Thirty minutes passed and the flow of goblins was constant. Surrounded by enemies, that was a long time to calm down and convince himself he was sufficiently hidden. They moved in small burbles as goblins often did, chattering loudly and making more noise than Wizz thought possible. Wizz knew goblin trust ran deep, but so did their cowardice. He’d witnessed both at once, a dying goblin could trust its comrades to leave it to die. It was the primary reason they ran in small groups, that camaraderie. An aspect of goblin culture.

He looked down. Up close, they were basically as everyone described one. Ugly and green. Their coloration ranged from vibrant like the color of healthy leaves, to brownish mulch, barely considered the stereotypical goblin color. These were forest goblins though, Wizz knew there existed other subraces. They had primitive weapons, bone swords and daggers, some armaments amounting to nothing more than a sharp stick. Others had steel, stolen equipment that could only speak of those they had killed.

They covered the forest floor, a tide of their kind. Something he’d never read about, but experienced firsthand was the lack of personal space. It didn’t look like their kind minded being shoulder to shoulder, squished against each other as they walked. And the heat. The temperature rising from the horde was nothing but internal body heat, but in these numbers? He could feel it rising up below.

None had looked up at him.

The frantic brainstorming had come up with only a few ways to escape. Unfortunately, each one ran the risk of drawing attention. The better option was just to wait.

Wizz, for the first time in twenty-one years, checked his Status.

Name: Wizz

STR: 7

CON: 6

DEX: 8

AGI: 8

PER: 10

INT: 12

WIS: 10

WIL: 9

CHA: 6

LUK: 7

Skills: [Learning] (Epic)

Actives: [Passable Application]

His face was a picture of wonderment, momentarily putting aside the issue of the horde below him. If they hadn’t noticed him by now, they probably wouldn’t anytime soon.

The Status only appeared to sentients once they accepted their first Skill Offer. For most, this was right before their first decade. Wizz had been waiting his entire life for it.

Right now, it was comically barebones, but Wizz already knew that more aspects of the Status would appear as they were encountered. Traits and Titles, for example, were well-known fields in the Status but the layman would often never unlock them so they remained invisible.

The ten attributes were always initially present, however. It was the reason they were featured so dominantly in religion across the world. Or plugged deeply into the culture of all sentient races. Even his own.

Wizz took in his own numbers, still finding the quantification strange. It looked like his mental attributes were higher than average. If he remembered correctly, the average for intelligence was around 4 or 5. He could only attribute it to his father’s teachings, his old man had warned him he was likely beyond most people. He was proud of that.

“Father always told me Ranger Perception and Scholar Intelligence were forever with me.” He chuckled. He shut his mouth immediately and took in his surroundings, staring down at green death. The passing goblins were too loud and focused to hear him. “And that Sage Wisdom abandoned me.” He groaned silently.

Halreachian citizens often personified the attributes, as his father did. Knight Strength, Brother Constitution, Weaver Dexterity, etc. The personification would always grasp some part of the attribute.

Wizz had read stories of them, fascinated, detailing the creation of the first sentients. All myths, of course. But then, so were dragons… Wizz shook his head, it was a thought for another time. The attributes were depicted as the first ten people, formed from nothing and everything. Molded by something living outside of the imagination. Together, they were what every sentient thus far was modeled after. The first ten were a mistake, the story went, too perfect in each of their own ways, perfect failures.

And their failures exemplified the attributes.

Strength for power and force. Constitution for endurance, hardiness, and health. Dexterity for delicate movement and finesse. Agility for speed, nimbleness, and quickness of motion. Perception for observation, awareness, and discernment. Intelligence for the power of the mind, the ability to think and process, to problem solve. Wisdom for understanding, judgment, and experience. Willpower for control, determination, and resolve. Charisma for presence, personality, and magnetism. Luck for chance and happenstance, success or failure.

Wizz glanced down at the marching goblins. The center mass had passed him now, leaving only the trailing smaller groups.

“Sir Luck be with me.” Wizz prayed. Some called him Gambler Luck, or the Dealer, Wizz always made sure to offer the correct respect. He’d always thought it might be the difference between an arrow in the shoulder and one in the neck.

