Owin counted in his head. The black void before him swirled and held his attention. It felt as though he could fall into it and never find the bottom. There was no noise or heat or cold. It was just an empty doorway that never ended.
Counting was more difficult than he had expected. Too much ran through his head to keep the numbers straight. It wasn’t as though he was too dumb to count, he knew he could count just fine. Keeping track of time turned out to be more difficult, and not something Owin found he had a particularly natural gift with.
Had it been ten seconds or ten minutes? When looking at the doorway, there was no way to tell. He had stopped counting after the first ten seconds as his mind wandered, but now he had no concept of just how long it had been.
“Oh, boss is dead,” somebody said.
Owin froze. He slowly turned his head until he spotted four figures pushing through the door into the temple. They were battered heroes, all dripping water.
“It should respawn soon, right? Body’s gone,” a man said. He looked really young, especially compared to Artivan.
“Hard to say.” A woman pushed past, carrying a sword that glowed with yellow light.
Hero
Siora Rilokos
Soldier
Void Nexus Hero Company
Level: 18
Strength: 144
Constitution: 163
Dexterity: 101
Intelligence: 99
Wisdom: 60
Charisma: 112
Siora walked beside the splotch of blood that was all that remained of Charzosk. She traced it with her glowing sword, causing the blood to sizzle. “Someone strong is ahead of us.”
“That mender couldn’t do this,” said a short, thin man. He had long, curly hair and a full beard.
“No, the berserker could.”
Before Owin could use Examine on anyone else, Siora looked right at him. She had yellow eyes that bore right into his head.
“Ah.” She pointed the sword from dozens of feet away, aiming the tip right at Owin’s heart. “The goblin she mentioned. You did this?”
“Yes,” Owin said.
Why hadn’t he just stepped through the doorway. He could have slipped out before they even noticed him. They were humans. They were going to try to kill him.
One of the humans, likely a hunter, pulled an arrow from their quiver, but was stopped by a hand signal from Siora.
“Go on and hurry to the next floor, animal. We’ll see you there.” She turned her back to Owin. “Set up traps for the respawn. Elas, get something cooking. I’m starving.” Siora looked over her shoulder. “Last chance to flee.”
Owin sighed and stepped into the doorway. It felt like both a second and an eternity as he passed through the void.
Great Forest Dungeon
Fourth Floor
The air was colder than he had felt before. It smelled of burning wood as Owin appeared in a long stone hallway. Columns lined each side, reminding him of the cultist’s cathedral from the second floor. Torches burned behind the columns, giving enough light to see clearly in the hallway.
Artivan stood a dozen feet ahead of the doorway. Two goblin corpses were bleeding on the ground not far away.
“I was worried for a moment,” he said without turning. “Did something happen?”
“Heroes,” Owin said, stepping away from the door.
Artivan nodded to the far end. “Your first hobgoblin is right ahead. I didn’t want to get too far before you arrived.” He turned and lifted his visor. “Did you get names?”
“Only one. Siora Rilokos.”
“Hm. I don’t know them.”
Owin stared at the goblins as he approached. They had been killed by quick slashes across their chests. Artivan had been merciful and skillful with both kills. Both monsters wore rags identical to Owin’s, though they were probably higher levels than he was.
“Stand around as much as you wish, scum,” the hobgoblin shouted from the far end of the hall.
“Patience,” Artivan said.
The hobgoblin scoffed and let out a low growl. Owin finally looked at the odd creature standing by the only door out of the hall. It was tall and barely resembled any goblin Owin had ever seen, including himself.
The hobgoblin had blue skin like water from the third floor. It had long, wild yellow hair that was tucked behind two over-sized ears. Round ears.
“That’s a hobgoblin?” Owin asked.
“Yeah, and she’s terribly impatient. Apparently, she has to guard the door and is furious that I won't get close enough to fight.”
“Coward,” she shouted. The hobgoblin was taller than Artivan and built like a berserker. She wore a sleeveless shirt, appearing to flex with each movement. It all seemed very intentional.
“What did this Siora say?”
“She knew Nikoletta. She knew me.” Owin looked back at the doorway he had come from. “See you there.”
“Hm.” Artivan lowered his visor and nodded to the hobgoblin. “One thing at a time, little goblin. Remember what we said before?”
“We’re a team.”
“Right. If these heroes come after you, they will be fighting both of us. Now, I would enjoy getting rid of this hobgoblin.”
“Oh, getting rid of me? If you were closer, I would laugh and spit in your face! Your ugly, human face!”
“They really do have incredible hearing,” Artivan said, voice muted by his helmet.
“I can hear you shaking in your boots!”
