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Shadows of the Forsaken (LitRPG)
Chapter 15: The Village Part 1

Chapter 15: The Village Part 1

The world swam back into focus in blurry, disjointed fragments. Erik’s senses felt muffled, like he was submerged beneath a heavy, suffocating blanket. His head throbbed, and every bone in his body ached, yet there was a rhythmic, jarring sensation that pulled him further into awareness. He was moving—or rather, being moved.

Groaning softly, Erik opened his eyes to slits, squinting against the afternoon sun that filtered through the trees overhead. The world rocked back and forth, and he realized he was slung across the back of a horse like a sack of grain. The leather of the saddle pressed uncomfortably into his chest, and his arms hung limply, bouncing with each step the horse took.

A voice, stern and low, drifted into his awareness. "He stirs," said Berndhardt, who rode beside Erik’s mount. His eyes flicked to Erik’s slowly waking form, an eyebrow quirking with mild amusement. "Took him long enough. Thought he might sleep clear through to the seaport."

Vesper, riding a few paces ahead, turned in her saddle. Concern flickered across her features, quickly masked by her usual stern demeanor. "He’s coming to?" she asked, though her voice held a tension that betrayed her worry.

Erik groaned again, trying to push himself upright, but his limbs felt like lead. "Where...?" he managed, his voice hoarse and cracked from days of disuse.

The paladin commander, riding at the front of the escort, glanced over his shoulder. "Hold steady, Marlowe. We’re on our way to the seaport," he informed Erik, his tone matter-of-fact. "You’ve been out cold for over a day."

The Red Queen had indeed stayed true to her word, providing Erik and his companions with an escort despite the High Paladin’s abrupt departure. The paladin commander was a grizzled man named Sir Aldric, his armor polished to a mirror shine, and his presence exuded discipline and authority. Flanking him were his four elite warriors, each one armed and ready for any danger that might come their way.

Vesper dismounted and walked her horse back alongside Erik’s, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "You look terrible," she said, though there was a note of relief in her voice.

"Feel... worse," Erik replied, his lips curving into a weak grin.

The demon in his hand chose that moment to stir, its mouth forming with a sharp, teasing grin. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” it quipped, its tone annoyingly chipper. “Missed all the fun while you were napping. And by fun, I mean Vesper interrogating everyone for answers she won’t find.”

Vesper shot Erik’s hand a withering glare. "You’d be wise to keep that thing quiet," she muttered, her voice tight.

The demon smirked. “Make me.”

Berndhardt chuckled under his breath, the sound low and rumbling. "Looks like your pet demon hasn’t lost its tongue."

Erik shifted, finally managing to push himself upright with great effort. His muscles screamed in protest, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to sit up in the saddle. The world still wavered around the edges, but he was awake, and his mind was slowly piecing together the situation.

They had been traveling for a day, moving steadily toward the sea. The air felt heavy with anticipation, as if the very world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Even the horses seemed skittish, their ears flicking at every rustle in the underbrush.

Vesper’s probing gaze shifted from Erik to Berndhardt, her suspicion not easily quelled. "So, Berndhardt," she said, her voice deliberately even. "Tell me, what’s your take on the situation? You seem unbothered by all this."

Berndhardt shrugged, the gesture infuriatingly nonchalant. "I’ve faced worse," he replied, his tone annoyingly simple. "Keep moving. Keep your blade sharp. Don’t die. The usual."

Vesper’s jaw clenched. "And if that doesn’t work?"

Berndhardt’s blue eyes glinted with mirth. "Then die loudly so the others know where to find your body."

The demon in Erik’s hand cackled. “Oh, I like him. He’s almost as infuriating as you, Vesper.”

Vesper’s glare could have frozen a river. "One of these days," she muttered, "I will find a way to silence that thing."

The paladin commander raised a hand, signaling for the group to slow. "Steady," he commanded, his voice calm but firm. "We’re approaching the village. No one knows what happened here, and we should tread carefully."

The mist seemed to deepen the closer they got, thickening into a heavy shroud that wrapped around the trees and hung low over the ground. Erik's senses sharpened, his body tensing as he caught the faintest rustle of movement from the woods. The horses stamped and whinnied nervously, ears flicking and eyes wide with fear.

Vesper's hand drifted to the hilt of her sword, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the shadows. "Something's coming," she murmured.

Berndhardt, ever the stoic warrior, calmly unslung his axe from his back and rolled his shoulders.

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The paladin commander and his quick-reaction team fell into a defensive formation, shields raised and weapons ready. The forest around them felt alive, not just with the usual sounds of nature but with a malicious, watchful presence. Erik's heart thudded in his chest, his grip tightening on the reins of his horse as he tried to shake off the lingering exhaustion from his days of unconsciousness.

Before he could utter a warning, the mist thickened, and a sudden volley of spears and arrows came hurtling toward them. The party scattered, shields raised and weapons drawn. Erik’s heart pounded as he recognized the figures emerging from the mist.

Gorgrik and Grak stood at the head of a goblin horde, their wicked grins twisted with the cruel humor Erik remembered all too well. Behind them, a small company of over a hundred goblins moved forward.

Then, without warning, the woods exploded with sound. From between the trees burst a wave of goblins, clad in mismatched armor and wielding all manner of crude weapons—rusty spears, spiked clubs, jagged knives, and even makeshift slingshots that launched rocks and shards of broken glass. The goblins poured out with wild, guttural cries, their eyes gleaming with the feral excitement of an ambush.

