The sound of men grunting and orders being given is heard all around the burned fields of wheat and barley, as log walls are erected, and a tall watchtower stands in the middle of the once peaceful village. The men carrying the materials or hammering down the nails to form the cabins wear steel necklace shackles, while their masters watch over their efforts with crossbows and spears in hand.

Their steel plates and better-quality weapons show to anyone that these were not common guards; they were soldiers of the ruling lord, Alfred the Vain. Their tabards showed the proud horse trampling a snake with fury; for the greatest pride of this family was their honor, and disdain for lies.

Alfred himself reached the new camp on top of his friend and ally in combat, a centaur. Larger than a common horse, with a muscular tan upper body, and the rest a contrasting white, a steel lance resting on his shoulder. Like him, the lord of the land also wore his steel armor, with a helmet under his arm, and grabbed a handle on the human waist of his companion, so he could better stay on top when running was needed.

The noble looked up at the sky; it was cloudy and would rain at any moment.

"Lord" one of the guards approached him with a short blue shoulder cape, the one in charge of the place "It is an honor to have you with us," he said with a quick stump of the end of his spear on the ground, looking directly at Alfred's tired dark green eyes.

"Tell me what happened here," Alfred asked with a tired sigh as he ran a hand over his groomed dark brown hair, a bit of sweat on his forehead where he had a large scar coming from his right side and almost reaching the left.

"I thought you would be informed" the soldier replied as he guided them into the walled camp.

"I want your professional thoughts, Officer"

"Very well. The village had a defector witch among them, to treat the sick and feeble, the woman grew tired of her weakness and offered her daughter to a demon that took the shape of a goblin; the surviving children spoke of her as a warlock. They captured and burned her inside her hut nearest to the woods. " the three of them chuckle, the notion of a warlock being killed by peasants amusing "But the demon remained, and killed all the adults of the village, along with anyone that tried to stand up to it, set the buildings on fire and disappeared"

"A demon that forgives children?" the centaur asked, more like a way to point out the obvious "And not vanishing after their master has been slain"

"Impossible" Alfred whispered as he stroked, his chin, decorated with a goatee "Any particular detail from the surviving children?"

"Well, some of them said the witch didn't fight back once she was captured, and peacefully agreed to be burned. And they found an idol of Trala in her chambers when they inspected the home"

"A Demon of virtue. What do you think?"

"Strange, it wouldn't make sense for a witch to murder her daughter in cold blood and then allow herself to be burned if she became a pure witch, killing the people would not have been an issue" the centaur replied as he watched the burned buildings being smashed down to pieces.

"I agree" the lord replied as they reached the center of the camp, there were at least one hundred soldiers atop walls and carrying goods for the cabins, while the slaves kept on building "How many patrols are you sending out? And where are the champions?"

"Currently there are seven groups of five, and the champions have left, they said there was no reason to wait, and insisted on hunting for the demon and bringing its head for you"

"They were young and insisted on leaving alone, I suppose?"

"Yes"

A silence took over for a moment among them.

"Gather a few extra scouts, tell them to find the bunch and join them in their search" Alfred ordered, the guard nodded and left to carry out his orders "Stupid kids of the Knighthood, I already lost Alden, if they die too I will be the laughing stock of the nobles"

Alfred stared at a group of ten scouts, with lighter armor than the rest of the soldiers, but on top of horses, quickly riding out of the camp and into the woods.

Inside the forested area, four champions walked together, guided by a man dressed like a priest, his hand out with the palm open, and on top of it, a circle of fire that had a ball in its center. But it remained static in its center, making the priest frown.

They dressed better than the soldiers, their clothes visibly more expensive, what could be seen in the gaps in their steel armor and leather boots and gauntlets or gloves. Three men and a woman, or better said, barely men and women.

"Come on, let's get this over with already" The champion of the blade spoke to the priest, walking up closer to him as everyone grew impatient.

"The flame should guide-"

"Guide us to the fucking demon, I KNOW" the woman shouted; she carried a spear and had several knives strapped to her " But either put some coal in it or I will piss on your hand, I swear for the righteous god"

"Calm down, we just need to be patient and we will surely find it" the third man spoke up, in his hands, a crossbow, and lifting the visor off his helmet, a wide smile.

"I just don't like the idea of fighting in the rain" the woman added "Listen, maybe we should go back. Wait for the storm to pass and search later"

"No way, it's a goblin demon, we will never find an easier job that can carry us through the ranks and I want to earn my cape as fast as possible" the champion of the blade added, resting his long sword on his shoulder as he grabbed a necklace with his other hand; the four of them had it, a golden sword.

"At least we could go back, and return with a few horses, don't you think?" the priest said, making the one with the sword more frustrated.

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"Horses are too noisy! It will hear us from a mile away and if it's raining we will trip!" he walked up to the priest, making him step back

"Well, you are screaming like a lunatic so it probably heard us already!" the woman yelled as she stood up between them.

"Come on!" The one carrying the crossbow tried to calm them down, shoving the swordsman away as gently as possible "Let's not get too anxious, alright? It's stupid to fight in an unknown territory with an enemy we have never faced, Master Dante taught us this"

The mention of their master quickly seemed to calm everyone, as the swordsman shared a glance of understanding with the priest, and he nodded back.

"You are right. Let's go back before it rains" the swordsman said, looking up, trying to see through the foliage of the trees as a few drops of water began to fall "What-"

From above, like an arrow, the demon goblin fell on top of the swordsman faster than he could react, digging both war picks into the gaps in his armor, and penetrating between his neck and shoulders as blood immediately pours out of the wounds.