Artivan set off with his shield raised. The hobgoblin held a battleaxe and twisted it as soon as Artivan started to move.
“I was going to offer the kill to you for practice,” Artivan said. “But I cannot stand her right now. She’s been shouting since the moment I arrived.”
“I’d be doing more than shouting if you weren’t such a slow shit! What are you, constipated?”
Owin followed Artivan down the center of the hall. It was absurdly long for how little there was inside. The two goblins had been right by the doorway, with only a single, angry hobgoblin all the way across.
Great Forest Mob
Troifa
Hobgoblin Assassin
Level 19
“She doesn’t look like an assassin,” Owin said.
“All hobgoblins are tall and muscular. It makes it even weirder when you see an entertainer.”
“A what?”
Artivan chuckled. “I’ll tell you more later.” He stopped and ducked his head behind the shield. Something invisible pinged off, sending a small shower of sparks into the air. The assassin charged straight at Artivan, then fuzzed and split into three separate hobgoblins.
Owin swung the hammer right at the closest hobgoblin, but failed to connect as the fake version became fuzzy and disappeared, just like the duration on the buff potions when Owin used Examine. The weight of the hammer threw him off balance, causing him to stumble into a column.
Artivan stabbed straight into a fake assassin and brought his shield up to protect from the third, which also vanished. The battleaxe materialized as the sharp edge swung down and caught Artivan on the back of his shoulder. Metal scraped against metal, squealing loudly as it echoed up and down the hall.
Artivan stumbled forward and grunted. He quickly spun and stabbed his winged sword right through the hobgoblin’s open mouth before she could shout another insult. She went limp and crumpled to the ground as he pulled the sword free.
“Are you okay?” Owin asked.
“Yes.” He sheathed the sword and rolled his shoulder a few times. A few grunts escaped as he moved his shield arm.
“Was it the assassin’s passive ability you told me about?” Owin lifted the hammer and rested it on his shoulder again. He needed to stop losing balance or he was going to get himself or Artivan killed. If that had been the real assassin, would the swing have even been enough to kill her?
“Yes. An attack from behind will hurt, armor or not.” He poked the body with his foot. “Check for loot, will you?”
Owin pushed the hobgoblin’s body over, causing a health potion to fall out. He lifted it to Artivan, who simply walked away.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Stick it on your belt. I’m fine.”
Owin hooked it beside the two other health potions. They were the only ones he had at the moment. A mana potion wouldn’t do much with his mana bar still damaged from the specters. But he did hope to find another buff potion soon. If a random hobgoblin could last that long against Artivan, that meant they were going to have bigger, more difficult fights this time around.
Artivan stopped at the wooden door leading out of the hallway. He held the handle, but looked back at the black doorway across the hall. “Through here is an entire town of ruins. We could rush through, but that would be dangerous. Having too many ogres chasing us at once would easily lead to our deaths.” He idly tapped his gauntlet on the handle. “I’ve been saying if we need to, we’ll fight.”
Owin nodded. They were a team. They would protect each other.
“I’ve been lying, Owin.” He let go of the handle and pulled his helmet off. Some blood clung to his mustache. “They will come after us. I’m sure you have figured that out.”
“I hoped maybe—”
“There’s no hoping, really.” Artivan crouched down until he was eye to eye with Owin. “Outside the dungeons, the world is brutal. There are people, like my friends, that try to help others. There are more, many more, that only do what they want. What benefits them. Outside the dungeon is difficult, but inside is even worse. Killing another hero is a crime, but one that will go unpunished every single time. There are no laws inside the dungeons. Nobody will stop heroes from killing each other if they are inside any one of the seven dungeons.”
“I don’t want to make you kill humans.”
Artivan placed his hand on Owin’s shoulder. “You’re not making me. I am choosing to keep you safe. Teammates stick together. I just want you to be prepared for what’s coming. Whoever comes after you will die. We cannot afford mercy in this situation.”
Owin nodded. “No mercy.”
“When people threaten your life, I want that to be your motto. When we see another hero, what do you say?”
“No mercy.”
Artivan put his helmet back on. “Now we’re ready.”
“Is this a fighting or quest floor?”
“It can be either, or both. The hobgoblins and ogres each have their own quests to kill the others. Do you have a preference?”
“A quest.”
“Got it, little goblin. You tell me hobgoblin or ogre.” Artivan pulled the door open. A purple fist flashed through the doorway and cracked on Artivan’s helmet. The hobgoblin’s knuckles broke against the metal helmet, but the blow caused Artivan to stumble.
“Shit,” screamed a hobgoblin.
“What was that for?” Artivan asked.
