Newbies and Goblins
The soup didn't burn.
That was the first thing I noticed as sensory awareness bled back into my consciousness.
He's actually good at cooking, huh?
The second thing—he didn't stop smiling right away. It wasn't a wide or obvious grin, just a faint, lingering warmth that held on longer than it usually did. As if whatever brief peace had touched him yesterday hadn't completely evaporated into the dark.
He ate in absolute silence. Slow. Measured. Every spoon lifted with steady, effortless control, exactly like everything else he did. But the atmosphere inside his skin was subtly different from before.
There was no sudden tightness in his jaw. No faint, hollow stillness lingering behind his eyes.
Just quiet.
When the bowl sat empty, he didn't linger in idle thought. He stood, washed the dish, and placed it back into its exact spot on the wooden shelf. A simple, grounding routine.
Outside, the room dimmed as the evening quiet surrendered to the heavy blanket of night. He moved to the narrow bed without hesitation, laying back against the straw mattress.
The moment his head hit the pillow, I felt it. A subtle shift in the air, undeniable and immediate. His breathing lengthened into a slow, rhythmic cadence, his frame shedding every ounce of tension.
Wait. He's actually going to sleep.
I didn't get tired. I didn't feel hunger, cold, or physical pain unless those signals filtered through his nervous system first. So what will happen to me? Do I stay awake in the dark, trapped in a silent void while he slept?
The thought hung in the air, unanswered and distinctly uncomfortable.
His eyelids fluttered shut. Seconds ticked into minutes, time blurring together without a heartbeat or a pulse to measure its passing. I focused every fragment of my will, desperately trying to hold onto my individual awareness.
Then came the pull.
It wasn't violent or intrusive. It felt like being gently dragged beneath warm water without resistance or urgency. My thoughts bogged down, blurring at the edges.
Darkness consumed the thought before I could finish it. Not a sight, nor a physical sensation—just complete, absolute absence.
***
Morning arrived as a soft, warm amber bleeding through closed eyelids.
Viole's chest expanded with a deep, leisurely inhale. His shoulders shifted, muscles awakening in sequence, and just like that—I was back.
Huh. Well, that was unexpected.
No drifting. No lingering in a half-aware dreamscape. The moment his consciousness cut out, mine followed. A shared rule written into our strange arrangement.
Which meant his sudden unconsciousness yesterday from the abnormal state was an entirely different issue.
Viole opened his eyes, and the world snapped back into focus. The wooden ceiling. Plain. Familiar. He sat up, ran a gloved hand through his dark hair, and swung his legs over the frame.
The floorboards creaked softly underfoot as he crossed the small room to the washbasin. He plunged his hands into the clear, freezing water and splashed his face once, twice, before wiping his brow and looking up into the cracked glass resting on the wall.
There it is again.
It was a sharp, remarkably composed face. Pale skin, dark hair, and those striking crimson eyes staring right back through the glass. I leaned into his vision, taking it in with fresh eyes.
I really am handsome, aren't I?
It was a completely natural thought to voice, like giving myself a light pat on the back. After all, Viole and I shared the exact same face, so appreciating the aesthetic was only natural.
Viole paused for a fraction of a second, his reflection staring back unblinkingly. He didn't react. He simply picked up a linen rag, wiped his skin dry, and moved on as if my internal banter didn't exist. Not like he could hear me anyway.
He moved into the small kitchenette with mechanical efficiency. Bread was sliced and lightly toasted in an iron pan over the hearth. Two eggs cracked cleanly against the rim, sizzling instantly in rendered fat. A small strip of smoked meat was tossed in to reheat beside them. Simple, fuel-oriented, and remarkably practical.
While the pan settled, he assembled a second set of food. More bread, folded tightly around thick cuts of meat and crisp greens, tied securely in a clean square of cloth for the road.
Satisfied, his gaze drifted to his leather armor resting across the wooden chair.
The side seam was completely shredded from yesterday's engagement, the raw leather frayed and useless against a direct blade thrust. Not something a sensible man could ignore in this line of work.
Need a new set.
Viole mentally ran through his schedule for the day: wrapping up the herb-gathering request he'd been forced to abandon yesterday, followed by a low-tier goblin extermination. Simple, routine work that shouldn't put his life on the line. Purchasing a full replacement set of armor right now was a luxury his coin purse couldn't justify—not for basic errands. The salvaged pieces would have to do.
For now, he adapted. He pulled on a dark, fitted tunic made of heavy, reinforced cotton—light enough for fluid movement but tough at the seams. Trouser fabric to match, paired with well-worn but sturdy leather boots.
