Five thousand gold. That was much more like it.

Of course, Arlo had to hide most of that. He didn’t want everyone knowing he was suddenly rich beyond belief. But with all that money, Arlo had been able to enchant his musket with a distance enchantment. Even better, that left him with two thousand gold to spend on spells.

Which, admittedly, only got him two Tier 2 spells. But that was two more than he’d had before. Arlo was one happy amurrun.

Unfortunately, the good times couldn’t last.

And so it was that Arlo and Coradiel marched into the mayor’s office, with Sheriff Hemlock in tow. Mayor Deverin sat behind her desk, pouring a small glass of wine for the elven woman on the other side.

“Ah, you must be the heroes of the hour,” the elf said, raising her glass to them.

“Coradiel, Arlo, this is Shalelu Andosana, unofficial guardian of Sandpoint and goblin hunter extraordinaire,” Mayor Deverin said.

“That’s me,” the elf agreed. “And do I have a tale today.” She took a deep drink. “The goblins have been on the move. The attacks that have come so far? Child’s play from what I’ve seen. At least 200 goblins are swarming a ruin owned by the Thistletop tribe. Now, a normal tribe is lucky if they have fifty members. 200 is unheard of. More disconcerting, several champions from various tribes have been grouping up together to lead raids into the hinterlands. I managed to stop one raid on a farm, but I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“In short, Sandpoint is fucked.”

“Arlo!” Coradiel glowered at the catfolk. “Excuse him, please, Lord Mayor. He is not the wisest person at times.”

“It is quite alright,” Mayor Deverin said, the hint of a smirk on her face. “All present hope that the goblins can be stopped. And seeing the quality of your work thus far, we believe you two might be our best bet.”

“Forgive me, but 100 to 1 against are not what I call good odds,” Arlo said sharply. “Yeah, I don’t want Sandpoint to burn. I also don’t feel like becoming a martyr.”

“The hope is that no one will die-”

“A fool’s hope,” Arlo insisted. “Someone will die in a battle this large, whether the fight is here or at this Thistletop. At least if the fight is here, we can set up defences to reduce the number of casualties.”

“And if we wait for the goblins to attack, they’ll have this Malfeshnekor on their side, along with… how many champions?” Coradiel asked, turning to Shalelu.

“Bruthazmus, Ripnugget, Gogmurt, maybe Korvusus — though he’s been absent for a while. I haven’t seen Vorka either; I assume he’s still in the Brinestump Marshes.” Shalelu hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know where you get two hundred goblins from — that many would never fit in Thistletop.”

Arlo fished Tsuto’s journal from his bag, dropping it on the desk.

“I’ve been trying to copy this down as much as possible so Sheriff Belor could take a look at it,” he said. “In it, Tsuto said there was a raid of two hundred goblins coming. I figured they’d be gathering around Thistletop, if that’s the hotbed of goblin activity at the moment.”

Sheriff Hemlock took the journal and began thumbing through it. He paused at a portrait within the journal, his eyes widening.

“That’s Nualia Tobyn!”

“What?!”

“Who’s that?” Coradiel asked when no one bothered to explain. Not that Arlo could explain — his [Knowledge: Local] skill seemed to be coming up short.

“Ezakien Tobyn’s adopted daughter,” the sheriff replied. “She’s supposed to have burned to death with him!”

“But why would she have a vendetta against Sandpoint?” Arlo asked. “She is trying to outright destroy this town.”

“She was always a loner,” Sheriff Hemlock remembered. “A lot of the townfolk were… not the most pleasant around her.”

Arlo rolled his eyes.

“Ah yes, the “murderer because you were bullied once” trope. Mixed in with a sprinkle of “she was a loner”.”

It was asinine. How many times on Earth had he been spat on, beaten, attacked? Abused by family and so called friends, yet Arlo had never killed anyone.

At least, not until he reached this place and started killing goblins. But they started it. Well… technically he started it, but they were already planning to attack, so Arlo didn’t feel too bad.

