Somewhere, deep in the wilderness…
Nestled inside a bush far too small to fit five fully armored adventurers and two dangerously under-armored girls, the group crouched together in an awkward pile of limbs, leaves, and suppressed complaints.
Thorne's elbow was in someone's ribs. Alaric's leg had fallen asleep. Cael was sure Renna's hair was in his mouth. And yet, nobody dared move.
Because just ahead—across a small clearing—stood their target.
A Goblin Camp.
Wooden walls, about 2 meters high if one was being generous and blind, enclosed a handful of crooked tents. Goblins paced around with the confidence of drunk security guards, holding crude spears, sniffing things, and picking fights with unattended barrels.
"Okay," Lys whispered, poking her head up slightly like a prairie dog. "I count ten goblins."
"Thirteen," Cael corrected. "Three on the left side, playing a game of… I think that's 'stab the rock,' and one is juggling his own eyeballs."
Alaric squinted. "How is that even possible?"
"Goblins," Cael replied dryly. "Don't question it."
Thorne tried to stand up heroically, rustling every leaf in a 5-meter radius. "Time for glorious combat!"
Cael yanked him back down by the collar. "NO. Stealth first. Murder second."
Renna giggled. "This is like one of those fantasy games, right? We sneak around, take down the guards quietly, and loot everything that shines?"
"Exactly," Cael nodded. "Low risk, high reward. For once."
A loud crack echoed.
Everyone turned slowly to see Alaric sheepishly holding a broken branch.
"...Sorry," he muttered.
A goblin on the wall perked up and sniffed the air. Then it sneezed, fell off the wall, and landed in a nearby bonfire. The other goblins cheered and started dancing.
Cael blinked. "...I think stealth might not be necessary."
"I say we go in loud," Thorne whispered, eyes sparkling like he'd just been told Christmas came early.
"We always go in loud," Lys sighed. "Can't we just… not explode something this time?"
"No promises," Renna grinned, twirling her rainbow-bladed dagger.
Cael facepalmed. "We are going to die in a place that smells like wet socks and goblin stew."
"Can we at least try to flank them?" Alaric asked, brushing leaves off his armor. "I'm not too keen on charging through a wooden wall."
"Oh, don't worry," Thorne said, reaching into his bag. "I brought something better."
He held up a small, ticking ball.
"Thorne–" Cael hissed. "Please, for the love of the gods, don't bring bombs."
But it was too late.
Thorne tossed it like a baseball toward the wall.
It bounced once.
It bounced twice.
It exploded.
The wall evaporated.
A goblin was launched into orbit.
The others shrieked and ran around in chaos, setting fire to their own tents, tripping over each other, and one somehow managed to stab himself in the foot with a spoon.
"…Well," Lys muttered, brushing a leaf out of her hair. "I guess we're past the negotiation stage."
Renna drew her knife. "Time for a little heroic mayhem."
And like that, the group emerged from the bush of bad decisions—ready for battle, ready for trouble, and very much not ready for whatever else Thorne still had in that bag.
The goblins were not ready.
To be fair, nobody ever truly is when this party shows up.
Alaric charged first, his glowing sword held high like some holy avenger out of bedtime stories. "For justice!" he cried, slashing down—
—and immediately setting two goblins on fire with his light-infused sword.
Then a third with a wave of accidental fire magic.
"OH GODS—STOP, DROP, ROLL!" Alaric shouted helpfully… as the burning goblins ran screaming into a tent, setting that ablaze too. The entire left half of the camp became a goblin barbecue in seconds.
"I'm helping!" he insisted.
Meanwhile, Lys was trying very, very hard to be an archer.
She summoned beautiful spirals of ice and wind magic, gracefully twisting through the air around her. Her bow shimmered with frost and breeze…
…except she still couldn't fire it.
"Bravery only, huh?" she muttered, glaring at the stupid divine weapon.
With a sigh, she used the bow as a club, running up to the nearest goblin and bonking it straight into the wall.
WHACK.
The goblin dropped like a sack of potatoes.
"Bow of Courage, my ass," she grumbled, swinging again.
WHACK.
