CHAPTER 6: Tunnels and Half-Truths
We moved deeper into the cave.
The idiot, whose name, I learnt was Rordan, walked a few paces behind me, his footsteps loud and uncertain. Every rock he stepped on might as well have announced us with a drumbeat. I'd have told him to quiet down, but I didn't need him getting any more self-righteous than he already was.
He'd insisted on taking the dead guard's busted shield and one of the bronze swords I'd discarded. He held them like a kid playing knight, all wide stances and nervous hands.
At least he didn't scream at the first sign of blood.
The tunnels here were tighter, narrower. The walls pulsed with faint warmth, like the deeper we went, the closer we were getting to something that didn't want to be found. The smell was worse, sweat, piss, decay. Goblins had made this place their home, and they weren't shy about the mess.
We passed the remnants of a supply cache, rusted pots, half-eaten bones, a dead rat skewered on a stick. Goblin haute cuisine. I kept my eyes forward, blade ready, senses tuned.
Behind me, Rordan finally spoke.
"So… you're not from around here."
No shit.
I said nothing.
"I mean," he went on, trying to sound casual, "you don't exactly dress like a local. And you're not part of any guild I've heard of."
Still silent.
"I'm from the capital, if it wasn't obvious. Varnemont. My father's…"
"High magistrate," I muttered.
"Yes! Exactly! I-I was traveling with a caravan to the border territories. Escort duty, mostly political. Didn't think it'd be dangerous. But then... goblins. Ambush."
He paused, voice tightening a little. "Killed everyone but me. Probably because I screamed the loudest."
No shame in it, I guess. Screaming kept him alive.
I glanced back briefly. "And then they dragged you down here?"
He nodded. "They've kept me in that cage for days. Fed me slop. Tried talking to me well, shouting at me. I think they were trying to figure out what I was worth. I kept saying my father would pay anything, but I don't think they understood a damn word."
"They didn't," I said.
He squinted. "How do you know?"
"Because you're still alive."
That shut him up for a bit.
We turned another corner. The tunnel curved sharply, then sloped downward. I stepped lightly, checking for loose stones, listening for echoes that didn't belong.
Nothing yet.
"So what about you?" he asked after a while. "How'd you end up here?"
I didn't stop walking. "Wrong place. Wrong time."
"That's it?"
"Yep."
"You're not with a guild? Or a faction?"
"No."
"No crest, no colors, no…"
"Look," I said, stopping long enough to turn and face him. "I don't owe you a biography, alright? You want to follow me, that's fine. But this isn't a road trip, and I'm not here to make friends."
He raised his hands, palms out. "Alright, alright. Just making conversation."
I turned and kept moving.
In truth, I didn't know what I was yet. Adventurer? Fugitive? Lost soul?
The only thing I knew for sure was that this place didn't pull punches, and I wasn't about to give anyone a head start on figuring out what made me tick. Not a goblin. Not a human. Not even this soft-handed noble with his dirt-streaked boots and trembling grip.
My secrets were mine. For now.
We walked in silence for a bit after that. Only the soft shuffle of our boots and the distant drip-drip of moisture from the stone ceiling broke the stillness.
Eventually, the air changed. Thicker. Warmer.
I raised a hand.
Rordan froze behind me.
There was something ahead.
Faint light. Not firelight, torchlight. Too clean. Too steady.
Another chamber.
And maybe… something more.
I gripped my sword tighter.
Because whatever was waiting up ahead?
I could feel it watching.
The tunnel opened up into a wider chamber, and before either of us stepped through, I raised a hand again. Something was off.
The smell hit me first.
Worse than anything before. It wasn't just sweat and rot anymore. It was musk. Piss. Blood. Something feral. Something human underneath it all.
I crouched low near the edge of the opening, keeping to the shadows. Rordan leaned beside me, face already contorted in a grimace. The torchlight in the chamber beyond flickered off the walls but it wasn't firelight. It was coming from above. Crystals embedded in the ceiling, faintly glowing, casting a dull, sickly yellow hue over everything.
And then we saw it.
I didn't speak.
Neither did he.
It was some kind of den, an orgy pit. A grotesque mockery of civilization twisted by these creatures' perverse biology. Straw beds. Crude furs. Broken wood furniture. A makeshift altar, covered in filth. Chains. Shackles.
And in the center of it all, at least a dozen goblins, grunting, growling, panting like beasts as they used women.
Human. Elven. Maybe beastkin. I couldn't tell. Their bodies were bruised, smeared with blood and filth, their wrists and ankles bound in rough iron restraints. Some whimpered. Others stared blankly. Empty. Broken.
I felt my jaw clench. My fingers gripped the sword so tightly my knuckles ached.
Rordan, for once, didn't have his usual whine.
He leaned closer, voice a shaken whisper.
"There… there are no female goblins."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"It's… it's common knowledge," he said, swallowing hard. "Goblins don't reproduce the way humans or elves do. There's only ever male-borns. They breed through… through capture. Use women. Anyone they can get. Human, elven, demi-human... Doesn't matter to them."
He looked like he was going to be sick.
"This is how they grow their numbers."
I stared into the chamber for a long, silent moment.
The grunts and squelches. The chains rattling. The absolute, utter absence of humanity.
I didn't speak. Didn't breathe.
I just watched.
Because if I let myself feel it all right now, I'd charge in and start swinging. And I wasn't ready for that fight. Not yet.
