The goblins were small and rough-looking, their hunched forms bathed in the flickering glow of the firelight. Their coarse, greenish skin was marred with scars and grime, giving them a feral, almost diseased appearance. Del’s breath caught as he studied them from the shadows, his fingers tightening around the bowstring. They reminded him of the scout he had encountered the other day, though these seemed even more savage.

None of them appeared to carry bows, which was a small mercy. Each was armed with wicked-looking knives, their crude blades glinting in the fire’s light, and one carried a rust-pitted sword that looked sharp enough to do real damage despite its crude craftsmanship. Their clothing was a mishmash of untanned skins and patchwork cloth, barely more than rags held together by fraying stitches and scavenged ties.

Del considered his options. He could possibly sneak past them, but the thought made his gut churn. Leaving them at his back was a risk he couldn’t afford. If they spotted him while he tried to slip by, the ensuing chaos would likely end with him overwhelmed before he could draw his weapon. He carefully scanned the trees around the clearing, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, but there were no signs of other guards.

Satisfied, Del exhaled slowly. ‘Identify,’ he thought, focusing on the nearest goblin.

Goblin Grunt

Level: 0

Aggressive hunters and scavengers

Strengths: Dexterity, Cunning

Weaknesses: Being hit with pointy objects

Attacks: Dagger

Skill: None

Lore: Usually found in small to medium-sized groups, often family-based. Known to be cowardly in nature, they prefer to run from a fight unless confident they have a distinct advantage.

The text floated before his vision for a moment before fading. He shifted his gaze to the second goblin, then the third. The results were nearly identical—two grunts, both level zero, and one larger goblin carrying the sword.

Goblin

Level: 1

Aggressive hunters and scavengers

Strengths: Dexterity, Cunning

Weaknesses: Being hit with pointy objects

Attacks: Sword, Dagger

Skill: Unknown

Lore: Usually found in small to medium-sized groups, often family-based. Known to be cowardly in nature, they prefer to run from a fight unless confident they have a distinct advantage.

‘Alright, Del,’ he thought grimly, ‘grunts must be the lowest rung on the goblin food chain. The one with the sword is priority.’

The air seemed heavier as Del shifted his weight, the faint scent of smouldering wood and acrid smoke prickling his nose. The goblins were engrossed in their guttural chatter, the cadence of their voices harsh and alien. Every so often, a laugh—grating and cruel—broke through their words, as if they were sharing some grim joke. One of the grunts nudged the burlap sack with its foot, silencing the faint wriggle inside. The creature barked something at its companions and settled back down on its haunches, resting a clawed hand on its knife.

Del clenched his teeth, his fingers twitching against the bowstring. He glanced at Misty, who was crouched low beside him, her golden eyes fixed intently on the clearing. The faint rustle of leaves in the breeze brushed against his ears, a sharp contrast to the rising tension in his chest. ‘I wish I could talk to you properly,’ he thought, frustration flickering through him. He reached out with his mind, nudging at her thoughts in the way that was becoming instinctive since their bond had formed. He focused on a tree between them and the goblins, projecting the idea of a pounce attack.

Misty tilted her head, her ears flicking slightly as she stared at him. The look she gave him was pure feline disdain, as though she were humouring a child with an outlandish request. But something must have translated because a moment later, she slunk into the underbrush, her movements silent and deliberate. Del let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as she disappeared from sight, his heart hammering in his chest.

The wind shifted, carrying with it a mix of damp earth, charred wood, and the sour tang of unwashed bodies. Del wrinkled his nose, steadying himself as he watched the clearing. Moments later, he caught a glimpse of Misty’s sleek form scaling the tree he’d indicated. She moved with a fluid grace that made him painfully aware of his own clumsy movements.

He turned his attention back to the goblins, his fingers fumbling slightly as he reached for an arrow. The shaft felt foreign in his grip, awkward and unbalanced, and his hands trembled as he nocked it. One of the grunts threw a stick onto the fire, sending a spray of embers into the air. The larger goblin growled something low and guttural, its eyes scanning the edge of the clearing with a predator’s wariness. Del felt the tension ratchet higher, every nerve in his body taut like the bowstring in his hands.

Whether the tremor in his fingers was from fear or anticipation, he couldn’t tell. His breath came shallow and fast, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. ‘This is it,’ he thought, forcing himself to steady his hands. ‘No turning back now.’

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He crouched lower, the tension in his body coiling tighter as he waited for the right moment to act.

Del steadied his breath, willing the tension in his body to flow into the taut bowstring. The world around him narrowed to the goblins clustered by the fire, their guttural chatter grating in his ears. He felt his heartbeat slow, each pulse resonating through his fingertips as he took aim.

The arrow flew, slicing through the still air. He cursed under his breath as it sailed past the larger goblin he had targeted, his inexperience with the bow glaringly evident. The shaft, however, found an unintentional mark. It buried itself with a sickening thunk into the side of a grunt’s head, just below its ear.