WHACK.
SHATTER— That one might've had a helmet.
Elsewhere, Renna was humming to herself.
Her rainbow dagger glowed with every element known to magic, probably breaking some rule of alchemy.
She stabbed a goblin in the chest.
It immediately disintegrated into a fine, glittery dust.
"Wha—?!" Renna blinked. "I barely even poked him!"
Cael shrieked somewhere offscreen. "RENNA, YOU JUST UNMADE A LIVING CREATURE!"
"Oops?" Renna offered sweetly. "Maybe he had weak bones."
Meanwhile, Thorne was laughing like a man possessed.
He hurled his lightning-imbued spear across the battlefield with all the grace of a shot put champion.
It missed his target by at least three meters.
The goblins looked at it curiously, poked it, and then one brave soul decided, "Hey, free stick!"
The moment he touched it—
ZAP.
All his hair stood up.
Then he keeled over, smoking gently.
The other goblins screamed and ran.
Thorne pumped his fist. "HAH! Tactical mind, baby!"
And then there was Cael.
Poor, paranoid Cael.
He stood at the edge of the chaos, trembling slightly, his dark sigil floating ominously behind him.
A goblin rushed him with a club.
Cael unleashed hell.
Shadow bullets sprayed in every direction like a magical machine gun, some hitting trees, the ground, and one very unlucky goblin who took five to the face and crumpled like paper.
"OH NO I KILLED SOMETHING," Cael panicked, checking his pulse like he might be the one dying.
Behind him, Renna patted his back. "Hey, look at you! Your kill count's finally not zero!"
Cael stared at his hands. "I'm a monster."
"No, that's a goblin," Lys said, pointing at the steaming pile.
"I just—what do I even do now? Journal it?"
"You cry later," Thorne shouted from the smoke, "and kill more now!"
And so the goblins were slaughtered, electrocuted, burned, bludgeoned, vaporized, and… occasionally, very accidentally murdered.
But the group?
The group was having a blast.
Literally.
The goblin camp would never be the same again.
As the last goblin crumpled to the dirt, the battlefield went strangely quiet—except for the crackling of Thorne's spear and the sizzle of Alaric's fire still dancing on a burning tent.
Cael stood frozen in place, his eyes wide like saucers. The dark sigil behind him pulsed ominously.
"I… I killed one," he whispered.
Renna, still wiping goblin glitter off her dagger, grinned. "Yup. One down. Probably hundreds to go."
Cael didn't answer.
He just stared at his hands.
Then he gasped, horrified. "This is it… this is how it starts."
"Uh… what?" Alaric blinked, brushing soot off his face.
"The descent," Cael whispered, as if he were narrating a horror story. "Today it's goblins. Tomorrow it's bandits. Then villagers. Then the baker. And before you know it—BOOM. I'm wearing a cloak made of people."
Lys stopped mid-bonk. "You think… you're gonna become a serial killer?"
"I ALREADY TOOK THE FIRST STEP," Cael shrieked, spinning dramatically. "I took a life. I FELT THE RUSH. I LIKED IT—wait no I didn't I hated it—I think—oh no, I don't know anymore!"
Renna laughed, "You just simply shot him."
"Exactly!" Cael jabbed a finger at her. "That's what makes it worse! I did it by instinct. Next time it might be you!"
The group collectively leaned back.
Alaric raised a brow. "Buddy, we've known you for weeks. You get scared of your own shadow. Literally."
"That's just what a hidden killer wants you to think," Cael muttered, pacing in the dirt. "They're always the quiet, twitchy ones. That's me! I'm the archetype!"
Thorne clapped him on the back—hard.
"You're fine!" he grinned. "The day you snap and murder us all, I'll die with pride knowing you finally grew a spine!"
"THAT'S NOT COMFORTING!"
Lys pulled out her journal and began scribbling. "Cael's mental state: spiraling. Suspected future serial killer arc. Must monitor closely. Very entertaining."
"STOP TAKING NOTES ON ME!"
Renna grinned, holding up a goblin ear like a prize. "Come on, killer, help me gather loot."
