Encounter
The last goblin fell without ceremony.
No final rush. No desperate charge. Just a body hitting the churned dirt—then another—and then nothing.
Silence crept into the clearing, slowly choking out the chaos of battle. Screeches faded into distant echoes. Movement died. The forest settled back into its hollow rhythm.
Viole didn't lower his blade.
His breathing was heavy, yet measured. Controlled inhales through the nose; sharp, deliberate exhales through the mouth. For an adventurer at his level, this was far from a life-or-death struggle.
Just exertion. A necessary warm-up.
Around him, the forest floor told the story of fifty uncoordinated lives ending in a place they never should have claimed. Scattered bodies, scorch marks on bark, and crude iron weapons snapped in half.
Kiran stood a few paces ahead, chest heaving beneath his leather vest. His stance remained up, though his guard sagged. Shallow cuts lined his arms where rusty blades had grazed past.
Behind him, Eira leaned heavily on her staff, trying to steady her ragged breath. Luna sat on a nearby root, her hands trembling faintly from overexertion. Mana depletion was settling in.
They had held the line. Barely.
Viole glanced upward into the canopy.
Viole didn't hesitate. "Rath. Scout the perimeter. Report back immediately."
Rath didn't waste a second. Her boots found purchase in the rough bark of the nearest oak, hauling herself up into the canopy with practiced agility.
From inside him, the shift was staggering.
From inside him, I felt only a steady, elevated warmth humming through his muscles. Keeping four panic-prone novices from breaking formation had forced him to work a little harder than a basic warm-up, but it was nowhere near real strain. He wasn't winded or slumping. Out of pure, ingrained habit, I felt him regulate his diaphragm with slow, deliberate inhales—cooling his core before his pulse even had the chance to climb.
He isn't even relaxing his posture.
Every tendon remained primed—a lethal weapon resting in neutral rather than powering down.
He didn't wait for her return to start checking the bodies. His movements were surgical, his eyes scanning the carnage with a terrifying, clinical lack of emotion. I experienced every micro-adjustment of his balance as he nudged a dead goblin with the toe of his boot, verifying the kills before turning his attention back to the treeline.
When Rath dropped back down, her landing was completely silent.
"All clear," she rasped, lowering her bow. "No movement in the immediate brush."
Viole nodded once his gaze flicking upward. The sun sat squarely overhead
Noon.
"Rest for a bit then we head back."
Kiran hesitated, his fingers tight on his hilt. "…What about—"
"I'll watch."
That was all it took. Kiran didn't argue again. He lowered his sword and took a heavy step back, falling out of his combat stance. Eira dropped where she stood, staff resting across her knees.
Rath dropped smoothly from the low branch, landing in a soft squat before straightening up.
They had cleared the outer settlement faster than expected, but the toll was visible. Four green copper-ranks, battered and drained, but functional.
"At registration," Viole said, his voice flat, "you receive one mana potion and one low healing potion per day. For one week."
His voice snapped their attention to him.
"Did the Guild issue your daily allotment?"
Kiran blinked, wiping sweat from his brow. "…Yeah. One mana, one low heal."
Basic support. The bare minimum designed to keep novice adventurers from dying on basic errands—if used correctly.
"Drink the mana potion."
Eira looked up, surprised. "Now? Before we head back?"
"Yes."
No room for debate.
"There shouldn't be any strays nearby," Viole continued, his eyes scanning the treeline, "but that doesn't mean there aren't."
That thing from yesterday.
The memory surfaced uninvited—a presence that didn't follow patterns, didn't announce itself, and appeared exactly where it shouldn't have been.
Unpredictable.
I felt the thought ripple through Viole's mind, cold and sharp. He was calculating variables I couldn't even see.
"Especially you two," Viole added, looking at Eira and Luna. "We're heading back. Rest, eat, then call for reinforcements for the cave."
Luna nodded immediately. "…And the captives."
"Yes."
Eira pulled the small glass vial from her pouch, uncorking it with a soft pop. The pale blue liquid shimmered as she downed it in one gulp. One by one, the others followed suit.
Viole stood guard until the last vial was emptied.
"Lets move."
***
The Adventurers Guild hall hummed with its usual midday chaos. Voices overlapped in boisterous chatter, heavy wooden mugs clinked, and the scent of roasted meat drifted from the kitchen.
Viole walked straight to the counter, ignoring the side glances from resting parties.
"Submission."