Wizz stared down, putting aside his Status for a safer time. It must have been the entire goblin tribe. It had only been a matter of time, truthfully. There weren’t enough local adventuring teams to fully suppress a whole tribe of forest goblins, especially when there was better-paying work to be had elsewhere. They’d been allowed to grow too easily, reaching the size of a veritable horde.

From the looks of their path, well, Wizz had already assumed their target. They were heading the way Wizz had come. To Newhold.

He frowned. The city walls were nothing to scoff at, the place was built for the specific advantage of holding off any kind of monster horde, especially from the forest.

And yet… How many goblins did pass him?

It was when he started focusing on the individuals did he notice something. Different tribal markings. Wizz sat up, looking around the many goblins. Yes, there was an invisible division between the goblin groups. While some didn’t mind their personal space, there were pockets of space between groups. Some strayed further from others, but all were moving as one.

There were multiple tribes.

New Area Quest: [Goblin Invasion] (Common)

A goblin banner has been raised and tribes from across the Uncharted Lands have united. They march upon the City of Newhold, seeking to raid, ransack, pillage and rape. Stop the goblin tribes from destroying the city.

Goblins Defeated: 52/20,392

Personal Kills: 21

Reward: Variable based on contribution

Wizz’s eyes bulged. A horde numbering twenty thousand. Did… would the walls stand that onslaught? He mentally recounted Newhold’s garrison, guards, and other securities. Newhold was a relatively young city but it had a large military presence due to its proximity to the Uncharted Lands. A thousand? Two thousand soldiers?

Wizz didn’t have a head for large scale battles. He’d read strategic books analyzing warring kingdoms and encounters but he never thought it would apply. He’d skipped that portion of his studying. Could two thousand soldiers, manning structural defenses, repel a horde of twenty thousand?

He considered the impending clash as he watched the goblins pass below. This wasn’t even a notable fraction of what the entire horde was. He could—no, that would be suicide. A lone archer flanking a horde would die, without a doubt. But… he had to entertain the idea, if only for a moment. An archer used to the forest, from great range, and with even greater care… maybe. The goblins below thinned, the majority had passed him. He grimaced, still on alert, but thinking fast.

The city wouldn’t get the Area Quest until they saw the horde, or enough people became aware of the attack. He cursed. He couldn’t do anything from here. So what was his move?

He couldn’t just leave. Leaving a single goblin alive that he could’ve eliminated might mean someone’s death down the line. Saei and Lynn flashed in his mind. It was a risk assessment too. If he was careful, he could do some thinning. If not, he would be in trouble. He’d be of no help to anyone if he died.

A lone adventurer needed to know his limits.

His father’s words again, they rang true and he remembered the end of the quote. The latter part had always stuck with him the most.

A good adventurer knows death when he sees it and knows when to run. A great adventurer seeks death, dancing closer than anyone else dares. And the best adventurers know the great ones aren’t long for the world if they’re not careful.

It would be risky, but there was also a Quest to be had. A Common Quest was, predictably, the most common. However, Quests themselves were inherently uncommon Articles. As a rule, one could reap many benefits from the completion of one. But an Area Quest? That was a completely different matter, even if Common. There was potential for great rewards, so there was no doubt in WIzz’s mind the entire Adventurer Guild would be scrambling for action.

It was the Area Quest that tipped the scales for Wizz. If he remembered correctly, they could count towards the guild-issued request requirements. Since it overlapped with an existing request, he might be able to get double credit. He’d have to double check with Bjerg. At the thought of the receptionist he relaxed a tad. There were powerful people in the city, he remembered, people much more capable than he was. If the horde was a problem, then they were the solution, not Wizz.

He shook his head. He could only focus on the present. He’d made up his mind. He’d postpone the current requests he’d taken out and focus on the goblins. It was more pressing. Saei and Lynn, along with Kerrik and a number of other faces flashed in his vision again, and he doubled down on his focus.