Great Forest Mob
Blarwik
Hobgoblin Berserker
Level 19
The purple hobgoblin cradled his hand and peeked his head into the hallway. He had bright red hair with matching eyes. A scowl twisted his face as he spotted the other hobgoblin’s body. “You kill her?”
“Yeah,” Artivan said.
“I thought she was opening the door.”
Artivan lifted the visor of his helmet. “You broke your hand, you moron.”
“What, this?” Blarwik lifted his arm. His broken hand hung limp. It had already started swelling around his knuckles.
“Yes, that.”
“You really think it’s broken?”
“I’m so confused,” Owin said.
“Hobgoblins are aggressive by nature, but they also love talking. Am I missing anything?” Artivan asked.
“I’m a great chef,” Blarwik said.
“Okay . . .” Owin looked back at the nearby corpse. “Were you going to kill her?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the help.” Blarwik disappeared out of the doorway.
“I can tell you’re still confused.”
“Yes.” Owin pointed at the door. “What was that?”
“Hobgoblins and ogres are enemies. We will need to align ourselves with one faction if you want a quest. Do you have a preference?”
“I haven’t met any ogres.”
“You don’t want to. The hobgoblins are our best option. If we get on their good side, they might assist if those other heroes attack inside the town.” Artivan stepped outside and gestured for Owin to follow.
“Will they have buff potions?”
“The quest reward should let you pick.”
Blarwik shook his broken hand, wincing each time it moved. “Do you know how to fix a broken hand?”
“A health potion.” Artivan pulled one from his bag. “Drink this.”
The hobgoblin took it and chugged the bottle without hesitation. He tossed the bottle against the wall behind Owin. Blarwik watched his hand stitch back together without a hint of discomfort. “Are we fighting now?”
“No. Who is your leader?”
Blarwik pointed at a small building. “In the main hall.”
The hobgoblin town was not much. There were no paths or roads connecting the few buildings. It was overgrown with birch trees, some young, most old and tall. The white bark made the floor look brighter than the last, though the sun was much the same as it was before.
Counting the hallway they just emerged from, there were four buildings in the hobgoblin town. Each was made of stone bricks, though some buildings were in better shape than others. All the windows were broken with glass littering the ground outside, and many bricks in the walls were missing or crumbling from even the slightest breeze.
Blarwik leaned against the outside wall, standing right on top of the shattered glass from the bottle he had thrown. He didn’t seem to notice.
Owin followed Artivan away from the hall, into the center of town. He spotted a few more hobgoblins lounging around. One punched another and called him a name. It was somehow both calm and chaotic as the hobgoblins seemed to act unpredictably.
“He called this the main hall, but it’s the smallest building,” Owin said.
“If I remember right, you will find it funny.”
The building on the left looked like a large house, like a manor of some kind. It was obviously in disrepair, but it would have once looked imposing and impressive. It was broken into different sections with a variety of entrances.
On the right, the building looked more like a castle or fortress. Bigger bricks had been used to construct it, though even those were in poor shape.
In the center, a small building that looked like little more than a shed stood quietly. It was apparently the main hall of the hobgoblins, but Owin had trouble imagining what was inside that would make it the center of their little town. Compared to the cultists, this hobgoblin town was disappointing.
After a floor of not talking to the mobs, a quest felt like the right direction to go. Owin thought about getting to choose his prize after defeating the Malignant Spirit. Not only was that helpful, it gave him more of a direction to go rather than wandering helplessly like he had at the beginning of the third floor before meeting Artivan.
Of course, traveling with Artivan meant things were different. The old knight knew his way around and generally knew what to expect from the different areas. Was a quest still necessary?
“Would it be better to hurry through this floor?” Owin asked.
“What? Why?”
“The other heroes.”
Artivan stopped and looked back at the long hallway they had come from. “No. They will find us. If it’s not the ones behind us, it will be the mender and berserker from before. I’m close to leveling up, and we can find some potions for you by completing the hobgoblin quests. Trust me.”
“Okay.” The town looked so run down that it was difficult to imagine that the hobgoblins had anything worth much. “What’s the secret on this floor?”
“There’s a ruined castle in the lake to the north. I’ve never been inside. Want to check it out when we get there?”
Owin nodded.
“Great.” Artivan tapped his hand on the pommel of his sword. “Did you figure out what’s special about the Winged Sword of the Swift Behemoth?”
“No. It’s a really long name.”
Artivan chuckled and pulled the sword from its sheath. He held it out, letting Owin grab the handle. It was surprisingly light, especially compared to the Thunderstrike Maul.
Winged Sword of the Swift Behemoth
Unique Master Magical Item
The Winged Sword, when activated, adds the wielder's weight into the next attack. Anything that changes the wielder’s weight is included, from spells, to armor.