He strapped on the intact pieces of armor—a scratched steel shoulder guard and light arm plating meant to deflect glancing blows without adding unnecessary weight. The ruined side piece was left behind; there was no point wearing dead weight.
Finally, he retrieved the katana resting against the wall. He checked the balance with a single subtle flick of his wrist, nodded to himself, and secured the scabbard to his left hip.
He stepped out into the crisp morning air, locking the heavy wooden door behind him. The morning streets of the guild district greeted him with their usual roar—merchants shouting, wagon wheels grinding on cobblestones, and the scent of fresh baked bread mixing with chimney smoke.
Yet, as we walked, I noticed something subtle in the way his boots met the stone.
His steps were lighter. It was a minuscule difference, far too minor for any casual passerby to catch, but I was living inside his balance center. There was less drag behind his heels, less invisible weight dragging at his posture. His eyes remained cool, but they weren't hollow anymore.
Proper rest really does wonders, huh?
***
The massive timber frame of the Adventurers Guild loomed ahead, and in an instant, the subtle warmth vanished.
Viole's spine straightened into an unyielding rod. His facial muscles settled into an impenetrable, frigid mask. The controlled, distant adventurer from yesterday had returned.
He pushed open the heavy double doors, stepping into the chaotic noise of shouting adventurers and clinking tankards. Leaving the main hall behind, he approached the front counter.
Liora looked up immediately, her bright eyes catching his.
"Morning," Viole said, his voice a low, neutral hum.
"Good morning, Viole!" Liora replied instantly, her smile radiant enough to light up the dim timber lobby. "Here to turn in yesterday's gathering commission?"
"Not yet," Viole said, shaking his head slightly. "I wasn't able to finish it yesterday, so I'll be wrapping that up today. I was actually hoping to pair it with a goblin extermination—were there any posted just now?"
Wow... that's officially the longest sentence I've heard come out of your mouth since I got here yesterday.
I chuckled quietly to myself from behind his eyes. On my first day trapped in his head, he'd barely said more than a few clipped, single-word grunts. Part of me wondered if he was just the quiet type who didn't waste breath on useless small talk unless it was absolutely necessary.
Or maybe it was just the aftermath of yesterday. Potions and healing magic could patch up shredded flesh and close wounds in seconds, sure, but they didn't magically replace lost blood or fix severe dehydration, well, that's what the healer lady, Mira said yesterday.
He had been completely drained. Now that he actually had a night of rest and a bit of color back in his skin, it made sense he was finally speaking in complete thoughts.
Liora's eyes widened slightly before she dropped beneath the high wooden counter, her boots tapping as she rummaged through the lower storage shelves.
"Let's see..." Parchment rustled loudly below. "Here's the commission you couldn't finish yesterday. As for goblin exterminations..." She popped back up, a single parchment held between her fingers as her tone dipped into something teasingly conspiratorial. "...I actually just posted one. But those adventurers over there just took it."
Viole shifted his gaze over his shoulder.
A party of four stood near the central notice board. Young—barely out of their mid-teens. A frontliner armed with a sword with a stiff, rigid posture. Two mages in simple cloth robes—one holding a wooden catalyst, the other carrying a polished healing staff. And a lean ranger leaning against a pillar, a light hunting bow resting against her hip.
On paper, they'd look like a perfectly balanced low-rank party. In practice, their amateur energy radiated across the room like smoke.
"They registered together just a few minutes ago," Liora said, leaning her elbows on the polished counter. "Childhood friends, from what I gathered. All fresh F-ranks."
She paused, her amber eyes locking onto Viole with an impish, calculating glint.
"Why don't you join them?"
Viole didn't turn around immediately. "Why?"
"There aren't many extermination quests coming through today, so that might be the only one," Liora explained, her tone softening just a fraction. "Besides... it might help."
"With?"
"Your trust issues," she stated flatly. Unapologetic. Direct.
Before Viole could narrow his eyes, she pushed further. "They're new. They don't have the wits or the malice to take advantage of you, and you can keep them from getting killed. It's good practice for you."
She leaned closer across the wood, her voice dropping into a sincere murmur. "And honestly... I'm worried about them. Goblins aren't simple prey for rookies, even with a balanced composition. They're still beginners."
Viole didn't argue. He simply sighed and stared back with a stoic, unreadable expression.
"Next time, just say you're worried about them," Viole said softly. "It saves time."
Liora blinked, surprised, before a genuine, gentle smile broke across her face. "Will you do it?"
Viole looked back toward the four teenagers arguing over a map layout. Young. Unprepared. Brimming with unrealized potential that a single bad ambush could wipe out in seconds.
"Yeah," Viole murmured.
