Chapter 25 – Into the Goblin Warren
The road back to Amelia's house was quiet, save for the distant hum of evening insects. Ethan's boots crunched against the cobblestones as his thoughts drifted—not to the upcoming raid, but to Liraen.
She's strong, he mused. Stronger than most would be after what she went through. In that kind of hopeless situation, anyone else would've broken. What's pushing her forward?
Her calm defiance in the face of humiliation wasn't something he could easily forget. And there was something else—something in the way she spoke, in the fragments she let slip. She's connected to the Emperor… and to the Crown that chose me.
He exhaled slowly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. If our paths cross again, I'll see what I can do for her. But for now… 20,000 SP isn't exactly pocket change.
Shaking his head, he pushed the thought away. Dwelling on what he couldn't change was useless. There was work to do—and a raid to survive.
By the time he reached Amelia's house, the evening shadows had grown long. He allowed himself a few hours of rest. Tomorrow would demand all of his focus.
---
The Raid Day
The air outside the Guild Hall carried a subtle tension. Men and women stood in clusters, checking their gear, tightening straps, and murmuring in low voices. The Guild Elder, a broad-shouldered man with a beard streaked in gray, stood at the front, overseeing the assembly.
Adventurers of all stripes had gathered—most were C to E ranks, with only a handful of B-ranked veterans already out scouting the goblin-infested hills for terrain maps and enemy positions.
Ethan stepped forward, scanning the crowd. The murmurs quieted.
"You all know why we're here," he began, his voice carrying over the square. "We're not just clearing out pests—we're cutting out a root that will spread if left alone. Goblins are weak alone, but together, they breed chaos. We stop them here, before they grow into a problem that claims villages, roads… and families."
He let the words hang for a moment, meeting eyes in the crowd.
"I won't lie—some of you may not come back. But I'll tell you this: the people you protect today will never forget your names. And when the last goblin falls, you'll stand knowing you didn't wait for someone else to do the hard work."
A few in the crowd straightened. Others nodded, gripping their weapons tighter.
"Now, for those who care about numbers," Ethan added with a faint smirk, "the Guild's doubled the bounty for this raid. Forty copper for every goblin. One silver and fifty bronze for every hobgoblin. Twenty silver for an ogre. And if anyone's got the guts to take down a Goblin King…" He paused. "…three gold coins, straight to your pocket. And all spoils you claim are yours to keep."
A ripple of excitement spread through the assembly—eyes lit with equal parts greed and determination. The raid had begun before the first sword was drawn.
Ethan's gaze swept over the gathering once more. His eyes locked briefly with Liraen's across the crowd. She returned his look without a word, her expression unreadable. He gave the faintest of nods before shifting his attention elsewhere.
Alex, watching from the side, saw everything. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as a cold anger burned in his chest.
Max glanced between them, about to say something—when the air shifted. Heavy, deliberate footsteps drew every gaze to the Guild Hall's entrance.
---
The B-ranked scouts had returned.
At their head strode Brad—a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders clad in partial plate over reinforced leather. Thick arms and corded muscle shifted beneath his gear, his gauntlets faintly scuffed from use. He didn't carry a weapon—he was the weapon. Every step was grounded, balanced, the stride of a fighter who knew how to break an enemy with a single blow. His thick, slightly unkempt beard framed a face that had seen battle up close and walked away more times than seemed possible.
He didn't waste time.
"We've scouted the area," Brad said, his voice carrying the weight of command. "Here's what you need to know—there are three routes to the goblin warren. We'll split into three groups of thirty, balanced in strength. No one swaps routes, no one freelances. We move as one."
He unrolled a rough, weather-stained map onto a crate. The inked lines were bold, the danger they represented even bolder.
---
Route One – The Western Cut
"Shortest distance, but a death trap if you get careless. The path narrows between two ravines—perfect for ambushes. Goblins have set spike pits under loose brush, and you'll see hobgoblins using the high ground to fire down on you. Worse, an ogre patrol roams this stretch—they like to wait until you're boxed in, then smash straight through your line."
