, the world seemed more still.
Ethan rested his forearms on his knees, looking at her sideways. "Your shots back there…" His voice had that low growl he employed when he was being totally honest. "They weren't just good—they were precise. You opened up opportunities for me that I didn't even need to think about. Without you, I'd still be knee deep battling those bastards"
Lirael blinked, a bit stunned. "I just. did what I could."
"No," Ethan said resolutely, turning his head completely to meet her eyes. "You didn't just 'do what you could.' You made every shot count. You made it easy for me to fight like I did."
The firelight reflected in her eyes, and they appeared almost molten. "You… really think so?" Her voice was laced with uncertainty, as if she didn't want to know the answer but couldn't help herself from asking.
"I don't give compliments for nothing," he replied, leaning closer. "If I tell you you were amazing out there, it's because you were."
She breathed quietly, a half-relief, half-warmer sound. "Then… thank you. I'll remember that."
Ethan smiled half-heartedly. "Good. Just don't let it go to your head."
She smiled softly, the sort of smile that seemed unguarded, and for an instant, she didn't avert her gaze. The dance of the flames cast gentle shadows against her cheekbones, and Ethan saw how her lips curled when she smiled—not a full one, but one sufficient to suggest something unsaid.
For Lirael, approval had always been something afar—infrequent, transient, usually linked to another person's motives. But here, sitting next to the man whose power she admired more than she'd like to think, she experienced it differently. It was not merely acknowledgment—it was faith.
And perhaps… perhaps she craved more of that.
She finally looked back at the fire, but warmth she felt had nothing to do with the flames.
The soft burble of fire was interrupted by a cutting, crystalline zing.
The B-ranked spearman—still hunched over an injured man—slammed to a halt in the middle of wrapping. His hand flashed to his belt pouch, extracting a fistful of communication crystal pulsing with a soft, steady blue.
He held it near, and the voice that flooded out was strained with tension.
"We've got it—the Goblin King. It's. strong. Too strong. Currently, only two of us B-ranks are present. The rest are on their way. I've indicated where I am on the crystal—follow the crystal and come as fast as you can—"
The words trailed off on a garbled gasp—accompanied by a raw, rasping scream that sliced cleanly through the cavern. Then silence.
The brow of the spearman furrowed, his hold on the crystal tightening.
"Was… was that a scream?" one of the archers asked, her voice unsteady.
"Sounded like someone dying," growled a shieldbearer, his voice grim.
A younger explorer winced, holding onto bandages wrapped around his belly. "Great. Naturally they find the damn King now, when half of us are held together with spit and prayers."
Next to him, a weathered axeman chuckled, tracing a thumb along the edge of his blade. "Hah. Sounds like we're gonna have a real fight after all. Figured this raid was gonna be ogres and trash mobs only."
Another warrior cracked his neck, the crack loud. "Goblin King, oh yeah? Let's see if the bastard is as bad as everybody says he is."
The spearman leapt to his feet, voice booming like a warhorn. "Enough talk! We move in one minute. The Goblin King has been found, and the B-ranks who are on the scene are under attack. Get ready, now!"
The air shifted instantly. Boots thudded against stone. Scabbards snapped shut. Armor straps tightened.
Ethan stood up easily, testing the edge on his longsword, while Lirael ran her hand over the fletching of her arrows. The warmth they had shared by the fire before was now replaced with a quiet, shared attention—preparing themselves for whatever lay beyond the next passage.
This was more than just another battle. This was hunting the King.
As the group rushed to form up, Ethan walked over to Lirael, his voice softer, for her ears alone.
"You ready? Gears in place? Arrows where they need to be?" His gaze skipped over her bowstring, her quiver, the positioning of her stance—checking without appearing to.
Lirael nodded tightly. "Ready."
"Good," he said, a thin smile on the corner of his mouth. "Because once we're finished burying that hulking green bastard. we're going to be rich."
Her eyebrows rose. "Rich?"
"Consider it—Goblin King bounty, rare drops, the mana crystals, the kill counts. I'm talking. new armor, improved gear, maybe even a custom made weapon."
That drew a small laugh from her—light, but real. "You're already spending money we don't have."
"Hey," he said with pretended seriousness, "you've got to think ahead if you're going to be a successful adventurer."
The corners of her lips twitched again, and for a moment, the impending danger seemed just a little less oppressive.