Owin watched himself drop the Thunderstrike Maul as he grabbed both knives from his belt. He had no control. It was as if he was watching someone else act, but from their eyes. Owin couldn’t even feel the muscles moving or the cool marble floor on his feet. He was only an observer behind a haze of gray mist.
“This is what I was afraid of,” Artivan said, his voice muted by the helmet. He stepped out of the way as the golem smashed down.
The lich pointed its skeletal fingers and shot another burst of gray mist, which Artivan easily blocked. He continued moving fluidly through the wider room. Three sarcophagi were evenly placed near the center. One remained closed, while the others were open, having held the skeleton archer and the lich.
The golem swung again, too fast for Artivan to dodge. He brought his shield up in time to block, but the golem easily tore another chunk from the metal shield. Artivan used the wider space to move faster than Owin had seen him move before. The golem trailed behind as Artivan circled the lich.
Owin stalked right toward him, both knives raised and ready to stab. The knight had little, if any, openings in his armor. With Owin’s increased strength, he knew he could find a way to injure or kill Artivan if he had the chance.
“I haven’t needed to use these abilities for some time.” Artivan looked right at Owin. “Apologies, friend.”
Owin leapt through the air, knives flashing.
Artivan stomped on the ground. A shockwave burst from him the moment his foot made contact. It smashed into Owin, throwing him backward. Both knives left his hands and flew across the room. The shockwave staggered the golem.
The lich shot another spell, which Artivan blocked with what was left of his shield. Green lights danced on the finger-like top of the staff, causing the golem to glow brighter. The skulls from the skeletons killed in the hallway rolled in, joining with the already monstrous golem.
Artivan pointed his hand at the lich. “Flare Burst.”
The lich erupted in luminous fire and howled, dropping the staff, which clattered on the marble floor.
Owin watched himself get back up. His body was entirely focused on Artivan. He prepared, adjusting his stance, then lunged at Artivan again. The knight didn’t try to dodge and let Owin land right on his shoulder. With no weapons, Owin simply pounded on the knight’s armor. Artivan ignored him even as the hits dented his pauldrons.
Artivan strode forward, not slowed by Owin’s additional weight. A spell from the lich smashed into his helmet. He ignored it until he reached the staff, which he promptly stomped on, breaking it in half.
The gray mist immediately cleared from Owin’s view. His whole body felt like it was on fire, pain touching every fiber of every muscle.
“Are you with me?” Artivan asked.
Owin nodded, still clinging to Artivan’s shoulder.
“Get the lich.”
The floating lich was a few feet away, hovering in the air. The luminous fire hadn’t lasted long. Most of the lich’s hair had burned away and cracks were like spider webs through his skull.
Owin jumped from Artivan’s shoulder and punched, driving his fist right through the head of the lich. The skull exploded and threw shards of bone all across the room. Owin landed heavily on the marble floor right in front of the skull golem. The lich’s corpse fell like a sack of grain to the floor.
A bubble shield appeared around Owin as an arm of skulls smashed down. The shield shattered like glass, giving Owin enough time to move out of the way.
“I thought the golem would collapse with the lich’s death,” Artivan said.
Owin sprinted across the floor, easily dodging the golem’s next attack. He skidded to a stop and grabbed the Thunderstrike Maul. He spun in circles while Artivan kept the golem distracted. It took little time before the hammer glowed like the sun.
Owin sprinted back across the room. Artivan already knew what was happening. They didn’t need to communicate strategies anymore. Owin had a particular way of fighting, and Artivan had obviously adapted to it.
Owin leapt in the air and swung the hammer down. The golem, who was still focused on Artivan, didn’t try to block as the Thunderstrike Maul smashed into its chest. Skulls launched in every direction, shattering and bouncing all over the room.
Owin landed on the marble floor while it rained skulls and dust all over the room. It was suddenly silent as if the calmness of the lich’s possession had washed over Owin again. Although this time, he wasn’t trapped.
Artivan lifted the visor of his helmet. Half his face was covered in blood, coming from somewhere under his helmet. “That could have been worse.”
“I tried to kill you.”
Artivan crouched beside Owin and touched his shoulder. “I’m fine.”
