A dusky-skinned goblin, short and covered in thick, matted fur, crept along with a cautious, skulking step. In one hand, he clutched a small bow; a quiver of crooked arrows hung over his back. His ear twitched — a barely caught sound made him turn his head.
But it was already too late.
A clean slash tore through his throat, and thick blood gushed from the shredded flesh. The goblin gurgled, clutching at the ragged wound with trembling fingers, but life was already slipping away. His knees buckled, his body collapsed into the grass, staining it dark.
Third.
Silent as a shadow, Rowls moved forward, keeping hidden behind a tree. Ahead, near a small cave, several more creatures gathered. All shades of brown, absorbed in their own business, unaware they were being watched. Heavy pelts hung from their bodies, and their eyes glinted with a wild, hungry light. Rowls didn't rush. He knew — every step could be decisive.
On a spit, meat roasted cheerfully. Thick chunks dangled down, dripping fat into the fire.
Human, probably the missing ones.
A goblin turned toward the cave, oblivious to the threat.
Rowls tightened his grip on the sword. Within him, his aura flared to life, heating his muscles and sharpening his reflexes. Strength flooded through him.
One step — he closed the distance.
Another — and his body moved like a weapon in motion. Aura-fed strength wove into every movement, speeding them. The sword in his hand flashed, cutting through flesh before there was even a chance to react.
In a heartbeat, the goblin collapsed, dead before he understood what had happened.
"Khh!"
The noise drew the attention of two more. They jerked up, trying to scatter, but their movements were too slow. Their heads rolled across the ground.
"Haha..." Paul laughed lightly, standing behind them, his sword dripping blood.
"That was quick," Rowls said without looking back, already advancing toward the cave. "Now let's see what's—"
He didn't finish. A sudden jerk to the side — and a massive club slammed into the ground where he'd just stood, crashing down with a deafening roar. Stones flew into the air.
"Ignis Sacrum."
The mystical words sliced through the tension. A golden arrow of flame tore itself free from the air, streaking toward the goblin. Zenith, standing calmly at a distance, her gaze focused, watched the scene unfold.
The flaming arrow missed — by mere inches. But it was enough. The goblin's attention snapped away. As he turned, another goblin, just stepping out of the cave, was caught directly in the arrow's path. The firebolt tore through his chest, and instantly his body became a living torch.
"KHA-KHA-KHA!!!" The goblin screamed, rolling on the ground, but it did no good.
The stench of burning flesh filled the air.
Rowls, wasting no time, lunged, aiming to sever the goblin's arm — but his blade struck a shield, covered in flaring runes. At the moment of impact, the sword bounced away, forcing Rowls into a brief, dangerous hesitation. But it opened a window for attack.
"Ignis Sacrum."
Zenith didn't hesitate. Her voice cut the air again, and a second arrow of golden fire shot toward the goblin. He screamed — but the flames were already consuming him.
Without giving the enemy a chance to regroup, Paul charged forward, striking decisively. His sword flashed once — a clean, brutal stroke that severed the goblin's thick neck in a single blow.
The body collapsed to the ground, releasing not just the stench of burning flesh but also a heavy, suffocating silence. No enemies remained.
Rowls, catching his breath, glanced at Zenith, then at Paul.
"Clear," he said, continuing toward the cave.
Inside the cave, the smell was foul.
The stench of urine, shit, and the burning reek of the golden-flamed corpse mixed with the damp chill of the stones. The cave was small, barely a few meters deep, clearly never meant for permanent shelter.
"They're not here for long. Just a camp."
Paul glanced at Rowls and smirked.
"Did you expect something a little more... welcoming?"
Zenith stood silently at the entrance, keeping watch to make sure no one crept up behind them.
At the back of the cave, at the very end, sat a girl.
Her skin was bruised, her lips split, her hair matted and plastered with something dark. Her eyes, once perhaps bright, now looked hollow, glassy. She stared straight at them but didn't see. Or didn't want to.
It was obvious: she couldn't be saved. She was broken, and not just physically. Her mind was already gone.
Paul stepped forward. Slowly. No sudden movements. As if approaching a wild animal — something that might bolt or strike at any moment.
The girl didn't move. Only her eyes twitched slightly, trying to focus — and then dulled again.
Paul crouched down, just within arm's reach. He pulled off his glove, extending his hand toward her. Not touching. Just holding it there, in the air.
"Hey," he said softly. "We're taking you home. It's alright."
No reaction. No flinch. No fear. As if he wasn't even there.
Paul turned his head, casting a quick glance at Zenith and Rowls. They stood tense and silent, holding their breath. Heavy, damp silence filled the cave, broken only by the soft crackling of the dying fire and the faint trickle of water deeper in the stone.
Paul lowered his hand. His face hardened. Not from anger — from understanding.