Wizz crouched-walked between the branches, getting a lay of the enemy before him. He couldn’t hear the horde, or at least the part of it that had passed him, but he could see their trail easily. Now, he was behind a few small groups of goblins. Groups of two to four, traveling independently and far behind the rest. Cowards or latecomers, they were spread out enough through the forest that he could pick them off independently, if he was careful.

The enemies were only a little more concentrated than the ones he’d ran into earlier prior to the horde. Plenty enough to warrant caution, but little enough he had a decent chance at running from any given encounter.

He took a breath and moved through the trees, sticking to the thickest parts of the canopy. Moving along the branches wasn’t exactly fast but it was better than the exposure at ground level. The trees in Lull Forest had thick branches and rose high, a patient hunter could travel across the whole forest in its boughs.

He sighted a group through the leaves. Two goblins only. Perfect.

He put his left side against the tree trunk, drawing two arrows. Slowly, his left arm raised his bow horizontally. His right hand held two arrows between the fingers. Wivvelen fast archery. He felt better trying two arrows than the four he had used [Passable Application] with. He felt even fumbling with the second arrow would be faster than drawing an entirely new one now that he knew how the technique worked.

He waited between breaths, watching their figures weave between the trunks between him and them. He traced their heads in his mind, their figures burning bright in his focus even as they walked behind cover and emerged on the other side. His arrow tracked them, not quite drawn. Eventually, in the quiet, he had their gait.

He breathed, pulled and—paused, easing the string forward.

Gibberish below him. His eyes darted downward, his body completely still. Goblin chatter. A group had been moving in quiet, a rarity. He counted their number quickly. There were three. His gaze darted back to the two he was tracking, they were still in range. At this distance, however, the goblins below would hear him.

He took in his position, the weapons the goblins below had, and made a split decision before the shot on the two in the distance was lost.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He took a breath. Thwip. The second arrow whizzed after the first. The trailing goblin in the group of two sprouted an arrow on the side of its head before the leading one shared a similar fate. The order of a ranged kill was important, especially in quick succession.

The chattering rose louder from below. Wizz was already turning his bow downward. In the few seconds before they registered what they had heard up in the tree, Wizz had a new arrow pointing at them. If they let out an alarm, he would need to run.

He aimed for the easiest shot, a goblin frozen in fear staring at him. Instead one of its friends, a goblin behind that started running and screaming, was the goblin that caught the arrow in its neck. It gurgled, screams choked by blood.

The next arrow found the frozen goblin’s throat. He pulled another arrow from his quiver and searched for the last one when he heard scrabbling behind him. Claws on bark. It had climbed up the tree. He drew his sword immediately and swung behind him.

The goblin, ducked, wide-eyed at the sword embedded into the tree above his head, quivering metal. Then its beady eyes locked onto his and anger painted its green features as it let out a war cry—

Wizz grabbed its throat, throttling the sound before it could escape. It coughed as Wizz brought a knee to its stomach but managed to claw at his arms, drawing scarlet blood. Wizz grit his teeth and released it as it struggled against him. He couldn’t throw it off the branch without compromising his own balance.

It snarled at him, raspy and injured, looking at the drop below as if understanding what Wizz had just tried.

Wizz tried to nock another arrow but it lunged forward in a display of rage that disregarded any hopes of landing safely. Wizz abandoned the idea of shooting at it and brought his bow sideways. Then he slammed it into its gut. It grunted heavily as it flew backward, disoriented, but it had landed awkwardly, dropping to its stomach in order to save itself from falling. It scrambled to right itself, kicking out with dangling legs teetering too close to the edge—

Wizz impaled its head with the arrow, fist sinking the steel-tip all the way down to the bark. It squirmed and died before it could scream. He took a deep breath, ripping the arrow back out. He put it in his quiver and watched the body slide off the tree and impact the ground with a sickening squelch.

That was why he didn’t like fighting goblins in a melee. They were unpredictable, willing to throw their lives away in anger, than fight like any sane opponent. He checked his bow for cracks or strain before hooking it around his torso. Then he loosened his sword a bit before yanking it out of the bark. It had taken a bite a few inches deep, more than enough force to decapitate a goblin.