Four dents from Owin’s strikes marred the once-polished pauldron on Artivan’s shoulder. “Are you?”
Artivan nodded. “Let’s find your knives and get out of here. I’ve had enough of the undead.”
It only took Owin a moment to find both knives. He slid them both into his belt and picked the hammer back up. Meanwhile, Artivan had looted the lich and the golem, finding a few things that he tossed into his bag.
“Can you tell me about your friend?” Owin asked.
Artivan took off his helmet and used a piece of cloth from his bag to wipe the blood away. A cut ran the length of his head above his ear, but the blood was only dripping out, despite how severe the wound looked. “His name was Ilarion. He was a knight like me. A member of the Nimble Hogs.” Artivan sat on the edge of a sarcophagus as he cleaned the wound.
“He used to be a dungeon guide with his wife, Lera. She’s a soldier, and a damn good one. They took kids into the dungeons who had just become of age to help them level. I never wanted to do that. It felt too dangerous, but they made it work.” Artivan pressed the cloth into the wound and winced. “About a year ago, an alchemist out of Stelsodo hired the two of them to escort him into the Subterranean Dungeon to search for some rare ingredient. They found a lich who took control of Ilarion.”
Artivan put the cloth back into his bag and slowly slid his helmet back on, leaving the visor open. “Lera protected herself and the client. She killed Ilarion and left the dungeon.” He sighed. “That was a minor lich we just fought. If it had been a real lich, we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
“Thank you for saving me.”
Artivan smiled. “I was never worried about you. I guarantee that you will see the outside world, little goblin.” He stood up and stretched. “I think it’s about time we killed some hobgoblins.”
“What about the last sarcophagus?”
Artivan shook his head as he crossed the room to the far door. “I don’t even want to know what’s inside. I’ve had enough undead.”
Owin agreed. Overall, the undead were less terrifying to fight than heroes, but he didn’t need to fight any more of them. Being controlled was horrifying. In the moment, he didn’t care. He felt at ease. The unnatural calmness that had taken control was the most unnerving part. How would someone not care about hurting their friends?
Artivan shoved the stone door open. The room beyond was a simple square room with a few columns. Nothing else. “This is my type of room.”
Two doors led out, both barred by wooden beams and planks nailed to the outside. Even if they had tried coming into the crypt from the hobgoblin town, they wouldn’t have been able to pass through. Unless Owin had just broken down the doors.
“What about your shield?” There were two whole chunks that had been ripped out of Artivan’s shield, giving it an odd design. While it had still managed to block spells while damaged, there was significantly less of the shield to use for blocking.
He held his arm up, surveying the damage. “Nothing a skilled blacksmith can’t fix. Or, better yet, it gives me a great opportunity to buy a new shield. This one has been with me for a long, long time. It will still do for now.”
Artivan easily removed the planks and the wooden bar, then swung the door open.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
A hobgoblin stood on the other side. He had orange hair and yellow skin, and scratched his crotch as he looked at the two of them. “There’s a door there?”
Artivan walked over and stabbed the hobgoblin right through the heart. A soft yellow glow flashed around Artivan. “There it is,” he said.
“What was that?”
“A level up. Finally, level 32.”
Owin stepped into the next room, where everything looked different. They had officially left the crypt and were back in the hobgoblin town, or more accurately, the ruins. The floor was made of non-matching cobblestones that were covered in a layer of grime. The room was half empty, with the far half filled with cells. Hobgoblins sat in the cells with the doors wide open. Each cell contained a chest and a bed.
“Are they using a jail as their rooms?” Artivan laughed. “If we weren’t set on killing them, we could simply lock them inside.”
At least one hobgoblin occupied each of the twelve cells, meaning there were about fourteen goblins packed into a small area. They were generally unaware as far as mobs went. Unaware or uncaring, Owin wasn’t sure, but they weren’t likely to charge them all at once. But in the close quarters of the jail, he didn’t feel like it would be a good place to fight.
“What if we clear the rest of the town first? When I fought Naxile, I got shatter grenades. If we found something like that in the town, we could get all those hobgoblins at once.”
Artivan chuckled. “Sure. That will give me a chance to get some mana back too.”
“Do you have more mana now that you leveled up?”