Hmm... wasn't expecting that.
I raised an eyebrow in the back of his head. I figured he'd immediately decline or walk away the second Liora asked him to babysit a bunch of greenhorns. But as he stood there, a stream of thoughts leaked into me.
It's a shame there aren't any other goblin contracts available, Viole reasoned silently. But I can't just leave them to run into a nest alone. They didn't asked for a help, but rookies always fall into the same trap—they underestimate goblins.
He wasn't wrong. A few scattered, disorganized goblins in an open field are easy prey, even for novices. But a posted extermination commission almost always meant dealing with an established settlement or a nest hidden in cramped, pitch-black caves where numbers and ambush tactics leveled the playing field instantly.
Look at that... I thought. He's not nearly as cold-hearted as he acts. The rigid, aloof prick act is really just a shield for his trust issues.
"Hey, you four!" Liora called out, her voice cutting over the guild's background chatter.
The party flinched in unison, turning around with panicked, uncertain expressions. Liora waved them over with a cheerful hand. They exchanged quick, nervous glances before walking toward the counter, blissfully unaware that the trajectory of their lives was about to shift.
They approached with hesitant, uncoordinated steps, their eyes darting nervously across the crowded guild hall.
Viole stood beside the counter inconspicuously. He didn't greet them, smile, or offer a hand. He simply evaluated them with a cold, piercing glance.
Through his eyes, I took in their presence. They looked small—not in physical frame, but in spatial weight. They radiated the frantic, fragile aura of people completely out of their depth.
"Everyone—this is Viole," Liora announced, gesturing toward him like a museum curator showcasing a dangerous relic. "D-Rank Blade Class. Silver Rank. Highly experienced, efficient, and very reserved."
The four rookies blinked, taking a collective half-step back.
Viole's eyes swept over them, taking in every microscopic detail—the nervous tremor in the swordsman's fingers, the rigid spine of the fire mage, the way the tiny healer shrank behind her staff, and the artificial composure of the ranger.
"He's joining your run," Liora continued smoothly. "He was looking for an extermination quest, but since you grabbed the last one, I suggested a joint operation. He'll also act as your supervisor." She leaned forward, adding with a mischievous wink, "He's technically D-Rank, but he's hard-stuck in Silver because he's horribly shy and hates teamwork."
Viole's gaze snapped to Liora, sharp and dangerous. A silent warning.
Liora merely smiled back, thoroughly enjoying herself.
The frontliner stepped forward first, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I'm... I'm Kiran," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "Blade class. F-rank. Fifteen years old."
His hands were calloused, but his stance was far too rigid—like a bowstring pulled past its breaking point.
The girl beside him stepped up next, her bright eyes flashing with suppressed adrenaline. "Eira. Mage class, offensive fire specialization. F-rank. Sixteen."
Her hair fell in messy waves, a smudge of soot lingering on her left cheek. Her fingers trembled where she clutched her robe, but a spark of stubborn defiance burned behind her fear.
The third member, a surprisingly small girl, stepped up tentatively. "Luna. Mage class... healing specialization. F-rank. Fourteen."
She was delicate and wince-prone, her eyes flitting between her friends like she expected a predator to leap from the rafters. Yet her posture was fiercely protective, leaning inward toward the party.
Finally, the tall ranger leaned off the wooden post, stepping forward with an easy, fluid stride. "Rath. Marksman class. F-rank. Seventeen."
She seemed relaxed on the surface, but it wasn't true confidence—it was the dangerous bliss of someone who hadn't seen real blood or combat yet.
Viole took them all in without a word. They were fragile, eager, and utterly unpolished. Potential waiting to be forged, or shattered.
"Commission," Viole said flatly. A single word.
Eira flinched, scrambling through her leather satchel with trembling hands before holding out a folded sheet of parchment. "O-Oh! Right! Here!"
Viole took the parchment, unfolding it with a single flick of his wrist. His eyes scanned the text once, then paused.
Verdant Hollow Forest. Western Quadrant.
"That area," Viole said, tapping a gloved finger against the rough map. "Verdant Hollow Forest. Western side."
Eira blinked. "Y-Yeah... that's what the bounty board said..."
"I was in the area yesterday."
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The four teenagers pulled themselves up, their hesitant expressions hardening into intense focus.
"It's an outdoor settlement," Viole continued smoothly. "Located directly adjacent to a high-density herb zone."
"It will be easier than a dark cave crawl," Viole said. He paused, letting the relief settle into their eyes before dropping the weight. "But."
The word hung in the air like an iron bar.
"We can't engage the settlement immediately."