He repositioned to another branch with more canopy as cover. He didn’t want to retrieve his other arrows yet. He’d been using sound as a cue for the presence of his enemies but now that the forest was void of all natural sounds that wouldn’t help, especially if the goblins just happened to be moving in silence. He’d wait before coming to ground level.

“Decapitating that goblin would’ve saved me a potion.” He groaned quietly, pouring one of his minor healing potions on his arms. He made sure to dribble the liquid evenly across the wound, wasting not a drop. The familiar tingling, stinging, and numbing feeling dissipated as the wounds faded.

They’d been deep scratches, lots of blood but undoubtedly non-lethal. Normally he wouldn’t bother with a potion but he needed to be at his best. That meant the flexibility in his arms was crucial.

Five more goblins. It put his tally up to twenty-six. The ones he’d encountered on the way here, in hindsight, must’ve been scouting parties. Perhaps if he’d seen the mismatched tribal markings from the beginning he would’ve been more prepared. He was lucky he’d been in a tree when caught unawares.

Area Quest: [Goblin Invasion] (Common)

A goblin banner has been raised and tribes from across the Uncharted Lands have united. They march upon the City of Newhold, seeking to raid, ransack, pillage and rape. Stop the goblin tribes from destroying the city.

Goblins Defeated: 70/20,392

Personal Kills: 26

Reward: Variable based on contribution

Some goblins had already died without any interaction from Wizz and that made him wince. Somewhere, the mass of goblins had run into someone. If they were lucky like Wizz they’d have made their way behind the horde, if not… momentum alone would kill them. A moving horde didn’t stop.

He took a moment to center himself.

Adventurers were a special type of people. They risked life and limb for great treasures and riches. Powerful Articles. An adventurer sought danger willingly, tested themselves against the unknown, and faced threats greater than them everyday. Wizz was no different, only tempered by his lack of Skills.

Not anymore. He grinned. [Learning] would be a boon to his future, if he only lived to see it.

Still, being so comparatively weak gave him an acute understanding of what he was capable of. He didn’t have the ability to cut goblins in half, or pierce three at a time with a single arrow. He couldn’t flow through their number like a dancer, or tank their claws and weapons with his bare skin.

But he could kill them. He could take them at a plodding place, reliably, slowly, and cautiously. He knew how to kill them from afar. He could handle himself up close. It was nothing spectacular beyond raw skill, honed from childhood. It was that awareness of his mortality, his vulnerability, that made him so effective. It came from brushing close to death, knowing how powerless you truly were.

Wizz had seen a dragon. The answer had been right then and there. He was an ant in the eyes of being more ancient than stone. He was not invincible.

And yet, he was a Winslew, and if his father taught him anything about what that meant, it meant he was capable. More so than he thought at times. Even he couldn’t disparage that, no matter how humble.

He was Wizz the Skilless and far be it that he started taking things easy now that he actually had a Skill. That was never his plan. He wanted greatness. The purest dream of a foolish adventurer approached with a commitment serious enough to gamble two decades of his life.

That was Wizz.

He spent the next six hours nipping at the horde’s heels.

Area Quest: [Goblin Invasion] (Common)

A goblin banner has been raised and tribes from across the Uncharted Lands have united. They march upon the City of Newhold, seeking to raid, ransack, pillage and rape. Stop the goblin tribes from destroying the city.

Goblins Defeated: 141/20,392

Personal Kills: 51

Reward: Variable based on contribution

If he had the [Stealth] or [Forestry] or anything similar it would’ve simplified things. With so many goblins close by, he only managed to double his kills while being absolutely certain he kept behind the enemy. He didn’t want to unwittingly push into them. The strategy necessitated breaks, to see if goblins came from behind.

That was when he heard voices again. Only this time, they were in Ordinary not goblin-speak. Wizz blinked, peering around the tree he was perched in. People, here? He almost thought he was hallucinating.

But there they were.

Two men. One bearded and gruff, the other clean-shaven and young. Both wore the signs of battle as much as their armor. Gore covered steel plates along with caked dirt and soil. Goblin blood.