Liora looked up from her ledger, a familiar, knowing glint in her eyes. "Oh? Back already?"
Viole placed the parchment onto the scuffed wood, followed by a fabric wrap containing the gathered flora.
Liora unrolled the cloth with practiced ease, checking the contents one by one. Her hand paused. Then stopped entirely.
"…You really don't change, do you?"
Viole didn't answer.
She held up a cluster of crushed, serrated leaves. "This isn't part of the commission."
She set it aside and picked up another stem with stringy roots attached. "And this is a common weed."
A soft sigh escaped her, though there was no malice in it.
"You gathered the correct target herbs," she admitted, pointing to the neatly organized bundle in the center, "but you also uprooted every single plant within a three-foot radius around them."
She looked up, meeting his deadpan stare. "You're still terrible at this."
"The target materials are complete."
"They are," Liora said, marking her ledger with a heavy quill flourish. "You just make extra work for me every time."
She swept the weeds into a trash bin under the counter before counting out the reward.
"Ten copper coins. Ten guild points." She paused, leaning forward slightly. "Now—what about the goblin settlement?"
"Cleared. But there's a cave."
Liora's expression tightened into something sharper. "Of course there is."
"We sealed it to keep them inside. We need reinforcements," Viole said. "E-rank. D-rank if available."
"I'll post the notice while you rest."
"Do it now."
He turned away before she could reply, heading toward the corner table where the rest of his temp-party was sitting.
The party sat in silence around a worn wooden table. A tavern server had dropped off a pitcher of water, but nothing else.
The Guild covered potion subsidies for new recruits, not hot meals.
Kiran reached into his pack, pulling out a hard, dark block of dried meat and a piece of stale bread. Eira and Luna did the same. Their movements were slow, methodical.
Viole dropped his pack onto the floor beside his usual corner seat—back against the wall. He pulled out a cloth-wrapped package containing five thick, carefully prepared sandwiches.
He took a bite of one, chewing in quiet isolation.
Then his eyes drifted toward their table.
Kiran was gnawing on the hard tack, trying to soften it with water. It was ration food—built for desperate marches and emergency survival, not post-combat recovery.
That's not going to cut it, I thought, floating inside his head. They're chewing on leather while their muscles are starving for real fuel.
Viole sighed quietly—a sound so subtle no one else in the room could caught it.
He stood up, sandwich still in hand, and walked over to their table.
He dropped the four remaining wrapped sandwiches onto the center of the wood.
Kiran blinked, stopping mid-chew. "…Huh?"
"Eat those."
"Wait—Viole, these are yours—"
"It's fresh," Viole cut in, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Eat it those and save the rations for when you actually need them."
Eira stared at the sandwich in front of her. "…Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Luna lowered her eyes softly. "…Thank you."
Rath didn't hesitate. She grabbed hers with a wide grin and took a massive bite before anyone else could speak.
Viole turned around without another word and walked back to his dark corner, picking his own sandwich back up as if nothing had happened.
Viole turned around without another word and walked back to his dark corner, picking up his remaining piece of bread as if nothing had happened.
I couldn't help but smile internally.
Look at that. The ice-cold dude actually has a pulse.
Before I could say anything further, a sudden wave of calculations flooded my consciousness—Viole's passive thoughts forcing their way to the surface.
If a novice adventurer suffers a dizzy spell mid-combat because they only had dry jerky instead of proper fuel, the formation collapses. They become easy targets and drag down everyone around them. Dead weight means failed objectives and worst, everyone could die. Investing a cheap sandwich now eliminates a preventable risk later.
He was rationalizing it. To Viole, even a basic act of consideration had to be categorized as operational risk management.
His internal monologue cut short as he looked up. Across the hall, Liora was leaning over the counter, watching the entire exchange with a wide, knowing smirk.
Viole gave her a flat, unamused glare before dropping his gaze back to his bread.
He rested for roughly twenty minutes, eyes closed, breathing rhythmically to flush out the lactic acid buildup in his legs.
When he opened his eyes, he stood and walked back to their table.
"Check your losses," Viole said, his voice flat and even.
Kiran looked up, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "...Losses?"
"Spent resources, losses." Viole clarified. "Mana, stamina, equipment."
That single word shifted their whole demeanor. The initial relief of surviving combat faded, replaced by the quiet, heavy reality of gear maintenance.
"Your mana should be mostly recovered," Viole said, looking down at Eira and Luna. "The potion plus rest should have restored the baseline."