Kiran frowned, his brow furrowing. "W-What do you mean? If the goblins are in the settlement—"
"Before you touch the settlement," Viole interrupted calmly, "you scout for caves."
***
From where Rath sat against the counter post, her eyes never stayed on one spot for long. It was habit—a ranger's habit. But the moment the dark-haired swordsman laid his finger on the parchment, her gaze locked in.
He spoke with a low, absolute authority that made her chest tighten. He wasn't just reading a map; he was describing a hunting ground he already knew.
"Goblins live in subterranean structures," he explained, his red eyes fixed on Kiran. "Surface settlements only manifest when a nest overpopulates. If a settlement exists, a cave entrance is guaranteed to be nearby."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping an octave. "Which means the cave is their primary stronghold. If you attack the surface settlement blindly, the cave garrison will flank you from behind while you're engaged. You'll be sandwiched."
Eira swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. "...So we deal with the cave first?"
"Yes."
"How?" Rath chimed in, leaning forward off the post. "If we go into a dark cave against a nest—"
"You don't go in. You seal it."
Eira blinked in utter confusion. "S-Seal it?"
"Earth magic. Wall them in."
"I... I can't do that," Eira admitted, her posture slumping slightly. "I only use fire and light wind."
"Then use fire, explosion magic. Collapse the archway." Viole stated without missing a beat.
"Huh?"
"Cause an explosion inside the entrance throat. Collapse the structural weak points."
Eira looked terrified. "Wait—isn't that dangerous? If the cave collapses incorrectly, or if the pressure blows back on us—"
"It is dangerous," Viole said, utterly ruthless in his honesty. "It's a high-level risk. One you take. Because if you leave that entrance open, you die fighting two fronts."
He looked at each of them, tearing down their basic assumptions with surgical precision.
"Look at your team composition. One armed with a sword—too long for tight cave corridors. You'll notch your blade on stone or slice your allies. Two mages—casting high-output spells in enclosed spaces leaves zero margin for error. One misfire hits your frontliner. One ranger—zero effective draw distance, zero sightlines."
Rath exhaled slowly, feeling a cold sweat break out along her collarbone. "...So we're completely useless underground."
"You are disadvantaged," Viole corrected immediately. "There is a difference."
Luna's knuckles turned white against the polished wood of her staff. "What if... what if there are captives inside?"
The room seemed to drop five degrees.
Viole turned his crimson eyes directly onto her. There was no pity in them. No sugarcoating. Just absolute, terrifying reality.
"If there are human captives, they are inside the cave," Viole said softly. "That is how goblin nests propagate. And by the time they are located..."
He stopped. He didn't need to finish the sentence. The brutal silence filled in the rest.
"...most don't make it," he finished flatly. "In that scenario, you do not rush in. You exterminate the surface settlement, hold the choke point, and call for Guild reinforcements. Digging through rubble later is easier than fighting a war on two sides."
"What if... what if no one comes in time?" Kiran whispered, his hand shaking over his pommel.
"If you rush in blind," Viole said, his gaze locking onto Kiran like a vise, "you die first. Then no one gets saved."
The logic was horrifying, cold, and entirely airtight.
Without another word, Viole reached behind his leather waist-guard and drew two short, sleek iron daggers. He held them flat across his palms.
"If an emergency sweep is required, you change tactics. Short swords, dagger and gas."
"Gas?" Eira repeated.
"Pepper-based combustion charges," Viole said, rotating one blade with terrifying fluidity between his fingers. "Throw them into the primary throat. Captives will suffer respiratory distress, but they will survive. Goblins will suffocate and flush themselves out into the open air."
Luna stared at the gleaming iron of his blade, realization washing over her like ice water.
"They come out," Rath murmured from behind them, "and we butcher them outside."
"Exactly," Viole said, sheathing the daggers with a sharp click. "You never step inside a dark nest unless you are forced to. Secondary short blades for close quarters. Zero wasted movement."
He looked across their silent, wide-eyed group. "Any questions?"
They all shook their heads in unison.
"Let's move."
***
We stopped at an alchemy stall on the lower tier of the market district. The air inside smelled sharply of crushed sulfur, bitter herbs, and dried pitch.
"Five pepper gas charges," Viole ordered, tossing a small pouch of coins onto the worn wooden counter before the merchant could even speak.
The shopkeeper nodded, reaching beneath the display to retrieve five round, clay-sealed canisters. Viole didn't haggle, didn't negotiate, and didn't waste breath.
They followed him out of the city gates in absolute silence, watching his quiet, measured stride.
The treeline of Verdant Hollow Forest loomed before us—dense, emerald, and heavy with quiet danger. Viole led us straight to a lush glade beneath the ancient roots, his hands moving with practiced speed as he harvested small, pale red stalks resting in the shade.