“No, but my strength increased with that kill. That’s what brought me up.” Artivan opened the wooden door outside and gestured for Owin to step through first.
The sun was bright and warm, especially after having traveled through the grim darkness of the crypt. White birch trees waved in the soft breeze and birds chirped happily. A few hobgoblins stood lazily around the town, mostly loitering in front of the other two buildings. None looked particularly angry or aggressive at the moment.
“Our quest is to kill them all?”
Artivan’s index flashed in front of his eyes as he read through the quest notes again. “It doesn’t use the word all, but it does ask us to annihilate them. We might as well take the loot and experience by killing them all.”
Owin set off across the grounds, passing beside tall, swaying trees. He returned nods with hobgoblins greeting him from far away. Artivan followed quietly behind, letting Owin make his own decisions, no matter how questionable Owin’s decisions had been in the past.
Owin wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be the one making choices after having been under the lich’s control. Artivan had to save him again. It didn’t matter how high Owin had gotten his strength if he still had to rely on Artivan for every little thing.
He tossed open the kennel door, causing the hobgoblin leader inside to accidentally throw a cup of water. It splashed onto his yellow hair, flattening it as if he had purposefully slicked it back.
“Calm down, you little menace,” Blotnaark said.
“I’m here to kill you,” Owin said.
“Oh!” Blotnaark immediately shifted his feet and raised his hands, ready to box.
Artivan calmly closed the door behind them. “He’s an entertainer who isn’t even a high enough level to use the powerful spells. The best he can do is buff you.”
“I’ll do more than buff you, you skinny little bitch.” Blotnaark threw a couple of quick jabs into the air.
Artivan looked down at himself. “Skinny?”
“Here.” Owin handed Artivan the Thunderstrike Maul. He pulled the wand and both knives from his belt, tossing them onto the hay covered ground.
“What are you doing?” Artivan asked.
“He wants to fight with our fists.”
Blotnaark pushed up his tattered sleeves, revealing more of his sky blue skin. “See? This short child gets it.”
“I’m not a child. I’m a goblin.”
“I don’t understand the difference.” Blotnaark jabbed a few more times, then waved Owin forward.
“Are you really going to do this?” Artivan asked.
Ever since Owin had greatly increased his strength, he had been using greatswords and heavy hammers. The first time he truly used his fists was against the lich. How hard could he truly punch?
“Yes. I want to test my strength.”
Artivan laughed. It was the hardest, deepest, most genuine laugh Owin had heard from the old knight. “I’m not worried about your strength, little goblin. I’m worried about you covering yourself in guts again when the ogre’s are just starting to dry. He’s an entertainer. You’re going to cause him to explode.”
Blotnaark scowled, sending a sharp glare at Artivan. “You want to get in the ring with me, old geezer?”
“No. Owin, see for yourself. Don’t hold back.”
Blotnaark was at least twice as tall as Owin, if not a little taller. It didn’t really make sense for a fist fight. But Owin’s old instincts never faded. Jumping, leaping, throwing himself at the enemy always felt like a quick and efficient way to fight. Launching himself into danger usually put his opponent in danger as well. Who was ready for him to get so close so quickly? It even surprised him at times.
Owin leapt forward, aiming his fist right at Blotnaark’s face. The hobgoblin ducked out of the way, causing Owin to launch himself into a metal dog kennel. It loudly toppled, clanging as it crashed into other kennels, creating a whole domino effect.
He managed to take a single point of damage from the hit, though he didn’t actually feel anything. Anything that managed to do only one point of damage wasn’t a real injury.
“Too slow,” Blotnaark said. “If you looked like this, maybe you would stand a chance.” The hobgoblin posed and flexed his biceps.
Owin pushed the kennels aside and faced the hobgoblin. Blotnaark kept smirking and flexing.
“Put your hands up.”
The hobgoblin did as commanded, but his hands were feet above Owin’s head. Owin held up a finger, signaling from him to wait. He walked over, picked up one of the kennels, and carried it back. He hopped on top and stood face to face with Blotnaark. The hobgoblin wiggled his eyebrows.
Owin didn’t have visible muscles. All of his strength had appeared magically within a few short days. It was much different from people who truly worked on their strength. People like Artivan. But did the old knight care that Owin had shortcuts?