Leading them were two familiar figures: Gorgrik and Grak. Gorgrik, the older and more cunning of the two, wore a patchwork of boiled leather and chainmail, a jagged, rune-etched axe in one hand and a crude wooden shield in the other. His sharp yellow eyes locked onto Erik, a crooked grin splitting his face.

His hand drifted to the hilt of the Shadowblade of Primal Resonance, and the demon in his hand formed a mouth, whispering gleefully, “Oh, this should be fun.”

Erik's jaw clenched, memories of brutal training sessions with Gorgrik and Grak flashing through his mind. These were the goblins who had taught him to fight, to survive, to adapt to any situation with cunning and ferocity. But now, they stood against him, leading an ambush meant to kill.

Vesper’s eyes darted to Erik, worry creasing her brow. "Friends of yours?" she asked, though the answer was clear from the tension in Erik’s posture.

Gorgrik raised his axe, and the goblin warriors howled, brandishing their weapons with savage glee.

The forest felt tighter, the mist pressing in as Erik drew his sword, the blade whispering as it left its sheath. The primal energy within the weapon pulsed, and Erik could feel it resonate with his own power, ready to be unleashed.

Berndhardt cracked his neck, a grin spreading across his face. stepping forward to stand beside Erik.

Vesper, her sword drawn, glared at the goblins with a fierce intensity. "Goblins.." she said, her voice steady but charged with anticipation.

The paladin commander barked orders to his warriors, and they raised their shields, forming a wall of steel to meet the charging goblins. Erik's heart pounded, but his mind was clear. These were his old teachers, the ones who had made him stronger. But now, he would show them just how much he had changed—and how much he had to protect.

Erik took a deep breath, and as the goblins closed in, he let his rage simmer just beneath the surface, ready to be wielded like a weapon. The battle was about to begin, and this time, he wasn't fighting alone.

Erik’s heart pounded, but he was ready. He tightened his grip on the Shadowblade of Primal Resonance, the weapon vibrating with a familiar hum, resonating with the primal energy within him. His demonic system flared to life, tactical readouts and stat prompts appearing in his vision. The alerts highlighted threats, analyzed attack patterns, and displayed his current abilities which Erik quickly blinked away as combat was the focus.

Gorgrik, the older and more cunning of the two goblin leaders, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Erik... you think can beat Gorgrik now? Weakling human no magic. No tricks. Just blood and pain." His voice was thick with mockery, each word dripping with disdain.

Grak let out a guttural laugh, hefting his massive iron maul. "Yes, yes! We make boy hurt! Teach you again, yes?" His words came out in broken, half-snarled sentences, his eyes alight with a cruel glee.

Erik’s anger simmered beneath the surface, but he forced himself to stay calm. The demon inside him whispered, its voice a low rumble. “Don't let your rage consume you... yet.” The demon’s tone was uncharacteristically restrained, as if even it recognized the gravity of the moment.

The paladin commander called out orders, his voice steady and commanding. The elite warriors formed a defensive line, shields raised to meet the first wave of goblins. Arrows whistled from the tree line, but the paladins held strong, deflecting the projectiles with practiced efficiency.

Erik moved forward, stepping into the chaos with calculated precision. His first target was a goblin wielding a spiked club. The creature lunged at him, its movements wild and uncoordinated. Erik sidestepped, his enhanced reflexes kicking in bringing the Shadowblade down in a clean arc, the edge slicing through the goblin’s neck. The blade pulsed with shadow energy, and a prompt flashed in his vision:

Shadowblade hidden element Activated: Blade has absorbed life energy.

Erik would have to remember that one for later.

Two more goblins charged at him, their rusted knives flashing. Erik shifted into a defensive stance, memories of Gorgrik and Grak’s brutal training flooding back. His body moved on instinct, honed by years of practice and the enhancements granted by his demon. He parried the first attack, his blade meeting the knife with a resounding clang, then pivoted and delivered a powerful kick to the second goblin, sending it sprawling.

Gorgrik sneered, stepping forward with his rune-etched axe. "Good, good! You learn... but not enough." He barked orders in their guttural language, and the goblin warriors adjusted their formation, circling Erik and the paladins.

Erik exhaled, his focus razor-sharp. His speed and agility increasing as the demonic energy continued to flow through him increasing slowly after each attack. A goblin mage just outside of reach of the immediate area where Erik was battling Grak and Gorgrik, began to chant, dark energy swirling around its gnarled staff. Erik’s system flagged it as a high-priority threat.

Erik moved from a dodge, parry and spin to an outstretch hand fingers sprawled open and demonic mouth and eyes surfacing on his hand smiling as the mouth opened and a vortex flared to life, and the dark fire spell was sucked into the void. The energy flowed into him, and he felt his strength grow even further.

Sin Eater Activated: Spell Absorbed. Energy Boosted to 30%.

The goblins began to hesitate, their confidence faltering as they witnessed Erik devour their magic. Even Grak and Gorgrik exchanged wary glances. Erik’s eyes blazed red with determination.

The clash of steel and the chaotic screams of battle surrounded Erik, but his focus was honed in on the two goblin leaders. Gorgrik and Grak moved with a predatory confidence, each one the embodiment of the brutal training they had once inflicted upon him. Now, their roles were reversed: Erik was the student no longer.