Cael, still pale, tiptoed back toward the group with the most reluctant shuffle known to mankind. "I—I'm not touching any of that."
"Suit yourself," Renna said with a shrug, tossing the ear into a burlap sack like it was just another trinket.
Lys kicked open a crude wooden door to one of the larger goblin huts. "Might as well see if they hoarded anything useful. Weird little gremlins probably collected buttons or something."
Thorne, who had picked up a goblin and was spinning it like a trophy hammer, cackled. "Let's hope for gold! Or maybe snacks!"
But then…
Alaric stepped into one of the larger tents behind the wooden walls. His smile faltered. "Hey, uh… guys?"
His voice sounded off. No jokes. No exaggerated tone. Just... quiet.
Everyone turned.
"What is it?" Renna asked, approaching with a curious hop in her step.
He didn't respond. He simply pushed the tattered cloth entrance open wider.
Inside, the air changed.
It was musty. Rank. And silent, except for the faint sound of breathing… soft and ragged.
There were cages. Three of them.
Inside, huddled and filthy, were several human girls—barely older than the group themselves. Their clothes were torn, eyes wide, faces hollow with exhaustion and fear. One of them flinched as light entered, hiding her face.
Lys slowly lowered her bow.
Thorne dropped the goblin he was swinging.
Renna took a step back, her playful demeanor evaporating like mist in sunlight.
Cael swallowed hard. "Oh… oh no…"
Alaric knelt down slowly near the bars of the first cage. "It's okay. You're safe now," he said gently.
One of the girls recoiled at his voice.
No one laughed.
No one spoke.
The wind outside rustled the tent, carrying in a heavy silence.
"Thorne, help me break the lock," Alaric said, quiet but firm.
Thorne nodded and moved forward, careful this time, no showboating. Just raw strength. He crushed the lock without saying a word.
Lys opened the second cage, biting her lip. "These… bastards."
Renna knelt beside one of the girls, reaching for her hand. "We'll get you home. I promise."
Cael just stood at the edge of the tent, still and haunted.
Cael didn't move from the tent's edge, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, brows furrowed deeper than usual. The stale, iron-heavy air inside the tent clung to his lungs. His voice, when it came, was flat and quiet, but sharp like a blade slipping from its sheath.
"The objective was simple," he muttered. "Disrupt a growing goblin camp. Recover stolen crates. Minimize collateral damage."
His eyes scanned the surroundings again—blood, bodies, broken cages.
"But nowhere in the mission... was there any mention of this." He gestured toward the girls, his voice tightening.
Lys didn't look up right away. She had removed her gloves and was holding a shivering girl's hand gently, brushing matted hair from her tear-streaked face.
"The quest came from a nearby village," she said, her voice unusually soft. "They probably didn't know what the goblins were doing down here."
Cael's lips thinned. He didn't argue, just nodded slowly. But his eyes stayed locked on the girls. On the pain.
Then—clang.
Thorne tossed a burlap sack onto the ground. The one filled with his precious cannonballs and volatile powder. He stared at it for a long second, then turned away from it like it insulted him personally.
"I could've killed them…" he muttered. "I thought it'd be funny. Just a big boom. Cool explosions. I didn't know…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
His usual grin was missing. The dramatic pose, gone. His lightning spear lay forgotten near the tent's entrance.
Renna crouched beside a young girl with a torn sleeve and bruises down her arm. "Do you want to eat something?" she whispered, reaching into her pouch to offer a biscuit she usually kept for dramatic flair. The girl didn't speak, but she reached for it with trembling fingers.
Alaric sat nearby, wrapping a tattered blanket around another child. "You're safe now," he said again, voice hoarse. "We'll get you home."
For once, he didn't say it with the confidence of a hero.
He said it like a promise.
Cael turned and paced outside the tent. He scanned the edge of the camp and found an old wooden wagon, half-covered by moss and a broken tarp.
It wasn't in great shape. One wheel squeaked like a dying duck and the frame tilted slightly. But it would do.
"I'll get the loots and crates onto the wagon," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "The girls can sit on top. It'll be safer than walking."