"You know it," Zenith said quietly, her voice steady, as if she'd accepted it long ago. "She can't be saved. It would be mercy to give her death."
Paul nodded silently. He felt the full weight of it, but emotion stayed locked away. Without a word, he drew his blade. One breath — and his hand flashed toward her heart. The strike was clean, swift, without hesitation or pity.
The girl's body didn't even flinch — just a faint shudder passed through it as life left her.
"Ze...nith..." a whisper, barely a breath.
Paul jerked, slowly turning his head toward his wife. A silent question in his eyes.
"She said your name," he murmured. "Who was she?"
Zenith turned her head, not toward the girl — toward a dark patch on the stone.
Her eyes widened slightly. Her fingers curled into a fist.
The smell... sharp, familiar... Recilotto.
Her gaze shifted — to a shattered wine bottle lying in the dirt and congealed blood. Wine had spilled out, soaking into the filth, leaving dark, wet streaks. Zenith wrinkled her nose slightly, like at spoiled goods, and raised her brow, coldly assessing the stain.
"Such good wine... wasted," she said evenly, like noting a ruined cloth rather than death at her feet. Her fingers slid lightly over her belt, careless, almost mechanical, as if checking if everything was still in place.
"The girl?" She gave a tiny shrug. "Doesn't matter. One more, one less. It changes nothing here."
No pain on her face. No regret. Only steady, worn-out tiredness. The kind that sets in when you've seen too much brokenness for too long and stopped counting.
Paul looked like he wanted to say something — his throat worked, but he only gritted his teeth. Exhaled. Turned away.
Zenith lifted her hand, her gaze still calm, detached. She took a short breath, as if clearing away the last scraps of regret she barely had left.
Quietly, almost in a whisper, she said:
"O Domine, Creator Caeli et Terrae, Sancte Millis, suscipe hanc animam in Tua luce. Concede ei pacem, quae in vita ei negata fuit."
Her voice was calm, without strain, like a prayer long since memorized.
It was not a plea for the dead girl. It was a petition — to the Creator, to Millis — for what must be done, not for what was felt.
And only then, precisely, steadily, Zenith spoke:
"Ignis Sacrum."
The words of the spell left her lips, and the girl's body immediately ignited, burning in a bright golden fire.
When the body had turned to ash, silence hung heavy in the cave. Paul ran a hand down his face, exhaling roughly, his gaze lingering for a moment on the charred bones.
Rowls silently scanned the walls of the cave, as if searching for something. Then he crouched down and reached toward the ground.
"Well. Shitty day. Anything else around here?" Paul muttered, brushing ash off his sleeve.
Rowls crouched beside the largest goblin's corpse, touched its scorched chest, and pulled a wide shield out from underneath the body.
"Artifact," he said quietly, examining it.
Paul raised an eyebrow.
"They dragged it here, or someone gave it to them?"
"Don't know," Zenith added, glancing at the mace still clutched in the dead goblin's clawed hand. "But this one was definitely their leader."
Paul stepped closer and grabbed the shield without hesitation. He turned it over in his hands, feeling along its edges.
"Where the hell did these bare-assed bastards get something like this?" he snorted, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Maybe we shouldn't have burned them — could've asked."
Rowls gave a short laugh:
"Yeah. 'How would you rate your defeat? How many artifacts were in your stockpile? Answer before you turn to dust.'"
"At least there's no pointless arguing."
"You can only argue if you've got a mouth," Rowls added, lifting the goblin's mace between two fingers like it was a dead rat. "And these didn't have the brains for it either."
"Bit heavy. Maybe we can sell it," Paul said, weighing the shield thoughtfully.
"Or maybe you could try thinking with your head instead of your coin pouch," Rowls shot back. "If it's an artifact, someone lost it. Or someone gave it to them. The real question is who — and why."
Paul sighed.
"So what? Goblins held an auction? 'Shields for pretty eyes'?"
"Would've been funny if it weren't so damn bad," Rowls muttered, tilting his head, assessing the find. "Shields of this level don't just get dropped in the wild."
Paul grimaced thoughtfully, then, as if tossing the thought aside, casually threw the shield toward Rowls. It spun through the air and landed in the elf's hands. Rowls gave Paul a puzzled look.
"What? Don't want it?"
"It cramps my style," Paul smirked.
Rowls raised an eyebrow.
"Style, huh? Just don't get tangled up in your 'style' when it matters."
Paul shook his head.
"I like things fast. That thing's like you after a few drinks — heavy, slow, and smells like smoke." Paul laughed. "If you don't want it, toss it back."
"You gave it to me," Rowls said calmly. "Now it's mine."
Paul snorted.
"That's how property gets lost..."
After checking the surroundings one last time and making sure no threats remained nearby, they headed away from the cave.