“She chose to murder an entire town because she was mistreated. Sorry, I have no sympathy for her.”

“I’m with the cat on this one,” Shalelu spoke up. “Anyone who allies with goblins is bad news. And needs to be stopped.”

“Aw fuck. For once, I wish everyone was against me.” Arlo stood up, turning toward the door. “I’ll get my gear. But I need some people to come with us. Preferably ten at least, half archers, half melee.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sheriff Hemlock promised.

He got four. Two archers, two pikes.

Arlo sighed yet again as he followed Shalelu through another bramblepatch. The ranger had proven invaluable in finding small goblin passages through the Nettlewoods. But there was little she could do to maintain stealth with six others who had little training in the ways of silence. Branches crackled, twigs snapped, every step was like an orchestra blasting “Ride of the Valkyries”.

Which was why Arlo wasn’t surprised when the first arrow came.

Loud shrieks and hollers echoed around the small group as goblins poured from the woods. Two of the guards immediately broke and fled.

Gritting his teeth at their cowardice, Arlo cocked his musket.

“[Forced Quiet].”

The world muffled around Arlo. He levelled his gun and squeezed the trigger.

Silence. The weapon fired, a goblin fell, but the characteristic report of the musket was absent, hiding Arlo’s presence from anyone alerted by the sound of combat.

Satisfied, the mage began laying his buffs. [Abundant Ammunition], [Flaming]… he went ahead and added a frost enchantment for good measure, using an extra mana in the process.

But his next shot absolutely demolished his target. A wicked grin crossed Arlo’s face, and he reloaded.

Around him, goblins shouted and shrieked. Coradiel’s sword flashed, beating off blade and cudgel alike, and Shalelu’s bow sang, sending arrow after arrow into the goblins assaulting them, until none were left.

Silence ruled the day. Arlo was about to drop his spells when a shrill shriek broke the silence.

“Firepelt!” Shalelu warned.

As if on cue, a cougar pounced out of the surrounding forest, claws sinking into one of the two remaining guards. Arlo swept around, and a bullet fired.

Fire and ice crackled. Bloody steam erupted from the cougar’s side, and it screamed again. Whirling, the cat lunged at the closest target. Coradiel stepped neatly aside, bringing his sword down on the beast’s neck.

But the fight was far from over.

Vicious vines erupted around them. Thorns gouged into Arlo’s legs, and his health bar flashed, dropping three points. Grimacing, the amurrun twisted, searching out this latest foe.

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“Gogmurt,” Shalelu said, nocking an arrow. “A goblin druid. We just killed his companion.”

“Great. Where is he?” Arlo demanded.

A fireball suddenly shot from the surrounding brambles, cutting down their last guard. Arlo groaned even as he brought his musket to bear — so much for numbers. He fired.

CRACK!

“Shit!” Arlo winced at the sharp retort even as his bullet crashed through the woods around them. An answering scream told him he hadn’t missed, and a goblin stumbled out of the brambles, clutching his leg.

An arrow caught the druid before he could cast again, and Coradiel charged, weaving effortlessly through the vines. Arlo reloaded frantically, and his gun barked again.

This shot caught the goblin in the head, caving in his thick skull. He crashed to the ground, and silence once again reigned supreme.

“Is that the last of them?” Arlo asked, turning to Shalelu.

[Level up! Choose one class to gain your next level in]

Another fight, another level. Arlo was starting to see a pattern here. He hadn’t levelled at all in Magnimar, yet he’d levelled several times in the last few days. Combat was definitely key here

His mana flashed as he recast his [Abundant Ammunition]: 22/30. He was still good to go for a while, but he still needed to watch out for fatigue around the 15 mana mark. Still, another ten mana for his use? That was great news for everyone except the goblins.

If only they hadn’t lost the guards.

“How many do you think are still in Thistletop?” Coradiel asked as they hacked their way through the woods.

