Selvara returned to the barracks with no wasted steps. Dust clung to her boots, and the faint smell of smoke from goblin fires lingered in her hair. She pushed the heavy doors open, and the gathered mercenaries turned to look. The hall buzzed with voices, dice clattering against wood, steel ringing faintly in the armory beyond but all of it dimmed when she stepped inside.
Roderick was at the long table near the back, hunched over a map, tankard untouched beside him. His scarred face lifted the moment he saw her.
"Well?" His voice was sharp, edged with something too close to hope.
Selvara crossed the room, silver eyes steady. "It is worse than you fear."
Roderick straightened. "Report."
"There is no mere swarm," she said. "The cave to the east has opened into a cavern large enough to house thousands. They are not scattered, nor wild. They are building. Structures. Fires. A nest the size of a village." She paused. "Perhaps larger beneath. I did not see its end."
The color drained from Roderick's face. For a man who had faced wars, blades, and worse, it was a rare crack in his armor. His hand tightened on the map, crumpling the parchment.
"Thousands…" he muttered, voice low. "By the gods." He shoved his chair back and barked for quill and parchment. A scribe rushed forward. Roderick began scribbling, words fast and jagged.
"Messenger!" he roared, not looking up. "To the kingdom of Elarion. Ride until your horse dies if you must, this goes straight to the throne." He shoved the letter into the runner's hands, sealing it with wax so hot it scorched the boy's palm. "Go!"
The messenger bolted, boots hammering stone, the door slamming shut behind him.
Roderick exhaled hard, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes cut back to Selvara. "It really is a fucking realm break. They've hidden it deep underground. Which means…" His fist hit the table with a dull thud. "There are more. There are always more."
The mercenaries in the hall had gone silent, all ears on him now. Roderick turned, his voice booming like a war horn.
"Gather every villager who can lift steel or string a bow! Farmers, woodsmen, herders, it doesn't matter. We drill them. From this day, every hand becomes a weapon. If the horde breaches the surface, we'll need every soul ready."
A murmur rose, grim and fearful. Men checked their blades. Some muttered prayers. Selvara stood unmoving, her gaze calm, though inside she weighed the cost of what she had seen. Thousands. More waiting beneath. A tide rising too fast.
---
That night, Selvara returned to the inn. Loid was waiting, seated at the small table in their room, one hand holding his forehead, the other clutching his pouch of coins. He looked up as the door creaked open.
"There's a lot more, isn't there?" His voice was flat, almost as if he already knew.
Selvara removed her gloves, setting them on the table. "Yes. Thousands in the cavern. And more beneath, I suspect."
Loid leaned back, staring at the ceiling. A dry laugh slipped from him, though there was no humor in it. "Figures. Can't just be a handful. No, it has to be an army."
He rubbed at his face, fingers pressing into his eyes. "I really need to become stronger. Right now I'm just… sitting here, waiting while you do all the bleeding." He glanced at her, faint bitterness edging his tone. "The system better give me something new soon. Features, skills, anything. Otherwise, I'm dead weight."
Selvara studied him quietly. "You are not useless," she said finally.
Loid gave a faint, tired smile. "You're kind. Or lying. Either way, thanks."
Neither spoke for a while after that. The silence stretched, filled only by the muffled sounds of the inn below. At last, Loid pushed away from the table and dropped onto the bed.
"Get some sleep," he muttered. "Tomorrow, you'll need it."
Selvara sat at the edge of the bed beside him, still armored, still watchful. When Loid's breathing steadied, she allowed her eyes to close. The night passed without dreams.
---
Morning came pale and cold. Selvara rose before dawn, tightening her gear. The village was restless outside, the clang of makeshift weapons, shouts of men being drilled in the square, the crack of wood as spears splintered during training. She ignored it all and made for the forest.
The cave waited.
This time, the air felt different. Heavier. The birds were gone. The earth seemed to hum faintly, as though something vast and unseen shifted below.
She slowed as she neared the rent in the rock. Figures moved ahead, five shapes. Goblins. Four ordinary, their limbs crooked, their yellow eyes gleaming with hunger. And with them, taller, broader, its skin darker and scarred: a warrior goblin. Its crude armor of bone and iron plates clinked with each step. It carried a jagged blade longer than its arm.
Selvara's hand tightened on her twin swords. Her breath was steady. Her body leaned forward.
Then she moved.
---
She burst from the treeline, Momentum Shift igniting in her stride. Each step slammed into the earth, energy building, storing, then exploding into the next. In the goblins' eyes she was a blur, silver hair flashing like a streak of light.
The first goblin barely raised its rusted spear before her blade opened its throat. Blood sprayed hot against the leaves. She spun, momentum carrying her, her second sword driving clean through the chest of the next. It gasped once, a wet sound, before crumpling.
The other two ordinary goblins shrieked, scrambling. One lunged low, the other high. Selvara dropped, her speed snapping her into a crouch, one blade cleaving through a leg, the other ripping through ribs. They fell screaming, cut short as she ended them with clean thrusts.
Four down.
The warrior roared.
Its blade came down with brutal force, splitting bark as it struck where she had been. Selvara was already aside, dust and woodchips exploding where she had moved. She darted in, blades flashing, scoring lines across its torso. But the goblin was no common runt. Its endurance held. It swung again, wide and heavy, forcing her to twist back.
Steel kissed steel as she caught its strike on one sword, sparks flying. The weight drove her down to one knee, her arm trembling. The beast snarled, pressing harder.
Her silver eyes narrowed. Then she released Momentum Shift.
All the energy she had stored surged at once. She exploded upward, the force propelling her body past the goblin's guard. Her second blade tore across its throat, deep and decisive.
The warrior staggered, choking, blood spilling in thick streams. It swung wildly, a death thrash but she was already behind it, swords crossing in a final strike that split its spine. It collapsed with a crash that shook the undergrowth.
Silence followed. Selvara stood over the corpses, blades dripping red, her chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. Her new armor was streaked but unbroken. Her eyes gleamed cold.
Then, footsteps.
She stilled, slipping behind the cover of a fallen tree. From the cave mouth, more goblins poured forth. Dozens. Perhaps about a hundred deeper behind them. Their chatter filled the air, a hungry tide spilling outward.
Selvara crouched, hidden, every sense sharpened. She watched. She waited.
The horde was moving.