He dragged the crates first—those they had come to find. Then helped the girls up, gently, giving them a small cloth to sit on. Most didn't speak. A few whispered thanks.
Thorne stared at the wagon like it was a puzzle, then looked at Cael. "Wait. Who's… gonna pull that?"
"You and Alaric," Cael replied, dusting off his hands. "You've got the strength."
Alaric blinked. "That's... fair."
Thorne squinted. "I'm not a donkey."
"You were going to throw explosives at wooden walls," Cael said dryly. "Now you're a redemption donkey."
Thorne didn't argue. He just exhaled and stepped beside the wagon. "Alright… redemption donkey it is."
Alaric smirked, slightly. "Better than explosion donkey."
The two boys grabbed the front handles of the wagon, flexed their backs like overconfident gym bros, and pulled.
The wheels creaked.
The girls sat quietly, the sun warming their backs, and for the first time in days, they weren't trapped.
Behind the group, the wind picked up.
The sun dipped low as the group crested the last gentle rise before the valley where the village nestled, half-hidden among wheat fields and crooked fenceposts. The wagon's wheels clacked rhythmically against the dirt path, a tired song of rescue. Thorne and Alaric, both slick with sweat and grumbling intermittently, dragged it along with the kind of slow determination only guilt and bad decisions could power.
The village was small—no more than a few dozen cottages huddled together like gossiping old friends, their roofs sun-bleached and moss-covered. A narrow river curved around it, and a single windmill turned lazily in the breeze, as if unaware anything had ever gone wrong.
As the group drew near, heads began to turn.
A farmer paused mid-plow. A baker stopped kneading dough, flour still on his hands. Children stopped playing. A dog barked. Then stopped barking.
All eyes locked on the strange caravan trundling toward them—five eccentric adventurers, a clattering wagon, and girls wrapped in rough cloth and old blankets.
Renna raised her hand. "Hi," she said cheerfully. "We brought your stuff back. Also, some… people."
Silence.
Then one of the older women from the crowd gasped and ran forward, clutching her apron to her chest. "Lina?"
One of the girls in the wagon blinked, then scrambled down as fast as her weak legs could manage. "Mama!"
More villagers rushed forward, expressions shifting from confusion to disbelief to tears.
The square filled with cries and names and tight embraces.
And the group just stood there awkwardly in the middle of it all, covered in grime, sweat, and probably several legally concerning magical residues.
Cael blinked. "This is… a lot of emotion. I don't know what to do with it."
"You could cry," Lys offered. "That's what people do, right?"
"I cry internally," Cael muttered.
The village head finally approached—a stocky man with a thick gray beard, a staff, and an expression that wavered between solemnity and stunned gratitude. He bowed deeply. "Thank you. We didn't know. We thought they were lost. We thought…"
His voice cracked. "We only asked for the crates back."
Alaric stepped forward, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "They weren't on the list, but they were there. We couldn't leave them behind."
The man looked at them for a moment. "You're bronze-ranked?"
Thorne puffed out his chest. "Silver now. Just got promoted. Not to brag, but we're also the reason a wyvern is now living uncomfortably close to the capital."
"Don't tell him that," Renna hissed.
"Too late," Cael muttered.
The village head took a breath, then reached into his robes and pulled out a small pouch of coins. "This isn't much, but it's everything we could spare. And—thank you."
Cael stepped forward, his brows furrowed, arms crossed over his still dusty iron armor. "Wait," he said, voice quiet but firm. "Why didn't you put that there were captured people in the request? If we hadn't shown up, they'd still be locked in that pit."
The village head hesitated, his eyes dropping to the dry ground. "Because… we couldn't afford it."
"What?" Cael blinked.
"If we'd declared it a rescue mission," the man said slowly, "the guild would've reclassified the quest. A recovery job is silver-level. A rescue? That's gold-level, minimum. Fees double, sometimes triple. We… don't have enough coin for that."
There was a pause.
Even the birds had stopped chirping.
Renna looked stunned, lips parting, but no sound came out.
Lys clenched her fists. "You mean… you just hoped someone would stumble into saving them?"