“Can’t be too many,” Shalelu said. “Maybe forty or fifty could fit in there?”

“Obviously, we have very different definitions of too many,” Arlo muttered, stepping carefully into Shalelu’s footprints. He dodged a branch, and froze.

A 60 foot long rope bridge hung feet away, crossing a chasm that ended in water. Across the bridge, a ramshackle fort stood, with nearly a dozen goblins stationed outside. A guard tower held a human and a massive bugbear, both armed with bows.

“Bruthazmus,” Shalelu cursed.

Beside her, Arlo reloaded.

“Okay, who am I killing first?” He squinted at the goblins on the far side. All of them held bows. “Shit. Bridge is trapped,” he said, motioning toward the beasts. “They’re all ranged units; they don’t want to cross the bridge. It’s okay. We can get across easily, as long as no one is left to shoot us.”

“And how do we-”

Arlo tuned Coradiel out. It took a moment to find the right angle, but….

“[Expeditious Excavation].”

A five foot pit appeared at the edge of the bridge. Taking a deep breath, Arlo sprinted forward. An arrow skipped off a rock beside him. A twin missile caught him in the leg. Arlo’s HP wavered, dropping by two points.

He dove into the pit, landing with an oof. The amurrun scrambled forward, putting his back against the front wall. Checking his gun, Arlo peeked over the lip of the pit.

“Shalelu! Move NOW!” he bellowed an instant before his gun fired.

On the tower, the bugbear stumbled, blood spurting from his shoulder as his health bar flashed down to 9 from 48. Behind Arlo, someone scrabbled, landing in the pit amidst a flurry of arrows.

“Fuck! What kind of plan is this?” Shalelu fumed. “I can’t even see to shoot!”

“But I can,” Arlo said, ducking down to reload. “This is the old World War 1 tactic of hide and murder the guys charging in the open. Coradiel! NOW!”

Standing, Arlo turned and fired. A goblin stumbled as the rest scattered. More scrabbling, and Coradiel dropped into the pit, crossbow in hand.

“And now we enter the shooting gallery,” Arlo grinned, reloading. “We can hit them, it’ll take a miracle for them to hit us, and none of us can close for melee.”

“Are you sure?” Coradiel demanded. “How do you know the bridge is trapped?”

“They all have ranged weapons,” Arlo repeated himself. “They don’t want to set foot on the bridge. It will most likely collapse once someone steps on it.”

“That’s a lot of ifs,” Coradiel growled, snapping off a shot across the bridge.

“Focus your fire on the two in the tower,” Arlo said, ignoring the paladin’s reservations. “They’re the only ones keeping the goblins in line. If they fall, we win.”

“I think they’ve realised that,” Shalelu said, pointing toward the goblins scurrying into the fort.

Groaning as the tower guards vanished, Arlo dropped back down into their hole. He watched as the last bullet cleared itself out of his musket and his ammunition spell faded.

“Well? What next?” he asked, turning to Coradiel. “We could stay here and starve them out-”

“We’d starve first,” Shalelu interrupted.

“Frontal assault on a superior position it is. Because nothing can be easy.” Arlo glanced at his mana. “I can get the three of us across the bridge, but then my mana will be severely depleted.”

“What’s your plan,” Coradiel asked, peeking over the lip of their shelter.

“Levitation. Bridge is 60 feet across. You can pull yourself along the ropes at about two feet a second. It’s risky, but I can cover the two of you while you work your way across, then you cover me while I go,” Arlo said.

“The longer we take, the worse the defences will be,” Coradiel warned.

“I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed,” Arlo brushed off. “Now, I’ll only be able to control your height and keep you from putting your full weight on the bridge. It’ll be up to the two of you to actually move. Preferably under the bridge, to use it as cover.”

“You want us to swing under the bridge, over a hundred foot drop, and trust that your magic will hold us?” Shalelu demanded.

