The morning sun streamed through the narrow window of the inn, golden light pooling across the creaky wooden floorboards. Loid sat hunched on the edge of the bed, still in his wrinkled shirt from last night, staring at the translucent blue panel floating before his eyes.
[ Reputation Coins: 0.10 ]
[ Reputation Points: 3 ]
[ Units Owned: 1 ]
[ System Level: 1 ]
He rubbed his temples, letting out a heavy breath. "This is… painfully slow."
The numbers mocked him. A tenth of a coin after days of work. Three points. One mercenary. System Level one. For all the blood Selvara had spilled, for all the sweat on her brow, their progress crawled forward like a dying snail.
Loid leaned back, palms pressing into the mattress. "So this is how it's gonna be, huh? Grind city."
His stomach growled faintly, reminding him of the stale bread he'd eaten last night. He glanced around the bare room, the cracked table, the single chair, the chipped mug on the sill. Not much had changed. Except him. He had a mercenary, a system, and a whisper of purpose.
But that purpose wasn't paying for meals.
"If only there was an adventurer guild here," Loid muttered. "You know, jobs, quests, bounties, all that RPG stuff." He swiped at the panel. "But no, nothing. Just me stuck in Thornfield with ten cents to my name."
He ruffled his hair, sighing. "Guess I'll have to look around myself. There's gotta be something I can do. Odd jobs, hauling wood, whatever keeps us afloat."
The bed creaked as he rose, stretching the stiffness out of his limbs. Selvara had left at dawn for patrol, silent as always, slipping into the forest without even the sound of a closing door. The absence of her presence sat oddly heavy in the room.
Loid shook himself. "Alright. Let's move."
---
The village stirred to life as he stepped outside. Smoke rose from chimneys, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. Merchants unfurled cloths from their stalls, children darted between houses with laughter on their lips, and guards patrolled the dirt streets in pairs.
Loid made his way through, nodding politely when eyes lingered on him. Most villagers barely noticed him, which suited him fine. He was just another outsider, another drifter who hadn't yet proven his worth.
He asked after work where he could. The blacksmith shook his head, already had an apprentice. The baker offered him a loaf instead of coin. The stablemaster said he might need someone to muck stalls later, but not today.
Each rejection pressed down heavier.
By midday, Loid found himself sitting on the stone steps of the library, flipping a coin between his fingers. One of Selvara's hard-earned coins, warm from his palm.
Inside, the library was quiet, rows of weathered tomes stacked in neat columns. Loid had spent an hour combing through them, hunting for any scrap of knowledge that might help him. The world, as far as he understood, was called Veyra. A vast planet, broken into countless continents.
Crossing seas was near impossible. He'd read about leviathans larger than fortresses, serpents that breathed fire over the waves, storms conjured by magic older than nations. Even with the strongest mages and vessels, the chance of survival was slim.
"Yeah," Loid muttered, flicking the coin upward. "This world doesn't screw around."
The coin landed in his palm with a soft clink.
And somewhere far to the east, blood already stained the ground.
---
Selvara moved like a shadow between the trees, her silver eyes scanning every branch, every shift of foliage. Her patrol orders had been simple: survey the far east. Reports of goblin activity had trickled in, and while most guards treated them as little more than pests, she took the task seriously.
Her instincts proved right.
Three goblins crept through the undergrowth, their crooked forms bent low, weapons clutched in clawed hands. They whispered in guttural tones, eyes glinting greedily as they slinked toward the village.
Selvara's hand rested on her hilt.
She stepped silently from the brush, silver eyes narrowing. The goblins froze, their heads snapping toward her, yellow teeth bared.
The warrior snarled, hefting a chipped axe.
Selvara moved.
Her body blurred, vanishing from sight. By the time the first goblin blinked, its throat was open, blood spraying hot against the leaves.
The second shrieked, swinging its jagged dagger wildly. Selvara danced around it, speed a cruel taunt. She flickered behind, blade flashing, severing tendon and spine in a single brutal motion.
The warrior roared, charging with reckless strength. His axe came down like a hammer, splitting the soil where she had stood.
Selvara twisted sideways, eyes sharp. Her blade darted in, stabbing under his arm. The warrior howled, swinging again. She ducked low, slashing across his hamstring. He staggered, dropping to one knee.
Her sword plunged through his chest, steel sliding between ribs. His roar cut short.
Selvara yanked her blade free, crimson dripping. She exhaled once, calm and measured, then crouched over their corpses. The belongings were meager: rusted weapons, scraps of leather, a pouch with a single copper coin.
Not enough.
But their tracks told the real story.
Boots and clawed feet alike pressed deep into the mud, leading away from the forest's edge. Selvara followed.
The further she went, the heavier her unease grew. More prints. More blood. The stench of rot clung to the air.
Five more goblins appeared in her path, along with a larger warrior clad in mismatched armor.
The fight was swift, brutal.
Two goblins lunged together, crude blades raised. Selvara blurred between them, her sword carving shallow lines across their throats. They fell choking, clawing at the dirt.
Another hurled a spear, whistling through the air. She ducked, the shaft grazing her cheek, then darted forward, plunging her sword through his stomach.
The warrior goblin struck next, swinging a heavy iron mace. The blow smashed into a tree, splintering bark as she rolled clear. His strength was terrifying, each strike shook the ground.
Selvara struck back, slashing across his arm. The cut barely broke skin. His armor soaked the blow.
He swung again, mace crushing the earth where she landed moments before. Her heart pounded. Her agility was her only salvation.
She sprinted in circles, cutting again and again, nicking joints, hamstrings, throat. Each strike chipped away at him until blood soaked his leather straps.
Finally, she darted close, blade plunging deep into the side of his neck. His roar gurgled into silence. He crashed to the ground, twitching before stillness took him.
Selvara stood panting, her tunic torn, crimson staining her gloves. For the first time in years, unease prickled beneath her skin.
This wasn't random. These goblins weren't wandering strays. They were organized.
She pressed forward, following the trail.
Hours passed before she found it.
A cave mouth yawning in the hillside, black as night. Torches burned within, casting long shadows. Shapes moved inside, dozens of goblins, maybe more. Some bore armor. Some carried weapons forged, not scavenged. A few stood taller, sharper-eyed.
An entire den. An army waiting in the dark.
Selvara's eyes narrowed. Thornfield was in danger.
She turned, vanishing into the forest, her blade still slick with crimson.