When I got back, Mischief was wide awake, calmly licking his paws like nothing had changed. The fire was gone—just smoldering embers fading in the predawn air.

He didn’t even glance up as I stepped into the clearing.

“Do all your animal friends try to eat me, or am I just special?” I asked, shaking my head as the memory of the wolves replayed in my mind.

Mischief paused mid-lick, ears twitching. Then he tilted his head, cat-like confusion in its purest form.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just a pack of wolves thought they’d try their luck this morning. I, uh… educated them.”

Mischief blinked, unimpressed. I huffed, but the fight still nagged at me.

Not one of those wolves had leveled up. That didn’t sit right. Mischief was proof that animals could grow stronger. If he could evolve, why couldn’t they?

Was it just bad luck? A fluke? Or was something else at play?

I frowned, the question sticking like a splinter in my thoughts. Something felt off, but I didn’t have the pieces to figure out why.

I sighed and pushed the thought aside—for now. “Anyway… you want to clear a dungeon with me?”

Mischief stretched, back arching, claws sinking into the dirt. Lazy, but only on the surface. Beneath his sleek fur, muscle tensed—ready, waiting, always on edge.

Then, without hesitation, he dipped his head in a slow nod.

A grin tugged at my lips. “Awesome. Let’s get to it.”

We set off—and almost immediately, a problem smacked me in the face. I had no clue where these new dungeons were.

My status screen was helpful enough to list objectives—but a map? Apparently, that was too much to ask for.

"You wouldn’t happen to know where a dungeon is, would you?" I asked, only half-kidding.

Mischief nodded, then bolted away—a blur of sleek fur and raw speed, vanishing between the trees like a feline cannonball.

“Hey—! Damn it!”

I sprinted after him, every muscle in my legs screaming to keep up.

Mischief was absurdly fast. A blur of sleek muscle and effortless power. At least forty miles per hour—maybe more. Keeping up felt impossible.

I pumped my legs, Agility stats working overtime just to keep his tail in sight. Branches whipped past. Roots and uneven terrain blurred beneath my feet. I was tearing through the forest at speeds that shouldn’t be possible.

After a few minutes of pure speed, heart hammering in my chest, Mischief finally slowed.

I caught up, chest heaving, my pulse thrumming with exhilaration.

He stood at the base of a mountain ridge, tail flicking as he peered into a massive cave entrance.

The jagged opening stretched twenty feet wide, like the mountain itself had been split open. A chill crept over me.

“How the hell did you even find this place?”

Mischief didn’t answer. Instead, He just shrugged. Like, yeah, I get around.

I stared at him. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

No response. Typical. I pulled up my status screen, half-expecting a ridiculous challenge.

[You have found a dungeon entrance.]

Recommended party level: 8. I blinked. Then grinned.

"That’s it?" I said, nodding at Mischief. “We’re both above that. No problem.”

Without another word, we stepped inside.

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[YOU HAVE ENTERED A CAVE DUNGEON. FIGHT YOUR WAY TO THE BOSS VARIANT TO COMPLETE THE DUNGEON.]

BONUS OBJECTIVE: DEFEAT ALL ENEMIES BEFORE KILLING THE BOSS. REWARD: UNCOMMON.

“Seems straightforward,” I remark as we pass the threshold. “We’ll probably want that Uncommon reward. I’m guessing it’s worth the extra effort.”

Beyond the entrance, the cave slopes downward, air thick with damp earth and the faint, metallic scent of something deeper inside. Large yellow mushrooms cling to the ceiling, their bioluminescence casting the rock in an eerie, uneven glow. The flickering light makes the shadows move—like something’s breathing just out of sight.

Seven smaller tunnels branch off from the cavern, plus one larger tunnel at the center. From somewhere deep within, I hear a chorus of metallic clinks echoing through the dark.

I shoot Mischief a sideways glance. “Bet that big tunnel leads straight to the Boss. But the bonus objective says we should clear out the smaller tunnels first. You in?”

Mischief flicks his ears toward the nearest side passage, and I take that as a yes.

“Great.” I scrape an X into the dirt by the entrance, just to keep track of where we’ve been.

Before long, the passage opens into a smaller cavern. That’s where we spot our first monster: a hunched, dark-green figure, about five feet tall, chipping away at the rock wall with a rusty pickaxe. Its bony limbs are wrapped in minimal leather scraps. A goblin miner, apparently so focused on its labor that it doesn’t notice my approach.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“HELLO!” I shout, mostly to see if it talks.

The goblin practically jumps out of its skin. Pickaxe clattering, eyes bugging—if it could die from a heart attack, it might have.

Then it screeches, raises its rusted weapon, and swings for me.

Caught off guard, I haven’t even drawn my sword. Instinctively, I drive a punch straight into its face, feeling bone crunch beneath my fist. The goblin collapses instantly. I don’t so much as flinch at the kill. Which almost feels worse than puking.

[You have killed Level 8 Goblin Miner.]

I blink. Goblin… Miner?

Not just a goblin. A goblin with a job. Chaos Spawn never had anything like that. They were just instinct, hunger, mindless destruction. This? This was different.

Monsters didn’t get skill classes. I did. Humans did. But them?

Why?

I barely have time to ponder when I hear more scuffling down the tunnel. Sword in hand now, I cast Weak Barrier around Mischief and myself, and we break into a run.

We burst into a new chamber, three times the size of the first. Several ramps wind along the cavern walls, where more goblins scramble. Some appear to be hammering at veins of ore.

Others brandish crude weapons—hatchets, short swords, axes. A few archers skulk on higher ledges, while robed figures scribble symbols or chant in low voices. Definitely more organized than chaos spawn.

