Aaron and Auriel stepped out of the guild beneath the layered stares of the adventurers gathered nearby. Some eyes held fear. Others gleamed with a predator's hunger, drawn not by malice but by gold.
The reward had clearly caught their attention.
Aaron walked on, his expression calm and unreadable. Auriel mirrored his composure, confident these people posed no real threat.
Unless, of course, a high-level adventurer decided to make a move. That might complicate things.
Once they reached the carriage, David glanced up and asked, "So, are we spending the next seven days in the Blueish Forest?"
Auriel shook her head. "Nope. Change of plans. We've taken on a new quest goblin extermination near Smalllight Village."
She climbed onto the carriage and added, "Total reward is 65 gold coins. Aaron takes 25, and the two of us will split the remaining 40 evenly 20 each."
As Auriel finished outlining the reward split, Aaron shifted slightly, a quiet protest forming on his lips. He didn't like taking more than he thought he'd earned especially when others had also done significant contribution while fighting.
But before he could speak, Auriel's voice cut through his hesitation with gentle firmness.
"Aaron, you don't need to say anything." Her gaze met his steadfast, unwavering. "You played a vital role in that battle. Of course you deserve your share. Honestly, I was planning to give you more… but with this goblin extermination coming up, we'll need supplies scrolls, antidotes, torches, probably earplugs if they start screeching."
There was no room for argument in her voice, but what lingered beneath it was trust earned, not given lightly.
Aaron looked away for a moment, jaw tense. He wasn't used to being seen this way. Not just as a weapon, or a tool, or a useful ally but as part of something. The warmth stirred uneasily in his chest.
David clapped a hand on his shoulder with a crooked grin. "She's got a point, man. Without you, we'd still be rolling around in wolf fur, pretending to be scary. You wiped out a whole pack in fifteen minutes. That's not just effective it's legendary."
He leaned back with a chuckle. "Seriously though. You made a difference. Try not to look so haunted about it."
Aaron let a faint breath escape half sigh, half laugh as some of the weight pressing down on him finally loosened.
Aaron didn't concern himself with the gold coins. The exchange meant little to him. Instead, he followed quietly as Auriel and David took the lead, weaving through the cobbled marketplace lined with battered stalls and battle-worn vendors.
He watched in silence while Auriel negotiated the price of flameburst scrolls useful for flushing goblins out of cramped tunnels. David, ever the cheerful realist, checked rows of antidote vials with more scrutiny than usual. Goblins were notorious for coating their crude blades with paralyzing toxins. One nick could turn a confident adventurer into easy prey.
They also stocked up on smoke pellets for quick retreats, binding charms to seal entrances, and a few enchanted torches bright enough to disorient goblin eyes, which were adapted to low light.
Aaron observed it all with quiet curiosity. There was an unspoken rhythm to the preparations an instinctive efficiency born from experience. He didn't say much, but he absorbed every detail. This wasn't just about gear it was how they wove survival into strategy, precaution into confidence.
.....
Smalllight Village lay nestled in a broad, gently sloping valley, about 30 kilometers south of Blueish City. Surrounded by fertile plains and low hills, it had long been a haven of stability built and sustained by generations of farmers whose harvests fed not only themselves but half the marketplaces of Blueish City.
The land here was generous. Rows of wheat, maize, and hardy root vegetables stretched out like patchwork blankets, thriving under the mellow sun. Some fields bore medicinal herbs prized by alchemists, while trellises of redfruit and sunmelons lined the backyards of humble stone cottages. The village's rhythm followed the seasons, and until recently, danger was more folklore than fact.
To the west, a small forest known as Timberveil sat like a quiet observer on the horizon. It was home to harmless wildlife foxbeaks, soft-pawed clawhares, and duskshades all ranking between levels 1 and 3. Low-level adventurers stationed in the village mostly kept these populations in check, training themselves while offering light protection to the locals. Patrols were routine. Threats were rare.
But everything changed with the goblin incursion.
They came suddenly no scouts, no whispers, just smoke, screeches, and blood on the leaves.
Now, a heavy tension clung to the village like an overcast sky. The once easy laughter of farmers had quieted into tight murmurs. Conversations were short, eyes darting to the treeline more often than not.
Under the shelter of the main tavern's awning, a few villagers huddled around a small fire despite the warmth of the day. One of them, a grizzled man with soot-blackened hands, muttered, "They came through the grain fields last night. Slaughtered three goats and dragged off my dog. Didn't even eat it just left a mess."
A younger woman beside him looked toward a low-ranking adventurer polishing his short sword nearby. "Aren't the patrols supposed to catch them before they get that close?"
The adventurer sighed and shook his head. "These aren't the usual cave-grunts. They're moving in groups, coordinated, like something's guiding them." He glanced toward the forest edge. "We don't have the numbers to hold them if they really push."
Even the wind seemed to carry the unease brushing through cracked shutters and rustling drying herbs with a warning hum. Smalllight Village had once been a quiet echo of the past.
The carriage groaned to a halt just beyond the village gates, its wheels grinding against stone and dry earth. Smalllight Village unfolded ahead not shattered, but visibly worn. Shutters bolted tight. Livestock pens left untended. Watchposts creaked under the weight of tired sentries peering nervously toward the treeline.
Aaron was the first to step down, boots crunching into the dust. His eyes scanned the landscape like instinct half-patrol, half-predator. To the east, the wheat fields were flattened in long, erratic swaths. Not wind damage. Not wildlife. Something deliberate. Something practiced.