He collected his quota in less than ten minutes, packing them neatly into his side satchel before turning toward the dark interior of the deep woods.
"Stop," Viole commanded, his voice barely above a whisper.
The kids froze instantly.
"Scout."
They crept forward through the high ferns, crouching low until the forest cleared into a rocky, uneven glade.
There it was. A crude surface settlement built of woven branches and mud-pelt tents. And less than thirty yards to its right, embedded into a jagged rock wall—a dark, yawning cave mouth.
Viole turned his head slightly. "...We seal it."
Eira's hands wouldn't stop shaking. Fire flickered violently between her palms, chaotic and unrefined, fed by the panicked beat of her own heart.
Viole stood three paces behind her. He didn't offer encouraging words. He didn't tell her she could do it. He simply stood there like an immovable mountain, his cold presence keeping her terror from overflowing into absolute panic.
"Focus on the archway stone," Viole's voice cut through the rushing sound of wind in her ears. "Compress the heat. Let the expansion do the work."
Eira drew a ragged breath, pushed her hands forward, and unleashed the spell.
BOOM!
The explosion hit with a violent, concussive roar. The ground shook, blinding orange light illuminating the forest canopy as dust, shattered rock, and debris erupted outward. The natural archway groaned, cracked, and collapsed into a massive pile of jagged boulders, completely choking off the cave mouth.
Silence reigned for a single, fragile second.
Then, the settlement erupted into a frenzy of high-pitched, demonic screeching.
"Formation!" Viole's voice shattered the noise like a steel whip.
"Around fifty!" Rath shouted from high in the canopy.
The word replayed in Kiran's mind like a death knell as dozens of green, twisted shapes flooded out of the wooden huts. His knees felt hollow, the hilt of his iron sword suddenly slick with cold sweat.
Fifty goblins. We're going to die.
Suddenly, a heavy hand gripped Kiran's shoulder guard, anchoring his shaking frame to the earth. Viole leaned down slightly, his voice cutting straight into Kiran's ear over the rising chorus of shrieks.
"Goblins do not hold formation," Viole said, his tone impossibly steady. "They rush. They swarm. They break. You only panic if they organize."
He stepped up beside him, drawing his dark katana with a whisper of steel.
"Your primary duty is not to slaughter all fifty," Viole ordered, his red eyes tracking the incoming horde. "Your duty is to stop them from reaching her."
He tilted his blade toward Luna, who was clutching her healing staff behind them.
"Do not overextend. Stay in position. Intercept anything that bypasses me. If you chase a kill, you create a gap—and gaps get your friends killed."
Kiran's throat was dry, but the cold weight of Viole's words grounded the sheer panic racing through his veins. His grip on his sword tightened, the iron suddenly feeling solid again.
"...Got it," Kiran rasped.
"Rath! Tree cover, now! Priority on archers!" Viole shouted.
"On it!" Rath yelled, leaping into the lower branches of an oak like a mountain cat.
"Eira! Fire secondary spells above their heads! Let the heat drop onto their backline like a catapult!"
"I—I'm casting!" Eira screamed back, her catalyst glowing bright red.
"Luna! Keep three paces behind Kiran. You are the anchor. If you break, the line fails!"
"Understood!" Luna shouted, her voice trembling but resolute.
The first wave hit them like a green wave of teeth, rust, and jagged spears.
"HOLD!" Viole roared.
A goblin lunged at Kiran's chest with a rusted dagger. He remembered Viole's words, planted his heels into the dirt, and brought his guard up. Steel slammed against steel with a jarring impact that vibrated up his arm—but he held. He didn't step forward. He didn't chase.
Beside him, Viole was a nightmare of fluid precision.
He didn't swing wildly. He didn't waste an inch of movement. A step back, a swift diagonal slash—a goblin dropped, throat spraying red. A sidestep, a short thrust—another collapsed into the dirt.
Above them, Eira's fire spell rained down on the trailing horde, scattering their advance in a chaotic flash of fire and smoke. Arrows whistled down from Rath's high perch, dropping goblin bowmen before they could notch their strings.
The wave crashed against them again and again, but the line didn't break.
Viole moved like a conductor in an orchestra of blood and iron, stepping in front of Kiran's mistakes, deflecting blows meant for his blind spots, and keeping the overwhelming numbers trapped in a tight, narrow bottleneck.
For the first time since leaving the guild, as Kiran swung his sword into the oncoming swarm, he realized something terrifying and incredible.
They weren't just surviving.
Under Viole's command, they were completely controlling the battle.