Four goblins rush us at the entrance. Mischief pounces first. The goblin barely raises its shield before he slams it to the ground. A crunch, a flash of teeth—and its throat is gone.

A goblin with a hatchet tries to flank Mischief. It’s so focused on swinging at my friend that it never sees me coming.

My sword carves through leather and flesh. A wet gasp escapes the goblin’s lips as it stumbles back, its axe slipping from slack fingers. It shudders once—then crumples, dead before it hits the ground.

You have killed Goblin Fighter (Level 8).

They really do have classes. I notice the kill notification—“Fighter,” just like mine. But the thought is cut short as more goblins flood in—Blacksmith, Archer, Wizard, each with their own half-baked attempt at strategy. Mischief and I tear through them.

Lightning spells crackle off our barriers. Arrows bounce away harmlessly. Occasionally, an unlucky goblin catches a friendly fireball or arrow in the heat of battle. These monsters might have the classes but they are not seasoned fighters.

I get a momentary twinge of guilt for mowing down so many humanoid creatures—they’re forging weapons, mining ore. Is that normal monster behavior? It really doesn’t matter because each one attacks us on sight, pure aggression in their eyes. Yeah. Definitely a murdery vibe

By the time the chamber is clear, my status logs say I’ve killed around thirty goblins in total. Mischief easily outscored me with a chaotic flurry of claws and teeth. My barrier skill held up the entire fight without the goblins scoring a single hit.

I kick over a goblin’s pack—iron ore spills out. Another had a crude steel sword, still warm from a forge.

I loot a few corpses. No meat. No ears. Just small pouches filled with…

Coins?

I frown, flipping one over. Bronze. Not a system drop. I pull up my status for a closer look.

That’s new. I use my status to get a better look.

[Universal Bronze Coins - Universally recognized currency of the Multiverse. Bronze is the lowest denominator.]

I just found actual, spendable money in a dungeon. What the hell does that mean?

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TUNNEL-CLEARING MONTAGE

The next five side tunnels follow a similar pattern: a winding path, then a cavern packed with goblins of varying classes. We keep track by carving marks near each tunnel mouth. Mischief and I spread out—though staying in line of sight—so neither of us gets overwhelmed.

Plenty of archers on upper ledges, more miners and blacksmiths, half a dozen wizards, but mostly standard grunts. At one point though I see one “Goblin Rogue” vanish momentarily. I get spooked for half a second—until Mischief sniffs him out and ends that dream.

I can’t be sure but I think we take no damage throughout, especially with me re-upping Weak Barrier each time I see any cracks. Between kills, I note my level rising—enough to feed more points into Agility so I’m not trailing behind Mischief too badly.

Bonus Objective Complete: Defeat the faction leader to claim your reward.

I stretch, shaking out my arms. Not even sore. Seventy-something goblins, a handful of new levels, and a partner who’s borderline unstoppable. Not bad.

“Looks like that’s all the side tunnels,” I say, tossing yet another bag of coins his way to place in storage “Round one goes to you, Mischief. You definitely racked up more kills in the early runs, but I’m catching up.”

He snorts—at least, it sounds like a snort—and pads over, tail swishing in satisfaction.

“Guess we just have one big tunnel left,” I add, nodding toward the central passage. “Should be the faction leader.” The title seems a bit odd. In games typically the final challenge is a boss. Why call it a faction leader?

Either way, my heart thumps with excitement. Between your claws and my barrier, what could go wrong? Then again, I recall that wizard’s short-lived barrier and wonder if the boss might have a stronger version.

Shaking off a flicker of nerves, I rub a sore spot on my shoulder and glance at the dimly lit passage beyond. “Ready to see what this dungeon’s big bad has in store for us?”

Mischief dips his head, and together, we turn our attention to the final challenge lurking down the main tunnel.

I pause at the threshold of the main tunnel, peering into the dim corridor where the faint glow of mushrooms outlines jagged rocks and deep shadows. My heart thuds a little faster. This should be the right tunnel—likely stronger than any goblin we’ve faced so far.

The Chaos Champion fight claws at the edges of my mind. Panic rises—familiar, unwanted. I grit my teeth, trying to push it down, but the thoughts creep in anyway.

The what if’s. What if it was just me in the trial? I wouldn’t have even made it to the Chaos champion. But if I had? I would have died facing it alone. Sure, facing chaos spawn, normal wolves and whatever these goblins were was a breeze. But against something real?

I had to face this. I had to because I didn’t want to. Mischief made me feel safe. Alone? That’s when the demons came.

“So, I don’t want to sound selfish,” I say quietly, turning to Mischief, “but if you’re okay with it, I’d like to try soloing this boss. You know, see exactly where I stand in a real one-on-one.”

Mischief tilts his head, then shrugs in the feline equivalent of Sure, do what you want. For a second time, I swear I can almost hear his thoughts: Try not to die.

A faint grin tugs at my lips. “That’s always the plan,” I mutter under my breath, gripping the hilt of my longsword. In spite of all my fear and reservations there is still an itch. One that is begging for a true challenge.

I’ve grown a lot in a short time, but I need to know how far I can push these new skills without leaning on Mischief’s brute strength.

Stepping forward, I feel an odd mix of excitement and nerves. The cavern air is cool, tinged with the metallic scent of ore and a whiff of something more primal. I glance back at my companion, who settles on his haunches, tail swishing in lazy arcs, clearly ready to intervene if things go south.

“Alright,” I whisper, a thrill of adrenaline sparking through my veins. “Let’s see what this Goblin can do.”

I step forward, alone. My footsteps echo against damp stone. Mischief watches, still as a statue.