"We prayed someone decent would take the job," the village head said, barely above a whisper. "You can't understand what it's like… watching your own people disappear, knowing help exists but not being able to afford it. Like standing outside a bakery with nothing in your pockets, while your family starves."
That silence returned again.
Then—
Clink.
Thorne dropped the pouch of coins back into the man's hands. "Keep it."
"What?" the man blinked.
"We'll take dinner and a roof," Thorne said with an uncharacteristically calm grin. "That's more than enough for us."
Even Cael looked stunned. "Thorne… are you okay? Did the wyvern hit you on the head?"
"I mean it," Thorne shrugged. "We wrecked a sewer, exploded a tree, almost melted a forest, and I nearly vaporized those girls 'cause of my bomb bag. If a stew and a bed are the cost of my guilt, that's a fair deal."
Renna stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "That was… surprisingly responsible."
"I know," he nodded solemnly. "It hurt my soul to say it."
Alaric clapped him on the back. "Proud of you, buddy."
"Ow. Armor. Spine."
The village head's eyes welled up. "You'll always have a place in this village. You saved our girls. We'll never forget it."
"You better not," Cael muttered. "That wyvern was not in the mission parameters either."
Lys laughed softly, shaking her head. "Alright, let's get that dinner. I'm starving."
And as the sun dipped lower behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the fields, the group made their way to a warm hearth, food, and beds that didn't smell like goblins.
For once, chaos had earned them peace.
Even if it was just for one night.
The moonlight spilled through the small, dust-smudged window of the inn, casting a pale glow over the five bunk beds lined neatly in the corner room. The wooden floor creaked every now and then as the wind passed through the gaps in the walls. It was quiet—too quiet for a group that had accidentally declared war on slimes three days ago.
They lay in their bunks, armor off, cloaks tossed aside, each staring blankly at the ceiling—or the bottom of the bunk above.
Cael blinked at the shadowy planks above his head, sighing slowly. "I hate how loud thinking is."
Renna turned onto her side, eyes narrowed. "You're all awake too, aren't you?"
There was a beat.
"…No?" Thorne said, obviously lying.
"I can hear you blinking, Thorne," Renna groaned.
Thorne huffed. "My blinks are proud and powerful. Don't judge them."
Renna sat up slightly. "I've been thinking… what if other villages are in the same situation as this one? Or worse?"
That snapped everyone into silence.
"The girls here were missing for two weeks," she continued quietly. "That's two weeks of being locked up in a goblin den… And we only found them because we randomly picked the quest."
Lys sat up in her bed, resting her back against the wall. "You think the other quests—the ones on the silver board—might have hidden details like this one?"
"They might not even know what's really going on," Cael murmured. "If they're too poor to afford proper help, they probably don't even know what they're up against."
A long, heavy pause lingered in the room.
Then Alaric—who had been lying with his hands behind his head and staring blankly into the void—snapped his fingers.
"…What if we speedrun silver quests?"
Renna blinked. "What."
"I mean it," Alaric said, sitting up now, eyes gleaming. "What if we take all of the silver quests—just blitz through them, one after another. Like—no breaks, no distractions, pure high-octane completion mode. We'll save villages before they even realize they're in trouble."
Lys squinted. "That sounds both heroic and incredibly stupid."
"Perfect," Thorne grinned from his top bunk, propping himself on one elbow. "I live for heroic and stupid."
Cael groaned. "Are we turning into the world's most unstable volunteer militia?"
"I refuse to be stable," Renna said proudly, crossing her arms. "I am chaos incarnate."
Alaric leaned forward, pointing at the ceiling with determination. "Alright. Tomorrow morning, we storm the guild, take every silver-rank quest we can carry, and race against fate."
"We'll burn through those quests like we burn through cities—" Thorne began, then paused. "Wait. No. That's a bad comparison."
"Let's not burn anything," Cael muttered.
Lys smirked. "I'll pack rations. And maybe rope. And maybe a leash for Thorne."
"Just try it, feather-breath."
As laughter rippled through the room, the tension finally broke. For a brief moment, none of them felt the weight of what they'd seen that day.
Just five lunatics in bunk beds, trying to save the world before breakfast.