The sun was already beginning its descent, staining the forest in streaks of amber and gold by the time the fighting truly stopped. The once-roaring bonfire in the center of the goblin outpost had been reduced to crackling embers, the air thick with the scent of burnt wood, iron, and blood.
James sat on a collapsed hut beam, leaning his staff across his knees. Every muscle ached as if he'd been dragged through the fight twice. The Mana Shield shimmered faintly around him before fading away completely—spent, just like him. He'd taken more hits than he liked to admit, and his mana reserves were running on fumes.
Beside him, Ilyanna was quietly checking the fletching on her arrows. Her clothes were torn at the sleeve, a thin line of dried blood on her forearm, but her movements were steady. She had that same calm focus she always carried, though now there was a faint curve to her lips.
"Leveled up?" she asked without looking up.
James allowed himself a tired smile. "Yeah. Level seven now. You?"
"Six," she replied. "Horned rabbits don't exactly give the same experience as goblins."
The banter, light as it was, felt like a small victory. They'd survived, grown stronger—two steps forward in a world that could knock you back ten without warning.
Across the clearing, Dannevie was carefully bandaging Argo's side. The dwarf winced but didn't complain, instead glancing toward Chester, who was lounging against the remains of the palisade like a man fresh from a stroll rather than a bloodbath.
"You're lucky you're still in one piece," Dannevie muttered, tying the last knot with more force than necessary. "If that chieftain's swing had been an inch higher—"
"It wasn't," Chester cut in smoothly. "Because I know what I'm doing."
Ilyanna's eyes narrowed. "You 'knowing what you're doing' nearly got the entire group swarmed before we were ready."
Chester shrugged. "We won, didn't we?"
"That's not the point," James said, his voice sharper than usual. "You rushed in without warning. We're supposed to be a team, not a suicide squad."
The swordsman's smirk deepened. "Maybe if the rest of you moved faster, you wouldn't be playing catch-up."
Argo chuckled under his breath. "You've gotta admit, though, it was fun."
"Fun?" Ilyanna's tone was ice. "You call it fun to risk everyone's life for your ego?"
The air between them thickened. Even Dannevie stopped what he was doing to glance between the two sides, his usual calm replaced with a wary frown.
James exhaled slowly, trying to keep his temper in check. He'd seen arguments like this before—too much blood spilled, too much pride, and suddenly swords could turn on allies. "Look," he said, "we can point fingers later. Right now, we need to decide our next move."
Dannevie nodded in agreement. "We should at least sweep the camp. See if the goblins left anything—supplies, information, maybe something to explain why they were gathering here in such numbers."
"I'll help," James said, standing despite the soreness in his legs.
"I'll go too," Ilyanna added.
Chester snorted but didn't follow, content to let the others dig through the wreckage while he cleaned his blade. Argo stayed seated, muttering something about "letting the bookworms play scavenger."
The search turned up the usual: rusted weapons, tattered leather armor, a few crude trinkets made of bone and beads. But toward the back of the largest hut—the one that had belonged to the chieftain—James found something different. A worn parchment, its edges frayed and its surface covered in crude goblin scrawl and half-finished drawings.
"Ilyanna," he called, handing it to her.
She studied it carefully, tracing a finger over the markings. "It's not just a list of supplies… this is a map."
James leaned in. "Of the forest?"
"And beyond," she confirmed, pointing to a series of rough symbols further south. "This isn't just an outpost—they're marking other camps. This… this could be a network."
The weight of that thought settled over James like fresh snow. If the goblins had more camps like this, the infestation might be worse than the town head realized.
By the time they regrouped, the argument between Chester and Ilyanna had cooled to a low simmer—silent glares, pointed silences, but no more outright jabs. Still, the air was far from friendly.
"We found this," Ilyanna said, holding up the parchment for Dannevie to see.
The wind mage's brow furrowed. "That's… not good. If this is accurate, there's a lot more work to do before Iguro can breathe easy."
"Then we'll do it," Chester said flatly, as though there were no question.
James watched him for a moment, trying to read whether that confidence came from actual courage or just another need to prove himself. He wasn't sure which answer would worry him more.
For now, they had survived, they had grown, and they had something to bring back to the Silver Phantom Guild.
But James couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning—and the next fight might not leave them all standing.