Thorian watched as the goblin champion slumped to his knees, prompting him and his team to rush to the fallen warrior's aid. Concern etched his features as he examined the goblin. "What happened to you?" he asked, noting the champion's skin, which had turned from its usual green to a deep purple, and his unusually pale face.

Coughing weakly, the goblin champion managed to respond, "I'm sorry, my lord. I messed up."

"Don't worry, my friend," Thorian reassured him, swiftly retrieving a potion flask from the goblin's pocket. He gently helped the champion drink, despite his initial resistance and coughing at the potion's foul taste. Gradually, the goblin consumed the entire concoction.

As the goblin settled, Thorian inquired, "What's your name, champion? And what happened to your team?"

"Jarfin, my lord," the goblin introduced himself, glancing towards the portal. "They'll be coming through soon."

No sooner had Jarfin spoken than two figures emerged from the portal. Crimen, the kobold warrior, stumbled out, his direwolf at his side. Aqua, quick to react, supported Crimen, preventing him from collapsing.

"Still have your potion?" Aqua asked, eyeing Crimen's weakened state.

Crimen nodded, attempting to reach into his pocket but failing due to his depleted strength. Aqua assisted, retrieving the potion and helping him drink. However, amidst this, Crimen's direwolf collapsed to the ground.

Thorian sprang into action upon seeing the direwolf's plight. Wordlessly, he retrieved his own potion and carefully administered it to the ailing animal. As the direwolf lapped up the last drops, Jarfin, the goblin champion, began to vomit violently, his face turning as white as a sheet.

Vigil, alarmed, approached Thorian. "What's happening, my lord?"

Thorian calmly explained while attending to the direwolf, "It's a side effect of the potion. Given its low quality and level, this reaction is expected."

Crimen and his direwolf soon started to show similar symptoms. Thorian, however, remained undisturbed, understanding that this temporary discomfort was a necessary trade-off for their survival.

Just then, two new figures emerged from the portal: Ifrit and her direwolf, Boris. Thorian moved to assist them, but Ventus was already by Ifrit's side.

“You too?” Ventus inquired, receiving a pained chuckle from Ifrit.

"Just help me with this vile potion," she grumbled.

Without a word, Ventus fetched the potion from Ifrit's pocket and assisted her in drinking it, his expression filled with concern.

Once she finished, Ifrit coughed and turned to Ventus. "Boris needs help too. I don’t have a potion for him."

"Leave it to me," Ventus replied with a grin, pulling out his own potion to aid Boris.

As relief washed over Ifrit, her expression suddenly turned to one of pain. "Forlune, that idiot," she muttered under her breath.

Thorian's sharp ears caught Ifrit's murmur, and his eyes widened in shock. He quickly turned back to the portal, just in time to see three figures emerge: Elder Omn, a direwolf, and Forlune, his general.

"Vigil, assist the elder," Thorian commanded, rushing to Forlune's side. He caught the muscular kobold as he stumbled, but Forlune soon collapsed to his knees, vomiting a white, mold-infested substance.

Observing the white mold amidst the mucus, Thorian's mind raced with concern. Spore cloud? His heart sank as he noted Forlune's condition: his skin was a sickly purple, and half of his face was a ghastly ashen white.

Without hesitation, Thorian retrieved a detoxification potion from Forlune's pocket and urged him to drink. Despite Forlune consuming the potion, Thorian's worry didn't subside.

"You were hit by the spore cloud, weren't you?" he asked, though Forlune was too weak to respond, continuously vomiting the white substance, now mixed with blood.

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"The potion will save your life," Thorian said, though he knew his words barely registered to the suffering kobold. "But it's not a complete cure. You need a full antidote."

Forlune, barely conscious, pointed feebly towards the direwolf behind Thorian, managing to utter, "Save… her."

Thorian turned to Crimen, who looked on in fear for his former boss's well-being. "Give her your potion," he instructed, showing his resolve to save both his general and the direwolf.

Thorian’s gaze shifted from the kobold warrior and his direwolf to the fallen figure of Forlune. The general’s breaths were labored, rattling with mucus in his weakened state. Moving swiftly, Thorian slid Forlune away from the sickening pool of his own vomit, positioning him carefully on his side. It was a small mercy; Forlune's heaving continued, but his airways were now clear.