The creature let out a high-pitched squeal, its body jerking violently before crumpling to the ground.

[You have killed Goblin Grunt. Experience earned.]

The remaining goblins shot to their feet, their startled cries echoing through the clearing. The larger one barked something unintelligible, its voice sharp with alarm. It pointed directly at Del’s hiding spot, its yellowed eyes narrowing in rage as it drew its sword. The other grunt followed suit, clutching a knife in its clawed hand.

Del’s second arrow was already loosed before he had time to think, streaking toward the advancing pair. The larger goblin snarled as the arrow struck its arm, embedding deep into the flesh. With an enraged growl, it snapped the shaft off, casting the broken piece aside as if it were little more than an annoyance.

[Archery has increased slightly.]

“Shit,” Del muttered, tossing the bow aside. He yanked his sword free, the blade catching the firelight as he rose to his feet. A primal yell tore from his throat—a war cry meant to steel his own nerves as much as to intimidate the goblins.

Whether it worked or not was irrelevant. They were coming.

Misty launched from above, her lithe form a blur of ginger fur and sharp claws. She leapt with a ferocity that made Del’s chest tighten, slamming into the second grunt’s back. The goblin shrieked, its knife falling from its grip as it toppled forward, Misty tearing into its flesh with relentless ferocity.

[Misty has used Pounce on Goblin Grunt. Sneak attack, Critical damage.]

Del barely had time to register her success before the larger goblin was upon him, its sword slicing through the air. He jerked backward, the blade missing his chest by inches, and stumbled to regain his footing.

“Fucking hell!” he spat, adrenaline surging as he thrust his own sword forward. His attack was clumsy, driven more by desperation than technique, and the goblin batted it aside with contemptuous ease.

The creature’s counterstrike came fast—a sharp, downward slash that grazed Del’s upper arm. Pain flared as blood welled from the cut, staining his sleeve a dark red. He gritted his teeth, a hiss escaping as he adjusted his grip on the sword.

Now, they were both injured. His wound bled freely, while the goblin’s arm merely dripped around the embedded arrowhead.

Del’s mind raced. He hadn’t planned for the intensity of this moment. Every scrape of steel and grunt of effort echoed like thunder in his ears. His eyes darted to Misty. She had finished goring the grunt, her fur matted with blood, and was already on the move once more.

[Misty has killed Goblin Grunt. Experience earned.]

The notification barely registered as Del caught sight of Misty bounding back into the fray, her maw slick with blood. ‘At least one of us can fight,’ he thought bitterly, anger bubbling beneath his fear. ‘C’mon, Del, sort this little bastard before he sorts you.’

The goblin swung again, its blade arcing toward Del’s neck. He ducked low, the tip of the sword slicing through the air above him. With a grunt, he drove his own blade forward, aiming for its chest. The goblin twisted to avoid the strike so at the last second, he shifted the angle downward, slicing deep into the goblin’s thigh.

The goblin howled, its hobbling steps uneven as blood poured from the wound. Del backed away, his breathing ragged, his muscles burning with the effort of staying upright. The taste of copper clung to the back of his throat as he wiped sweat from his brow.

Behind the goblin, Misty crouched low, her body tense and ready. Del’s eyes flicked to her, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. He surged forward, feinting another strike that forced the goblin to step back—right into Misty’s waiting claws.

She leapt, her full weight crashing onto the goblin’s back as her teeth sank into its neck. It screeched in fury and pain, its sword flailing wildly as it tried to throw her off.

Del seized the opening, plunging his sword into the goblin’s chest. The creature froze, its yellowed eyes widening as it gasped for air. Slowly, it collapsed backward, sliding off the blade and hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

[You have killed Goblin. Experience earned.]

[Congratulations, you have enough experience to level up. Would you like to level up now?]

Del staggered, wiping sweat from his brow with a bloodied arm. His chest heaved as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving exhaustion and pain in its wake. He glanced down at the goblin’s lifeless body, his hands trembling as he sheathed his sword.

“Well then,” he muttered aloud, his voice hoarse. “There’s a thing.”

Misty padded over, her fur matted with blood but her golden eyes sharp and alert. She gave him a satisfied look, her tail flicking as if to say, ‘You’re welcome.’

Del let out a breathless chuckle, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. “Thanks, girl,” he said, crouching to scratch behind her ears. “You earned that kill.”

As he rose, his gaze shifted to the burlap sack still lying by the fire. Whatever was inside had gone eerily still during the fight, but its presence gnawed at him. The sack now felt like more than just an afterthought; it seemed to carry the weight of something more sinister.

He bent down, retrieving his discarded bow and inspecting it briefly. The wood was scuffed but intact. He tucked it under his arm as he began gathering what he could from the bodies—crude knives, bits of cloth, and a handful of grimy coins that jingled faintly in his palm.

‘Let’s gather up what we can, Del, old boy,’ he said to himself, limping toward the clearing. ‘I don’t think they’ll be needing it now.’

His eyes lingered on the sack ‘Then see what that’s all about.’