No, he encouraged Owin to take advantage of the buff potions. He sacrificed some of his own potions. He wanted Owin to be as strong as possible.
There wasn’t going to be a better chance to test his strength.
“You first,” Owin said.
Blotnaark lightly hopped between both feet. His eyes bore into Owin. When he finally punched, Owin easily leaned to the side, using his goblin speed to dodge the punch. Owin immediately struck back, but Blotnaark dodged just as deftly.
The hobgoblin smirked. “You will need to be faster to—”
Blotnaark apparently hadn’t been ready for a follow up punch that caught him right in the nose. Blood spurted from his nostrils, causing the hobgoblin to howl with laughter.
“Now that was a punch!” Blotnaark blocked one nostril and shot a glob of bloody snot on the kennel floor. He switched and did the same with the other side, leaving a whole splatter of blood along his cheek. “I haven’t been punched like that in a long time!”
Owin had thought he would be capable of punching right through Blotnaark based on what Artivan had said. The hobgoblin was far from exploding based on that punch. It didn’t even seem like he was close to dying. If anything, it seemed like Blotnaark had enjoyed getting hit.
“He didn’t explode,” Owin said.
“Well, that was far from your strongest. Also, I might have underestimated him,” Artivan said, still calmly standing by the door, holding the hammer. He kept his visor down, watching like a guardian.
“You can hit harder?” Blotnaark positioned his face right in front of Owin. “Do it.”
“It will kill you.”
Blotnaark wiggled his eyebrows. “Prove it.”
“I don’t like hobgoblins,” Owin said.
“Nobody does,” Artivan said.
Blotnaark grinned. “Not even hobgoblins like hobgoblins. Hit me!”
Owin formed a fist, positioned his feet just like Blotnaark had earlier, and threw his fist forward. Blotnaark’s eyes widened right as the fist connected with his nose again. The hobgoblin’s head snapped back as more blood sprayed into the air.
Blotnaark collapsed with a smile still on his face. Bright crimson blood rained onto his sky blue skin.
0 Experience
“That was disturbing,” Artivan said. “I don’t know if the hobgoblins are aware that they will respawn, but they act like they know they’re immortal.”
“Will he remember this?”
“No.”
Owin hopped off the kennel and fetched his belongings. He took the hammer back from Artivan, happy to feel its heavy weight back on his shoulder. “If mobs get smarter as you go up, the ones on the top floors probably remember,” Owin said.
“It’s a discomforting thought. Would you want to remember all the times you’ve been killed?”
Owin shook his head. That was one thing he was specifically glad he didn’t remember. None of his life before awakening really mattered, and remembering it wouldn’t help him in any way. He wasn’t learning. He wasn’t improving. He was simply hiding in the shadows until he could hop out and stab something.
“A dozen or so hobgoblins to go,” Artivan said, effortlessly changing topics. He opened the door and stepped outside. His winged sword immediately appeared in his hand, reflecting the sunlight.
Owin hurried through the doorway. Blarwik, the purple hobgoblin berserker, lay against a tree with bright blood running down the white birch bark. Three humans stood just outside the hallway, laughing about the dead hobgoblin, while another stood only a dozen paces from the kennel.
She had red hair tied back into a bun, with hard yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the sunlight. Her sword glowed the same harsh yellow.
Artivan’s index flashed before his eyes. Owin wouldn’t forget her or her eyes, but still used Examine again anyway.
Hero
Siora Rilokos
Soldier
Void Nexus Hero Company
Level: 19
Strength: 145
Constitution: 165
Dexterity: 101
Intelligence: 100
Wisdom: 60
Charisma: 112
She had gone up a level since Owin had last seen her. In such a short time, she had managed to increase a number of attributes. And now, thirteen levels below Artivan, she stood confidently.
“Owin,” Artivan said quietly. “You didn’t mention she was a Void Nexus hero.”
“I didn’t know it mattered.”
Siora’s party formed up behind her. She smiled as she caught Owin’s eyes. “I told you we’d be seeing each other again.”
“Back away or you face me,” Artivan said.
Siora’s eyebrows rose. “A Nimble Hog? A fucking joke. I’ve never heard of you.”