The swordsman finally moves and tries to swing his blade, but the goblin jumps away to the closest target, the priest. He screams and tries to summon a circle, but it's too late, the goblin phases through the fire, and with the blunt part of his war picks he smashes the hands of the priest, a loud crunching sound is heard accompanied by the scream of the pain of the man.

A spear is thrust right at that moment and the goblin uses his picks to hold onto it sliding and pushing himself to the woman, who panics and lets go of her weapon, reaching for her knives and throwing three in quick succession as she backs away.

One, two, three swings of his picks and the throws have been deflected, but he is now on the ground and is forced to jump away, zig-zagging as he moves further and further away, the crossbowman shooting his weapon in quick succession, four bolts stuck to the ground where the goblin once was.

Only a few seconds had passed, and the wood was filled with screams and shouts.

"STAND BACK!" the crossbowman ordered, as the woman tried to reach for her spear.

The woman looked at the swordsman, who dropped his blade to the ground, having a hard time not dropping to the ground.

"Potion...potion" he managed to speak up, blood dripping from his helmet.

The priest was crying, looking at his mangled hands in horror for a moment before turning to see the demon they had been paid to hunt. Wondering how it managed to escape the detection of his spell, the flame should have guided them to any demon, burning brighter the closer they were.

And this did demon, had nothing of that sort. His skin was not red, and he neither had horns nor wings; no matter how you looked at it, he seemed like any other goblin.

His hair was amber in color and short, a sign of a year of age. Wearing furry boots and leather pants, he had a few steel plates strapped to his chest and shoulders, with more fur on his forearms and cloth wraps on his hands.

He stood firmly, and straight, unlike any goblin anyone from the group had seen before; but it was his eyes, however, that the priest focused on.

Black like any other monster, with the golden irises all goblins possess, but there was weight behind them, knowledge. And his jaded expression remained unchanging, like a man tired of carrying the burden of living. And his eyes constantly moved between the four of them, carefully watching who would make the next move.

Snapping away from his pain, the priest reached for a pouch on his belt, sticking his hand inside even if it made him cry out in agony. The goblin, however, did not wait to see what would he take out.

With speed no goblin should possess, the monster rushed toward the priest and the battle resumed.

The woman threw a few more knives at it, as she reached for her spear, and the crossbowman grabbed four bolts from the bag on his belt. The knives were once again deflected by the quick moves of the goblin, who didn't stop his rush to the priest.

When the crossbowman was ready and the woman held her spear once again, they both pointed at the goblin only to see with horror how the priest yelped and was silenced by the deadly strike of the two war picks. One piercing his head and the other his neck.

The crossbowman scream in anger and shoot his weapon, but the goblin used the body of the priest to shield himself from the bolts. The woman strikes at him once the fourth bolt had been spent, forcing the goblin to jump away and defend himself.

They exchange blows, the woman utilizing her weapon with masterful finesse, forcing the goblin to give up terrain as the clash of steel echoes and the sparks fly with each strike.

"MOVE!" The crossbowman yells, ready to shoot another barrage of bolts, but can't. The woman moves back but the goblin follows, using her as a living shield through which the man can't shoot "MOVE AWAY!"

"I CAN'T!" the woman yells back, doing her best to try and give her companion a clean shot. With a furious scream, she jumps at the goblin and trusts, managing to force the goblin to become an easier target for the guy.

The crossbowman doesn't hesitate and shoots, the first bolt strikes true and pierces the right shoulder of the goblin, making him grit his jagged teeth in pain. But only after shooting the second bolt did he realize his terrible mistake.

The goblin threw one of his weapons at her and grabbed the handle of the spear, the woman duck the weapon but that made her get closer to the goblin, who in a moment, reached for her and put her between him and the incoming bolt.

It pierced the plate armor on her just enough to make her scream, but it was the goblin, who moved quickly behind her and threw the spear at the crossbowman forcing him to evade.

When the man looked again at the goblin, he had already penetrated the neck of his friend with his war pick. In a final scream of anger, pain, and fear. He shoots his final two bolts, one strikes true at the chest of the goblin as he charges, the other missing him for just a bit.

He can't reach for his bolts, the goblin catches up to him and he turns around to flee, only for his feet to be struck by the war pick, then his abdomen, and as he falls on the ground, turning around to strike at the goblin with his crossbow, the last thing he sees is the war pick approaching his still exposed face.

The battle is over.

I breathe deeply, if I had not dealt with the swordsman first, this could have turned out much differently.

My eyes fall on him as I retrieve my war pick from the skull of this man, dripping with blood. The swordsman has now fallen onto the ground, his helmet rolled away and I can see his face, so young that I wonder if thinking of him as a man is correct, he is but a boy.

Once I walk up to the priest I stare amazed at his open palm, as broken as I left it, he somehow managed to hold on to the potion, the small vial meant to save his companion, friend, maybe brother even. I will never know.

I grab it, sparing a single glance at the bolt stuck deep inside my shoulder and then at the young swordsman, he is still breathing if only barely, both of his lungs filling with blood with each passing second. The thought passes through my mind to pour some of this potion on him, to save him.

But it is no more, than a passing thought.

I must leave fast, these were champions, much weaker than the knight I faced at Makur's camp. But there may be more coming, I need to find a way out of these woods and return to the border of the kingdom before I stumble upon any of the patrols and find my end in these woods.

So I reach for my war pick on the ground and rest them both on their respective rings on my back, sparing one last look at the four corpses before looking ahead and running away, there is a storm coming.