But I would be.
Because after what I'd just seen… there was no walking away.
Not for me.
Not anymore.
We ducked back from the edge of the chamber, pressing ourselves against the cold stone wall. The sick sounds still echoed behind us guttural goblin laughter, the snap of leather restraints, and the low, helpless moans of women being brutalized.
I didn't look at Rordan. I kept my eyes down the corridor, heart pounding, breath controlled, sword steady.
"We're not leaving them," I said flatly.
"I wasn't going to suggest it," he replied, surprisingly firm.
I nodded once.
We crouched in silence for a few seconds more before I finally asked, "Can you do anything? Magic-wise."
He blinked. "Magic?"
"Yeah. I've seen goblins throw fireballs like it's a party trick. I figure if they can, you can. You're supposed to be the noble."
He gave a soft, bitter laugh. "My father tried. Tutors. Academies. But I never had the mana for it."
I turned to look at him.
"No mana?"
"Barely any. Every person has some. But mine? Pathetic. Enough to light a few candles. Maybe. On a good day. With a lot of praying."
"So you're telling me," I said slowly, "that I just dragged your ass out of a goblin cage and you can't even cast a light spell?"
He raised his hands in defense. "I can understand magic. I know how it works. I studied theory. I just can't cast worth shit."
I stared at him.
"Then explain."
He exhaled through his nose, keeping his voice low. "Fine. Elemental magic… the big stuff, fire, ice, wind, that's all about rune structure and mana flow. You need a casting circle, a mental trigger, and enough energy to fuel the spell. No chanting necessary unless you're old-school, but time is the key issue."
"How much time?"
"For a low-tier fire spell? With no prep?"
He looked away.
"Forty seconds. Maybe."
I blinked at him. "Forty seconds? You want me to hold off a dozen goblins and whatever mutated STD-riddled chief commands that cesspool…. for forty seconds?"
"I'm just being honest," he said, voice tight. "Magic isn't like swinging a sword. It's not instant unless you're a battle mage. I'm not. I'm a noble's failure of a son who flunked out of four spell academies and took up swordplay because it was easier to suck at."
He paused, then added, "I told you not to expect much."
I sighed and rubbed my temple with one blood-smeared knuckle.
"Well," I muttered, "at least you know your limits."
"Do you?" he shot back, surprising me.
I turned my head slowly to him.
He held my gaze, but there was no challenge in it. Just weariness. The kind of tired that came from realizing you might not live through the next hour, and still having to go forward anyway.
I didn't answer.
Instead, I leaned my head back against the stone and exhaled.
We were two men, one armored in salvaged goblin steel and old grudges, the other in torn noble silks and self-loathing, squatting outside the most twisted hellpit I'd ever seen.
And we were planning a war.
A small one, sure. But war all the same.
The silence stretched between us again, heavy and suffocating. Rordan shifted, probably thinking of some grand, foolish gesture. I beat him to it before he could open his mouth.
"We're not rescuing them," I said flatly.
He blinked. "What?"
"Not now."
His voice rose an octave. "What the hell do you mean, not now? They're being…"
"I know what they're being," I snapped, keeping my voice low and sharp enough to cut stone. "I saw it. I smelled it. I still see it when I close my goddamn eyes. But rushing in there and swinging at every green bastard we see? That's suicide. And worse, it's useless."
Rordan's mouth opened, then shut again. His jaw worked for a second before he found his words.
"But we can't just leave them."
"We're not." I adjusted the sword at my back. "We're going to kill the Goblin Chief first."
That got his attention.
"There's a chief?"
"There's always a chief," I said. "Someone leads. Someone controls. Someone decides who gets what… or who."
He exhaled, slow and shaky.
I pressed on. "When I first woke up in this cave, I did recon. Stealth. I saw at least fifty goblins in another chamber, grunts, maybe a few patrol leaders. Armed. Dangerous. That orgy pit? Just a sliver of the hive. You really think if we go in there and somehow cut down twelve of them without alerting the others, we're home free?"
He shook his head.
"No. They'll come pouring in. From every tunnel, every side passage. And we'll be standing there with exhausted arms, half-burnt nerves, and a dozen women too weak to walk, let alone run."
Rordan swallowed hard. "Then… what? We wait?"
"We strike smart," I said. "We find the Chief. We kill him. Then we cut the head off the nest. Disrupt their chain of command. Goblins aren't orcs, they're not fearless. You kill the big one, the rest either scatter or break formation. That's when we go for the girls."
He looked like he wanted to argue.
Instead, he asked, "Why not just grab the women and escape now? Use the chaos. Hide in the tunnels. They must've dragged you down here from somewhere. Maybe the surface is close."
I gave a humorless snort.
"You saw any maps on the wall? Exit signs? Trail of breadcrumbs?"
"No..."
"Exactly. This place is a maze. There could be one exit. Could be ten. But the only path I know goes deeper. Toward the Chief. If there's a way out, it's probably behind him."
He looked down at his hands, still dirty, knuckles white around the hilt of his sword.
"So we kill him," he said softly. "Then we go back."
"Then we go back," I confirmed. "And this time, we end it."
The chamber pulsed faintly behind us, lit by torchlight and horror. The groans. The laughter. The broken silence of victims.
We didn't move yet. We couldn't. But we were done standing still.
Because we weren't heroes. Not yet.
But someone had to become the monster that monsters feared.