Act I

Chapter IX

2nd Millennia of Pera Dunamis, Continent of Rigurford - 12th of Deepmoon

Khaz stands before us, the morning sun casting long shadows across the ancient fortress ruins. He notices our confusion and continues, “A Devlin is a superior subspecies of goblins, capable of wielding ice magic. They’re small in stature, like their goblin cousins, but their teal-ish skin and cunning intellect set them apart. Devlins command leagues of goblins and other lesser creatures, often serving as strategic leaders. They’re far more intelligent and dangerous than the average goblin.”

As he speaks, Khaz raises his hand, conjuring a small flame that hovers above his palm. The fire morphs and shifts, taking the shape of a detailed topographical map of the surrounding landscape. It’s a mesmerizing sight, the flames dancing and flickering as they form miniature trees, mountains, and other areas with precision.

Khaz points to a particular area on the map. “This is where we’ll be heading,” he explains. “A dense swamp village deep within the corrupted forest. The Devlin and its minions have made this place their base of operations. Our objective is to locate and eliminate the Devlin leader, which will destabilize the local goblin forces.”

He glances at Trent and me, his expression serious. “I will accompany you on this hunt. It’s your first actual combat mission, and I want to ensure your success and prevent any serious injury or fatality. Remember, this isn’t just a drill—it’s a test of your ability to work together through high-pressure situations.”

The realization of the situation settles over us, and I feel a mix of excitement and nerves. This is our chance to prove ourselves. Khaz extinguishes the flame map, filling the air with the scent of smoke and the lingering warmth of the fire.

“After breakfast, you’ll have two hours to rest and prepare,” Khaz instructs. “We’ll set off for the swamp village after that. Make sure you’re ready.”

Trent and I nod, absorbing the information. The thought of facing this so-called Devlin and its goblin squad is fantastical. It feels like we’re playing dungeons and dragons, minus the super competent protagonists of the story. Khaz’s guidance has been invaluable so far, and knowing he’ll be there to watch gives me immense encouragement.

After finishing our meal, we take the next couple of hours to rest and mentally prepare for the mission. I take a moment to meditate, using the breathing technique Khaz taught us—four second inhale, four second pause, four second exhale. It calms my nerves to no end. The anticipation is palpable, but I know I need to stay centered.

The time comes for me to gather my equipment. I scrape off the dried mud from my scaly armor, revealing a dim burgundy glow in the dark. It’s hard to believe that this is actually made from the scales and bones of a Leviathan. I equip both of my steel shortswords and meet Khaz at the edge of the fortress.

Trent is already waiting there with him. “Well, look at you in your fancy armor. Since when did you get this?” I ask, closely examining his shiny heavy-looking armor.

“Yeah, you like it? It’s made of adamantine. So is my shield and longsword,” He explains, showing off his lustrous gear. “It took quite some time to assemble a complete set.”

“You know, I forgot you used your construction manager job as a cover just to travel with Khaz. What a cheat,” I say, still a bit hurt about Trent keeping secrets. He kept this kind of life secret for ten years.

“Time to get going,” Khaz interrupts, descending the fortress innards down to the base of the mountain.

The old man leads the way into the corrupted forest. After some time, the air grows thick and humid as we make our way deeper into the swampy terrain. The ground beneath our feet becomes increasingly unstable, the once solid earth now a soggy, treacherous mire. The dense trees loom overhead, their gnarled branches casting calls of unseen creatures and the occasional rustle of movement in the underbrush.

As we approach the swamp village, Khaz signals for us to stop. We crouch low, hidden among the twisted roots and dense foliage. From our vantage point, we can see the village—a collection of crude huts and shacks built on stilts, interconnected by rickety wooden walkways. The air is thick with the stench of decay and stagnant water.

Khaz turns to us, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be watching from a distance,” he says, his eyes scanning the area. “Remember your training. Use the terrain and strike swiftly. Thin the goblin herd and then focus on the Devlin.”

Trent and I nod, adrenaline coursing through our veins. We draw our swords, the cold metal reassuring our hands. Khaz gives us a final acknowledgment before melting into the shadows, leaving us to our task.

We move silently through the undergrowth, our movement practiced and fluid as we use the trees to conceal our approach. The village is bustling with activity; goblins scurry about, carrying supplies and barking orders. Their green skin contrasts sharply with the teal-ish hue of the Devlin, who stands atop a crude platform at the village center, overseeing the chaos.

Our first target is a group of goblins patrolling the outskirts of the village. Trent and I share a glance, silently coordinating our attack. With a swift strike, we dispatch the goblins one by one. Our movements are precise. The goblins barely have any time to react before they’re taken down.

The goblin patrols are surprisingly well-organized, each squad moving with purpose and discipline. It’s clear that the Devlin’s influence has elevated their capabilities, making them more formidable than the imaginative, fantastical goblin rabble. But we’re prepared. The training has honed our skills, allowing us to cut them down with ease.

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We continue our assault, moving deeper into the village. The narrow walkways and densely packed huts provide ample cover, allowing us to stay hidden as we take out the goblins. Each encounter is a brief, deadly dance of steel and blood.

As we near the center of the village, the Devlin finally takes notice. It stands atop a giant serpent-like creature with a crocodile-esque head.

“A Kuminar!” Trent yells, holding his shield closer. “Careful Leon!”

The beast’s scales glisten in the dim light, its eyes gleaming with malevolent intelligence. The Devlin, small and wiry, surveys the village with a cold, calculating gaze. It’s clear that this creature is the brains behind the goblin operations, its presence commanding and intimidating.

The Kuminar lets out a low, rumbling growl, its body coiling and uncoiling with a sinuous grace. The sight of the creature sends a chill down my spine. This is obviously no ordinary adversary.

