Dawn broke cold and gray. Mira didn't knock this time—she kicked the door open, already armored, practice sword slung over her shoulder like it weighed nothing.
"On your feet, boy. We're not drilling today. We're hunting. Same three goblins? No. Reports came in overnight—pack of eight at the old mill ruins. They've got a shaman now. Crude fire magic. You're coming. You're fighting. You fail again, we drag your corpse back. Clear?"
I scrambled up. Heart already slamming. "Clear."
She tossed me real steel this time—not the wooden toy. A short, single-edged blade, barely a longsword, balanced for quick swings. The hilt was wrapped in worn leather; the edge looked sharp enough to shave with. No fancy runes. Just honest killing steel.
"Keep it sharp. Keep it moving. Don't freeze."
We ran to the ruins—three miles of dirt road turning to overgrown path. My boots pounded. Lungs burned. Mira didn't slow. I didn't ask her to.
The mill came into view: crumbling stone walls, collapsed roof timbers, waterwheel long rotted. Smoke curled from inside. Goblins chattered—high, nasty voices. Eight, like she said. Small, wiry, green-skinned, armed with spears, clubs, and one hunched shaman waving a gnarled staff topped with a glowing red crystal.
Mira crouched behind a fallen log. I dropped beside her, trying to control my breathing.
"Plan," she whispered. "I take the front four. You flank right, hit the back line. Shaman first if you can reach him. Don't let him cast. Interrupt or die."
I nodded. Grip tight on the sword. Palms slick.
She exploded forward.
Mira moved like a storm. Plate clanked once—then silent as she closed. First goblin turned too late. Her longsword arced down, cleaved shoulder to hip in a wet crunch. Green blood sprayed. It dropped without a sound.
Second goblin screeched, thrust a spear. Mira sidestepped, grabbed the shaft, yanked the creature forward, drove her pommel into its throat. Crack. It gurgled and fell.
The pack reacted. Four rushed her. Clubs swung. Spears jabbed.
I sprinted right, circling through tall grass. Legs pumped. Sword low. Heart in my throat.
The shaman spotted me first. Red eyes narrowed. Staff raised. Crystal flared crimson.
I didn't think. Just charged.
Firebolt screamed past my ear—singed hair, heat like an oven door. I ducked behind a broken wall, rolled, came up swinging.
Two regular goblins blocked my path—spears leveled.
I parried the first thrust—steel rang on wood. The force jarred my arms to the bone. Second spear came low, aiming for my gut. I twisted, took it on the hip—shallow slice, burning line across skin. Blood soaked my tunic instantly.
No time to feel it.
I lunged. Blade caught the first goblin under the ribs. Pushed. Felt the resistance—then give. Hot blood gushed over my hand. It shrieked, dropped.
Second goblin swung a club. I blocked overhead—impact rattled my teeth. Pushed back hard. It stumbled. I stepped in, slashed across its throat. Spray. It collapsed clutching the wound.
Shaman howled. Another firebolt. This one clipped my shoulder—fabric charred, skin blistered. Pain flared white-hot.
I roared—more fear than courage—and charged straight at him.
He raised the staff again. Crystal pulsed brighter.
I threw myself forward in a desperate slide. Dirt scraped my knees. Sword flashed up.
The blade bit into the staff just below the crystal. Wood splintered. Magic backlashed—red energy exploded outward in a shockwave.
I flew back, slammed into a stone pillar. Air punched out of my lungs. Vision swam.
The shaman staggered, clutching the broken staff. No more fire.
Behind me Mira finished her four—last one bisected at the waist, twitching.
She sprinted toward the shaman.
I forced myself up. Legs shaking. Blood dripping from hip and shoulder. Sword still in hand—knuckles white.
The shaman turned, drew a jagged dagger from its belt.
I moved before I could think.
Closed the gap in three strides. He slashed. I parried—clumsy, but it worked. Blade screeched on blade.
He stabbed low. I jumped back—too slow. Tip grazed my thigh. Fresh cut.
I countered—overhead chop. He blocked with the broken staff. Wood cracked again.
Mira arrived like judgment.
Her sword took the shaman's arm at the elbow. Dagger clattered away. It screamed.
I didn't hesitate.
Drove my blade straight through its chest. Felt ribs give. Heart punctured. Hot blood poured over my fists.
It slumped. Dead.
Silence except for our breathing.
Mira looked at me—blood-streaked face, no smile.
"You didn't freeze."
I dropped to one knee. Sword planted in the dirt to hold me up. Chest heaving. Everything hurt.
"Got… lucky."
"No." She grabbed my collar, hauled me to my feet. "You moved. You bled. You killed. That's not luck. That's spine."
She tore a strip from a dead goblin's ragged cloak, pressed it to my hip wound. Rough. Efficient.
"Walk. Temple healers will fix the rest."
We limped back. I left a trail of red drops. Mira carried both swords—mine and hers—over one shoulder.
Halfway she spoke again.
"System ping?"
I blinked through sweat. The blue window had appeared sometime during the fight.
[Combat Encounter Complete – Goblin Pack (8)][Enemies Defeated: 5 (Personal Contribution)][EXP Gained: 180][Level Up! Level 1 → Level 2][Strength +1.2 | Endurance +1.5 | Agility +0.9 | Vitality +0.7][New Passive: Minor Pain Tolerance (reduces pain penalty by 10%)][Weakness Mitigated: Panic Response – Cooldown reduced after failure][Quest Milestone: First Blood Earned – Reward Pending at Guild]
I stared at the numbers. Small. But real.
Mira noticed my expression.
"Gained something?"
"Yeah. Level 2."
She grunted. "Good. Means you're not completely useless anymore."
We reached the temple gates as the sun climbed higher.
Attendants rushed out. Sylvara appeared—eyes widening at the blood.
"Bring him inside. Now."
Mira handed me off like a sack of grain.
"Patch him up. He's got more hunts tomorrow."
She walked away without another word.
I collapsed onto a healer's cot. Sylvara's cool hands pressed glowing palms to my wounds. Green light seeped in. Pain dulled to a distant throb.
I closed my eyes.
No mommy whispers today. No soft curves. Just steel in my hand, blood on my skin, and the faint glow of a level-up window.
I'd failed before.
I'd bled today.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow I'd train harder.
Because next time the pack might be bigger.
And I refused to be the weak link for my mommies anymore.
To be continued…