They looked worse than a few battles though. These people had been returning to the city, no doubt. The goblins should’ve passed over them, swarming them until they died. Yet they lived. It meant, somehow, they’d ended up behind the horde just like him.

Curious.

Wizz looked at them, trying to spot something through the gore. He didn’t want to deal with bandits or some other type. Once he found what he had already confirmed in his mind, he lowered his bow and did a double check for goblin bands.

Only then did he call out. “Friendly in the trees.” They were adventurers.

Both pivoted immediately, bringing their weapons to ready, before the words kicked in. They relaxed only slightly, still not seeing him.

Wizz waved, flashing the golden adventurer insignia on his shirt.

They locked onto him, then to his shirt, then fully let their weapons down. “Ranger’s balls, man. Scared the living hell out of me.” The younger of the two exclaimed.

“I take it you’ve gotten the Area Quest, friend? How’d you end up here?” The gruff one called out.

“Bit of bad luck.” Wizz responded. “I was on my way out of the city when the horde passed right under me.” Wizz explained. “Been picking at their back ever since.”

They perked up at that. “You’re just from the city? Have you heard if our party made it? Charles? Yeven? Maz? They’d have reported two of their own missing.”

“We came from the Scale Fields right as that pillar of fire shot up into the sky. Our party should’ve left without us.” The other said. “I just hope they’re not caught in front of the goblins.”

Wizz blinked.

This was their missing vanguard? The two people lost in the fight Wizz had intervened in? They had exited the Scale Fields from the entirely opposite side. He stared at them. Two warrior-types, close quarters, to match the mage and two archers. A standard party of five.

The two warriors caught something flying at them, two wrapped parcels. They looked up at him, befuddled.

“Your friends are fine.” Wizz called down to them. “[Travel Rations], have at it. You two look like crap.”

Thirty minutes later, they’d decided it was safe enough to start a fire. Night was falling and Wizz hadn’t seen a goblin the entire hour prior to running into the two warriors. He’d long since climbed down, joining the two as they set up camp.

Now, they sat amiably around the fire. Wizz had just finished his version of the events.

“So they’re fine then.” The younger one, Velken, let out a sigh of relief. He was blonde-haired and blue-eyed, so fair in skin Wizz could have mistaken him for an avesh. “You have my thanks, Wizz, they would’ve been run down otherwise.”

The older, Yoldin, only grunted. “It’s like Charles not to worry about us.” His hair was peppered with bits of grey, hale but aged. “Damn mage thinks we’ve got [Iron Skin].”

“I’d be more concerned about them than us.” Wizz replied, sitting by the crackling fire. If he listened closely, he thought he could hear the horde in the distance. Hoots and calls of goblin ruckus. “That’s twenty thousand heading straight for the city.”

It turned out the two had been forced partway underground. They’d been cornered until the pillar of fire erupted into the sky, sending everything into hiding. By then, they were closest to the western edge of the Scale Fields and opted to take the offered path out.

As it so happened, the route Wizz was taking up to the Flood Marsh was perpendicular to their exit. The first thing they had run into was goblins. By the time they’d fought off the second band of their number, they’d gotten the Area Quest and fell back into the Scale Fields, only following after.

They followed the horde, actually picking up the trail of dead goblins, when Wizz had found them.

They were a rank up from Wizz, if their insignia was any indicator. It had a grey shine to it, indicating a Common Ranked adventurer. Wizz’s was plain.

“The city’s designed for this type of event. It will hold easily.” Yoldin was saying, gravel in his voice. “The problem for us is that we’re stuck outside.”

Velken leaned in. “A horde numbering twenty-thousand.” He muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen a proper monster horde of that number before.”

“Hopefully we never will.” Wizz replied. “At least, not from the front. Still, can you be so sure? Newhold’s never seen a horde this size.” He knew the history of the city, he’d read enough about it, but none of it was in his lifetime.

Yoldin chuckled. “Trust me, lad. They’ve got capable people manning those walls. A few of them I know personally. Safe on the walls, each one’s good for a couple hundred of those green bastards.”