Tension saturates the atmosphere as Trent and I lock eyes, our unspoken understanding clear: don’t die. The Devlin snickers as goblins pour out from the huts behind it. It raises a clawed hand, and the goblins surge forward, their screeching war cries echoing through the swampy fog. The walkways shake under the weight of their charge, a chaotic green tide of jagged blades and crude weapons.

Trent leads as he leaps into actions, his sword steady as he cuts through the first goblin. “Stay sharp,” Trent shouts over the din, dispatching another goblin with a swift slice to the neck. I follow closely. My heart pounds in my chest as I parry a clumsy goblin strike, the impact vibrating up my arm. The goblin lets out a vicious growl before I drive my blade through its chest, ending its life with a final, desperate, bloody gasp.

As the last of the goblins fall, a moment of stillness descends upon the battlefield. The quiet before the storm. I glance up at the Devlin, who watches with a detached interest, its lips curling into a cruel smile. It raises its hand again, and this time, the Kuminar lets out an ear-splitting roar, launching itself toward us with terrifying speed. The creature charges, its jaws snapping shut mere inches from my face. I barely roll out of the way, the beast’s hot breath washing over me like a foul wind.

Trent engages the Kuminar. He ducks and waves, dodging the beast’s powerful strikes with a grace born from years of training. Meanwhile, the Devlin begins to chant in a harsh, croaky language. The breeze of combat grows colder, and I feel a shiver run down my spine as a layer of frost being to form on the ground. The creature’s teal skin seems to glow with an otherworldly light as it conjures a flurry of ice shards, launching them toward us with a flick of its wrist.

I twist and turn, barrel rolling out of the deadly projectiles’ trajectory. It’s then that I notice something odd—I’m moving faster, more precisely. Each dodge feels almost preemptive, as if I know where the attacks will land before they even leave the Devlin’s hands. A sudden realization dawns on me: I’m not just reacting; I’m seeing these attacks before they happen. My gold eyes grip on glimpses of the immediate future.

The feeling is both exhilarating and terrifying. “Trent, we need to knock the Devlin out!” I shout, dodging another barrage of ice shards.

“No shit, Sherlock!” Trent shouts, parrying the Kuminar which used its body as a spear. He plunges his sword into its side, using the Kuminar’s momentum to slice itself open. The Devlin shifts its attention to Trent as it conjures a gigantic shard of ice, launching it at Trent.

The man raises his shield, poised and ready to take the brunt of the attack. As an icy haze erupts from the impact, I use the cover to sever the Devlin’s vision on me. I notice it create a barrier of ice as the creature snarls, a flicker of surprise crossing its face. The Kuminar slithers around Trent, who has the beast’s sole attention.

It coils and prepares for another spearhead strike. I find an opening to throw one of my swords, piercing through its left eye right before it lunges after Trent. The beast crashes into the ground and Trent is able to swiftly plunge his sword into the Kuminar’s thick skull.

As I make my approach around, a wall of ice launches towards Trent, catching him off-guard as he pulls out his sword. The Devlin made a solid strike through the debris of the Kuminar’s impact. My opening is clear as day.

With the Kuminar finally out of the picture, the battlefield quiets for a split second. The only sound is the crackling of ice forming from the Devlin’s magic. My heart pounds in my chest, the thrill of the fight thrumming in my veins. The icy haze from the impact of the gigantic shard the Devlin launched at Trent begins to dissipate.

The Devlin, caught off guard by the sudden absence of its monstrous companion, refocuses its attention on Trent. Ice shards form in its hands, shimmering with deadly intent. Trent, still reeling from the Kuminar’s final attack, doesn’t notice the Devlin’s next move. My vision sharpens, and I see the future unfolding—a vision of Trent being overwhelmed by a barrage of ice shards.

Not on my watch.

I push forward, my body moving on instinct as I leverage my foresight. The Devlin conjures a towering wall of ice, trying to separate Trent and me. But I’ve seen this trick before. I duck and weave through the shifting landscape of frost and shards, my sword slicing through the brittle barriers the Devlin erects. The creature’s eyes widen as I close the distance, realizing too late that its defenses won’t hold.

Just as the Devlin raises its clawed hand to strike Trent, I launch my sword in a powerful throw. The blade cuts through the air, aiming straight for the creature’s backside. Time seems to slow as the swords arcs through the air, glinting in the dim light. Before the Devlin can even react to the threat, my blade plunges into its chest, sending a shockwave rippling through its body.

Clutching at the wound, the teal goblin let out a shriek of pain, causing its magic to falter. The ice shards dissipate mid-air, leaving Trent unharmed. He looks up, eyes wide with surprise and relief as he takes in the scene. I rush forward.

With a swift, decisive movement, I pull the blade out and cut across. The creature’s head rolling off its shoulder as a fountain of blood spurts. Its teal skin paling as the life drains from its body. The head lands, a look of disbelief and horror etched across its face.

I stand over the fallen Devlin, chest heaving from exertion. The rush of battle slowly ebbs away, replaced by a sense of grim satisfaction. We actually did it.

Trent approaches, wiping sweat from his brow. He gives a weary grin, clapping me on the shoulder. “Nice work, little brother,” he says, his voice filled with pride. “You’re a natural.”

I nod, still catching my breath. “Yeah,” I manage, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I guess these eyes are more than just their looks.”

Khaz approaches from the shadows, a rare, approving smile on his face. He chuckles at the fallen Devlin and then at us, his eyes filled with a relief. “Good,” he says. “You handled this well. Now, let’s secure the area and ensure there are no stragglers.”

As we move to clean up the remaining goblins, I can’t help but feel accomplished in completing our first real test. Passing with flying colors. The world is full of dangers, and this hunt was only a taste of what’s to come.

For now, though, we can rest easy, knowing we’ve made our first mark in Rigurford.