They nodded slowly, both mages closing their eyes briefly to feel the low hum of energy settling in their core.
"Confirm it," Viole added before they could relax. "Never assume. Verify."
His gaze shifted to Rath.
"Arrows."
She straightened, reaching back instinctively to run her fingers across the fletchings in her quiver. She blinked, counting quickly. "...I used a lot. Less than half left."
"Then recover them," Viole said, gesturing back toward the direction of the cleared settlement. "Once we head back through, pull them from the bodies."
Rath nodded, her posture firming up. "Got it."
Viole's eyes moved to Kiran. "Sword."
Kiran unsheathed his weapon, holding it flat across his palms. He ran his thumb carefully along the flat of the steel, checking for stress cracks before eyeing the edge. "...Some nicks."
"Still functional?"
"Yeah," Kiran said, hesitating as he rubbed the back of his neck. "...Problem is, I don't have a spare. If this cracks on the walk back, I'm empty-handed."
"Check the bodies when we get back at the settlement," Viole instructed calmly. "Most of their weapons are rusted scrap, but you can sometimes find one that's still useful."
Kiran nodded, firmer this time. "Understood."
"Rest some more. I'll check in with Liora for reinforcements."
The heavy guild doors swung open, and Liora stepped back inside, smoothing down her vest. She had just returned from the higher-rank hall across the courtyard.
Viole was already waiting at the counter. The rest of the party fell into formation behind him.
Liora slid behind her desk, adjusting her papers before looking up with a wry smile.
"Did you miss me already?"
"Reinforcements?" Viole asked without a moments rest.
Liora's smile faded into a heavy sigh. She rested her elbows against the stained wood of the counter, the ambient noise of the guild hall washing over us.
"I asked around," she said simply. "They all refused."
Kiran stepped forward, his knuckles white against his belt. "…All of them? Why?"
Liora held up a finger, her tone shifting into a dramatically mocking pitch. "First party I asked said: 'Wait, Viole's on the job? Then what do you need us for?'"
She raised a second finger. "Second guy told me: 'He clears nests on his own. He'll be fine.'"
A third finger went up. "And my absolute favorite from an E-rank team leader: 'If Viole is in the cave, the goblins are the ones who need saving.'"
Luna took a small, hesitant step forward, her fingers clutching her wooden healing staff so tightly the joints turned pale. "W-What about the captives?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Or survivors? Didn't anyone care about saving them?"
Liora's expression softened, but the warmth in her eyes was gone—replaced by the bleak, tired reality of someone who had seen too many casualty reports.
"I brought that up," Liora said softly. "The answer was always the same. Most veterans know the math."
She didn't bother sugarcoating it for the rookies. When goblins took captives, men were butchered on the spot. Women were dragged into the dark as livestock—subjected to continuous abuse, starvation in filth-ridden caverns. Without warmth, clean water, or basic care, most died within days.
"They don't see a rescue mission," Liora added, looking directly at Luna. "They see a risk with zero return. By the time an F-rank request reaches the board, the chance of finding anyone alive is nearly zero."
From deep within the one-way connection I have with him, Viole's internal thoughts surfaced, cold and unvarnished.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have asked.
I felt the quiet weight of his assessment. If he were solo, he would have either sealed the entrance completely or cleared the cavern floor by floor without hesitation. But today he was dragging four unpolished rookies. Entering an uncharted nest with an unstable backline was an operational nightmare.
Still, he couldn't force other adventurers to step in. There was no bonus coin attached to a recovery, and asking men to risk their lives in a dark hole for cold bodies wasn't a demand anyone in the guild would honor.
Liora dropped her hand, her tone returning to a flat, quiet normal. "And you can't split the payout, not with the number of participants and with a guy who does ninety percent of the work, especially when they think they're only retrieving corpses."
Rath tilted her head as she processed Liora's words. "If he's really that capable... how is someone like him still sitting at Silver rank?"
Liora hummed softly, her eyes flickering to Viole. "Because rank advancement from Copper to Gold relies entirely on cumulative guild points."
She tapped her ledger. "Twenty points for a goblin settlement clearing. Copper to Iron takes one hundred. Iron to Silver takes two hundred. Silver to Gold takes three hundred."
She looked directly at Kiran. "Viole has the combat proficiency of a Gold-rank. His tactical judgment and class mastery are well beyond that."
She paused, a subtle, teasing smirk returning to her lips. "He's terrible at gathering quests. He avoids them entirely, and high-value extermination contracts are scarce."