“Yep!” Arlo swept his musket over the lip of their shelter, scanning for goblins. Satisfied that they’d all retreated, the catfolk grabbed Shalelu and shoved her forward. “Start running, and make sure to give a good push when you leave the cliff behind.”

“Fucking cat…” Shalelu grumbled in Elvish. But she picked herself up, and began sprinting.

“[Levitate],” Arlo intoned, and the elf kicked off the cliff, dropping about three feet before grabbing onto the bridge.

She swung herself across the chasm with remarkable alacrity, reaching the other side far ahead of Arlo’s thirty second schedule. Pausing to fiddle with something, the elf finally grabbed the bridge, and swung herself atop it. Bouncing a couple of times, Shalelu waved toward the others.

“Fuck, didn’t realise she could disable traps.”

“She’s a ranger,” Coradiel pointed out, before scurrying from their shelter.

Arlo kept his gun trained on the fort until Coradiel had made it across. Finally, he took a deep breath, and pulled himself from the makeshift trench.

He sprinted for all he was worth. Grabbing the edges of the rope bridge, Arlo whimpered. Fuck… that was a long way down. Keep moving keep moving keep-

An arrow caught him in the shoulder. Six HP vanished just like that. Arlo threw himself forward, crawling as fast as he could over the bouncing bridge. Every inch forward felt like a mile, as missiles hissed past him. Where the fuck was his covering fire??

Finally, his hand grabbed solid stone. Arlo lurched onto the island, groaning as the arrow in his shoulder wiggled from his motion.

“May Arshea grant her healing,” Coradiel said as he dragged the mage into a bush.

The arrow fell out, pushed by the now healed skin. Arlo gasped at the itching sensation, but he was alive, he was whole once more.

“Cutting it a bit close,” he rasped out, grabbing his musket.

Fifteen feet away, the Thistletop stockade stood tall, half-rotten timbers from ships shored up with more solid logs from fallen trees. A pair of wooden doors were sealed tight, but makeshift arrow slits offered archers clear shots straight ahead.

“Good thing we’re hiding in brambles,” Arlo muttered, picking a thorn out of his skin.

“It could be worse. We could be using goblin dung to hide our scent,” Shalelu pointed out.

“Ugh, I hate this game.” Arlo scowled, reloading his musket with one of his remaining shots. “No one’s experience is worse, everyone has their own limits, blah blah. Let’s just focus on getting out of here alive. Now, any bright ideas on how to get through those doors?”

“Through the tower,” Shalelu said, pointing toward the western guard tower, where a pair of goblins with crossbows stood guard against anyone stepping out of the thicket.

“Easy enough,” Arlo said, raising his gun.

CRACK!

A goblin fell screaming from the tower. The screams cut off with a sickening thud. The second goblin stumbled back as Arlo reloaded, and the catfolk grunted.

“Well, it should have been easy,” he muttered. “I can cast one levitation to get someone up there.”

Digging through his pack, he pulled out a coil of rope.

“Coradiel. You can defend yourself on your own. You got this?”

The paladin sighed, but nodded. Moving through the thicket, he emerged on the far side, sword in hand.

“[Levitate].”

Arlo watched his mana drop to 16 points. One more point, and he ran the risk of fatiguing himself. But Coradiel was on the rise, climbing up the side of the tower deftly without fear of falling. He crawled over the side of the tower.

A goblin flew off the tower.

And the rope descended, offering a way up for the other two.

Arlo slung his musket over his shoulder and rushed for the rope. Climbing swiftly, the mage pulled himself over the edge, and rolled away, panting heavily.

“Fuck… I need to do a bit more cardio,” he gasped out, bringing his gun to bear on the doorway leading into the fort.

Shalelu scampered up behind them, pulling the rope up after her. Coiling it up, Coradiel stuffed the rope back into Arlo’s bag. The paladin strode forward, and pushed the door open, unleashing a god-cursed stench upon them all.

They had made it into the fort.