Route Two – The Northern Thicket
"Dense forest. You won't see five meters ahead in some places. Goblins are everywhere here—archers, skirmishers, and trap layers. The hobgoblins here fight in packs, using the trees for cover. And there's at least one ogre we spotted dragging felled logs—means they're setting rolling traps to crush the front. Move too slow, and you'll be flattened before you hear it coming."
Route Three – The Eastern Rise
"Steep, uneven ground. Every step takes it out of you. The goblins here are tunnel rats—they've dug concealed burrows along the slope so they can pop up under your feet. Hobgoblins guard the ridgelines, peppering you with arrows. And the ogres… they use the terrain. They'll roll boulders down to scatter you, then rush in. If they force you back down the slope, you'll take as much damage from the fall as from their clubs."
---
Brad's gaze swept over the crowd, his voice hardening.
"No infighting. No grudges. Out there, you fight as one or you die alone. When we hit that warren, every goblin that draws breath is your enemy—and if you forget that, you won't be coming back."
He rolled the map with a snap, tucking it under one arm.
The Guild Elder stepped forward, his weathered voice carrying easily over the gathered adventurers.
"Remember—this isn't just a cleanup. Perform well out there, and you might find your next rank waiting for you when you get back." His eyes swept the crowd before lingering—just for a heartbeat—on Ethan.
Assignments were read out fast, the Guild scribe's voice cutting over the murmur of the crowd.
"Gear check. You've got ten minutes. After that, we march."
Alex's patience finally snapped.
"Tsk… look at her," he muttered, voice dripping contempt. "Clinging to that weak excuse of a man like he's worth something. If he knew she was just a D-rank, he wouldn't even glance her way."
Max gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Oh, please. He's not interested in her skills—he's looking at her body. The moment he gets the chance, he'll try to get his hands on her."
Liraen's eyes slid to him, cold and sharp. "Not everyone's a dog like you, Max. Some men know the difference between respect and hunger."
That earned her a dark look, but before Max could bite back, Aina stepped in, voice firm. "Enough. He treated her like a normal person—something neither of you seems capable of."
Alex snorted. "Oh? Then go to him. No one's making you stay here."
Silence.
"That's what I thought," Alex said, smirking. "You can't. We're under a binding contract—leave the party now, you lose your cut, Guild slaps penalty on you, and still owe for the gear and potions we bought together. You'd walk out of here broke."
Max's tone turned mocking. "Face it—you need us more than you hate us."
Aina's voice was tight. "If we had more options, we'd have left long ago."
Alex grinned. "But you don't. That's why you're still here."
Assignments were read out fast, the Guild scribe's voice cutting over the murmur of the crowd.
"Ethan Cross—Route Two."
A glance at the board showed Max's party bound for Route One, while a mixed squad of seasoned and green adventurers was listed for Route Three.
The B-ranked veterans moved into place at the head of each column.
Route One — Brad himself, radiating calm power as he sized up his fighters before turning toward the western cut.
Route Two — A stocky human monk with forearms like coiled steel, his expression as blunt as his words: Keep up or get left behind.
Route Three — A tall, wiry elf scout with eyes like frost, bow slung at his back, scanning every shadow before they even left the square.
Across the ranks, glares and nods were exchanged. Ethan caught a last glimpse of Max's party before the march began. Alex's eyes locked on him, lips curling in a sneer.
"Tsk… hope you die in there," Alex muttered, just low enough for only his own group to hear.
---
"Move out!"
The Guild's call split the silence, and three columns broke from the square like the prongs of a trident—
Route One veering west toward the sunken ravines.
Route Two cutting north into the dense, shadowed thicket.
Route Three angling east toward the rocky rise under a gray sky.
The sound of marching boots, clinking armor, and murmured orders filled the air before fading into the distance, each group swallowed by their chosen path toward the goblin warren.
'Time to finally level up faster.'