Wizz could only hope. Of all his time living in Newhold, he’d still never seen it under siege. In the past, the city had repelled monster waves especially when it was first being built, but beyond that nothing in this number was ever recorded.

They all had agreed to stick together as an impromptu group. And it was an odd combination. Strangers, really, but tied together by circumstance, danger, and profession. Wizz didn’t often find himself with other adventurers. The few times he did was similar to now—finding those in the field by necessity or otherwise.

Like the rest of their party, Velken and Yoldin hadn’t cared about Wizz’s lack of Skills. He hadn’t mentioned [Learning] as its Rarity would draw unwanted attention. So he stuck with the reputation he already had. Wizz the Skilless.

Wizz was convinced one of them had the [Camping] Skill with how relaxed and rested he was already feeling. He was aware of a number of abilities under the Skill that had the effect. [Calming Fire], [Warm Ambience], to name a few.

Generally, Common Skills were extensively documented, [Camping] being one of them, which is why Wizz knew of it. Any more rare than that and the chances of finding anything written or recorded shrunk exponentially. People liked their secrets and worthwhile information about any type of Article was often taken to the grave, especially Skills.

He reflected on the treasure in the Scale Fields. A Skill Orb if a dragon’s word was to be trusted. Wizz didn’t dare to doubt Almouth. He had no reason to lie.

Opportunity doesn’t wait at your convenience, son. When it’s there, you grab it or let it go. Just never regret it.

His father’s words, another purl of advice coming to him. Wizz found it fitting. The Scale Fields treasure was still out of his reach, it could wait. At least for now. The Area Quest was more pressing.

He was just thankful for the company. Having other people around that could not only fend off a goblin but also contributed in the way of utility Skills put him at ease. It was a luxury he had never had in recent memory. Slowly, he found himself warming up to the two men as easily as he did to the fire. Yoldin and Velken turned out to be great storytellers.

They regaled him of their past adventurers and how they ended up in Newhold. They came from the mainland, Halreach in earnest. The promise of adventure, riches, and treasure brought them to the edges of the kingdom, pushing against the Uncharted Lands.

The adventurer insignia wasn’t always a surefire method of identifying friendlies but Wizz could get the sense of the two. His father had drilled him on social interactions as much as adventuring. The two often went hand in hand, despite Wizz’s unique approach.

“And how about you, lad? How’d you end up on the outskirts of the kingdom?” Yoldin asked over the fire. Velken looked at Wizz expectantly, curious.

Wizz could only shrug. “I grew up here.” He answered truthfully. “I plan to leave eventually, go on a proper adventure.”

Velken raised a brow. “A proper adventure? You’re behind a goblin horde, man. Eating rations around a campfire.” He exclaimed. “I’d say you’re already on a proper adventure.” He laughed.

Wizz chuckled good naturedly. “I mean I plan to travel somewhere less familiar. My father called it a wanderlust so strong it was a good thing we lived right next to the unknown.”

“You planning to be a trailblazer, lad?” Yoldin asked him, mildly surprised. “Those folks are another breed. But, then again, you’ve eliminated—how many gobins alone? I’d say you fit the mold.”

Wizz waved him off. “At my strength, that would be unwise. The Uncharted Lands are uncharted for a reason.” He thought about it. “Eventually, maybe, but not anytime soon.” He fiddled with a bag at his hip, knowing the number without checking. “And that’s fifty-one left ears.”

They whistled. Yoldin looked at Wizz with a discerning eye. “How old are you again, lad? That’s some fine work alone. I’d heard of you before, Wizz the Skilless, right? Small name around the Guild. It’s a damn shame adventurers are the paranoid type. You’d make for good ranged support.”

Wizz shrugged. “Adventurers are rightly cautious. I wouldn’t want anyone on my team that was incapable. Someone without Skills is a liability. Normally.“ He added with a grin.

Velken nodded. “If I get to choose who to have at my back, I’d choose someone with a good Skill for it.” He responded. “No offense, friend.”

“None taken.” Wizz waved. “I’m used to working alone either way.”

They talked lightly until sleep overtook them.

The next day, they saw the horde in its entirety.