Forged in raging fires of the Forge of Divine Light, this weapon deals luminous damage.
2/4 uses remaining
Note: Magical item does not vary by user
“If I activated this and attacked, would it even do more?” Owin asked.
Artivan took the sword back and expertly slid it into the sheath. “Minimally, sure. When I use Ironclad Stance, my weight increases considerably. If I combine that with my sword, it can cut through just about anything.”
“I always wondered if you were actually getting heavier.”
“For a little while, yes.” He knocked his gauntlet on his breastplate. “The armor helps too.”
“Where is the Forge of Divine Light?”
“It’s in the Subterranean Dungeon. I’ve never been that far, and from what little I know, I don’t think I would ever want to see the forge. Now, let’s see what this hobgoblin leader is up to.” Artivan knocked on the small building Blarwik had called the main hall. “I’m sure the quest will be something about getting rid of the ogre threat. We can check out the castle after we sweep through the ogre cave.”
A sky blue hobgoblin opened the door. His yellow hair was slicked back and tucked behind his huge ears. The glowing light of a quest hovered above his head.
Great Forest Mob
Blotnaark
Hobgoblin Entertainer
Level 25
“When did they start making humans so ugly?” Blotnaark asked, looking right at Owin.
“I’m a goblin.”
“Ain’t you a little short?”
“Not for a goblin.”
Blotnaark scratched his chin. “Alright.”
“Are you the leader of this town?” Artivan asked.
“Title you’re looking for is mayor.” Blotnaark backed away from the door and flexed. He wore a sleeveless tunic that was frayed where sleeves had once been. His shorts were cut much shorter than necessary, showing most of the hobgoblin’s muscular thighs. “Mayor Blotnaark.”
“We heard you have a mission for us,” Artivan said.
Owin immediately stopped listening and slipped past the hobgoblin into the small building. The outside walls were stone like all the others, but the floor inside was made of wooden slats and covered in hay. Various kennels, all empty, were scattered across the room. Ants crawled over discarded food bowls, and various dead insects floated in a large bowl of stagnant water.
It was a building for dogs with no dogs in sight.
New Quest
Pest Extermination
Reward: Artisan Item
Note: Check the Journal for more information
Owin opened his index and jumped to the journal. Something called Pest Extermination didn’t sound right based on what Artivan had been expecting, and Owin hadn’t been listening to really anything they were discussing.
‘Find and exterminate the pests that have been loitering outside town.’
Was that it? It sounded simple, which gave Owin a feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that it would be anything but simple.
“Let’s go,” Artivan said.
Owin slipped back out. Blotnaark waved goodbye before slamming the door unnecessarily hard. Artivan looked between the buildings before his index flashed in front of his eyes.
“What are you looking for?” Owin asked.
“I’m trying to remember where everything is. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on this floor.”
“The pests for the quest—”
“Ogres.”
“Are ogres smaller than the hobgoblins?”
Artivan shook his head. “Let’s go this way.” They walked around the kennel and past the ruined castle-like building. Before long, they were surrounded entirely by birch trees and green grass. Birds chirped happily in the forest. It was calm.
“I like it here,” Owin said.
“It’s peaceful. For now.”
Most of the forest floor was flat with low grass. It made for easier traveling than anywhere else Owin had been. The second floor had roots and bumps all over, and the third floor had water, sand, and all the mounds.
So far, the fourth floor was his favorite.
“What are ogres like?”
Artivan laughed. “They are indescribable. You will need to see for yourself.”
That only made Owin feel sick. Artivan had already made it clear that it would be better to align with the hobgoblins over the ogres, but the hobgoblins were brutish idiots. So then, what were the ogres like?
The forest thinned out right before a gaping cave entrance. Water dripped from above from small stalactites.
“Ogres live in caves. Acid caves.”
“What’s acid?”
Artivan pulled off his helmet and ran his hands through his hair a few times. The bags under his eyes were darker than before. “It’s like water that burns. It can burn your skin right off.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t be on the same side as the ogres?” Owin imagined the skin sliding right off his bones, leaving him like the skeletons at Nosolus’s cathedral.
“Absolutely. They just drink the acid. They don’t attack with it.”
A loud roar echoed out of the cave. Whatever creature it came from had to be huge to create a noise like that.
“They’re in there?” Owin asked.
Artivan nodded and put his helmet on again. “Best way to handle an ogre is to hit it hard. Overpower it.”
Owin tightened his grip on the Thunderstrike Maul.
“The problem is that a weak ogre has over 200 strength points.”
“What?”
“So . . . aim for the eyes. Their skin is as hard as stone.” The knight drew his sword and strode confidently into the cave entrance.
“Are you sure this is the best idea?”
“Nope.”