Resting on a nearby rock, Thorian’s brow was furrowed with guilt and regret. I should have remembered more, he mused to himself. If only I hadn’t forgotten about the spore cloud, I could have better prepared my men. His mind was a whirlwind of 'what ifs,' replaying alternate scenarios where he had acted differently. But he shook his head, dispelling these useless thoughts. There was no benefit in dwelling on the past; he needed to focus on finding a solution to the crisis at hand.

The Alchemy level required for the antidote is two, Thorian pondered silently. In an ideal world, one of our alchemists might reach it by tomorrow, but that leaves Forlune incapacitated until then.

As he brooded, Vigil approached and sat beside him. “My lord, you mustn't blame yourself,” he said softly. “Even with the best preparations, unforeseen events occur. Such is the nature of life.”

Thorian remained silent for a moment, absorbing Vigil’s words. “Forlune will be bedridden for a day at least, until the antidote is ready. Someone must stay with him until then.”

Vigil offered himself for the task. “I can stay by his side, my lord.”

But Thorian shook his head firmly. “That's not an option, Vigil. You're a unit leader; your men need you.”

After a moment of contemplation, Vigil suggested an alternative. “What about assigning a young shaman apprentice to him? I know one with priestly skills. He may not be able to cure Forlune, but he can offer temporary relief.”

Thorian considered this, then nodded in agreement. “Very well. Let's proceed with that plan.”

Relief washed over Thorian as the plan solidified. His gaze wandered, landing unexpectedly on the hollowed tree and the still-open portal. “The rewards haven’t been claimed yet,” he murmured, rising to his feet. His eyes found Jarfin, the goblin champion, who had ceased vomiting. Jarfin's skin had regained its healthy green hue, though his face retained a tinge of pallor.

“Jarfin,” Thorian called, “take some pouches and head back into the dungeon. The rewards are still there.”

Jarfin, initially startled, glanced towards the portal and nodded. “As you command, my lord.”

Watching Jarfin’s swift departure towards the portal, Thorian reflected silently. ‘Celebration is premature, but securing those rewards is crucial.’

As Jarfin disappeared into the portal, another portal materialized beside it. Out of this new gateway, five figures emerged, some mounted on direwolves, exuding vitality and triumph.

“Congratulations to all of you,” Zogarth, the high orc, praised his team heartily. “A splendid performance.”

Thorian, observing that none of Zogarth’s team appeared afflicted by the poison, exhaled in relief. “Well done, Zogarth. You've led your team to a remarkable victory.”

Zogarth turned to Thorian, a grin spreading across his face. “Your praise is unnecessary, my lord. I simply fulfilled my duty.”

His gaze then swept across the scene—the vomit-strewn ground and the ailing Forlune. His expression turned to one of confusion. “What… transpired here?”

With a rueful smile, Thorian replied to Zogarth, “That’s a story for another time. Forlune’s team encountered a poisonous hazard.” He watched Zogarth's gaze shift to the ailing Forlune, followed by a heavy sigh of understanding.

“May I see the spoils of your venture?” Thorian requested, approaching Zogarth. “There’s something specific I need to verify.”

Instantly obliging, Zogarth beckoned to one of his team members, “Saxum, present our findings to the lord.”

Saxum approached with a rough-hewn pouch, spreading its contents before Thorian. “Behold, my king.”

Thorian surveyed the array – skill scrolls, various weapons, and an intricate Thorned wooden armor. Yet, the items he sought were not among them. With a shake of his head, he addressed Zogarth, “Distribute these amongst your team. Well done once again.”

Zogarth, momentarily uncertain, nodded and turned to his team. “Let's follow the lord’s orders.”

As Zogarth’s team busied themselves with the rewards, Thorian settled back on the rock beside Forlune, his gaze locked on the persisting portal.

After several tense minutes, Jarfin emerged, laden with pouches brimming with items, a spear in one hand and a coat in the other. He hurried to Thorian, laying out the bounty. “My lord, these are the rewards.”

Item after item clattered out from the pouches. It wasn’t until the contents of the last pouch were revealed that Thorian’s expression changed noticeably. Among the contents were six pieces of tree bark and a vial filled with a red, thick liquid. His eyes widened in recognition.