Silence fell over the four greenhorns. They turned to look at Viole, expecting a rebuttal, a glare, or an excuse.
Viole stood impassive, his expression as unreadable as stone.
"So," Viole said, cutting through the silence. "No one is coming."
"No one," Liora confirmed gently. "It's just you five."
Viole exhaled—a low, measured breath through his nose.
"…Fine."
***
The return to the goblin settlement was swift. Without the uncertainty of the initial approach, they kept a fast, disciplined pace.
When they reached the clearing, Rath and Kiran immediately split off to harvest her spent arrows from the dead goblins while Kiran tries to find a usable secondary sword, the rest formed up near the collapsed cave entrance.
The heavy stone rubble still blocked the main archway, tightly packed from the explosion spell.
"Eira," Viole ordered. "Clear the entryway. Explosion spell first, followed immediately by wind control to disperse the dust."
Before Eira could step forward, soft footfalls rustled against the gravel behind us.
Rath and Kiran emerged from the fringe of the cleared settlement. Rath carried a fresh bundle of crude, steel-tipped arrows she'd pulled from the fallen goblin bowmen, tucked tightly into her hip quiver. Beside her, Kiran held a surprisingly sturdy iron arming sword—its crossguard was pitted with light rust, but the edge remained straight and clean enough to hold a proper guard.
Through Viole's eyes, I felt his quick, clinical appraisal of their gear before he gave them a single, concise nod.
"Formation," Viole commanded, his voice low and authoritative. "Kiran, on my right. Keep two paces. Luna, Eira—four paces behind our line. Rath, take six paces rear for overwatch."
Kiran locked into position beside Viole without a second of hesitation, adjusting his grip over his newly acquired blade. Luna retreated behind their shoulders while Rath drifted seamlessly into the rear shadows, an arrow resting loosely against her bowstring.
Eira took her position, raising her staff. "Understood."
He turned his head slightly toward Kiran. "Inside the tunnels, wide swings will catch on the stone walls. You stab. Use the flat of your blade to block and control spatial distance. You are defense first, offense second."
Kiran nodded solemnly. "…Got it."
"Eira. When Kiran blocks an enemy's weapon, you deliver point-blank magic or use the heavy butt of your staff to disrupt their footing. Then Kiran finishes them."
"Understood."
"Luna. Keep your baseline support active, but do not overreach your mana reserves." He then turned to Rath. "Rear guard. Watch the ceiling, blind spots, and side shafts. If an enemy closes the distance in a narrow corridor, do not draw your bow. Block with the wooden riser and drive an arrow into their neck like a dagger."
Rath's eyes widened slightly before she nodded sharply. "Got it!"
"Stay tight. Do not break formation."
"Eira—clear it."
Eira chanted a brief, low phrase.
BOOM!
A contained shockwave blasted the rubble inward. As dust surged back toward them, Eira swept her staff, casting a focused breeze that drove the blinding cloud back into the gloom.
The cave mouth opened into black darkness.
They maintained their positions, weapons raised, staring into the dark, choked opening of the cave. For several long seconds, no one dared to breathe. They waited for movement, a frantic screech, or the heavy rush of feet from inside the rubble—but nothing came. Not a single sound emerged from the dark.
Only then did Viole sheath his katana with a soft, metallic click, pulling two wicked, short-curved daggers from his belt. Tight spaces required shorter steel.
He reached into his pouch, pulling out two dark ceramic spheres—pepper-gas charges. With a flick of his thumb, he struck the igniters. A sharp, burning hiss filled the air.
He hurled both charges deep into the left and right forks of the entryway before stepping back into the open air.
Two muffled THUMPs vibrated through the rock. Thick, choking grey gas began to billow outward, trapping anything hiding in the immediate throat of the cave.
They waited. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. A minute.
Nothing rushed out. No screeching, no choking, no frantic clawing.
"Clear," Viole muttered.
Kiran frowned. "…That's it? No goblins?"
"None."
"Then… shouldn't we check?" Kiran pressed, stepping forward. "What if the ones outside were all of them? The captives could still be inside."
Viole looked at him, his gaze heavy.
Kiran's naive hope wasn't entirely baseless, but logically, it made little sense. Goblins cave dwellers by nature; they only built surface settlements when an underground nest is overpopulated. The cave was always the primary stronghold. A dead surface camp with a dead-silent cave makes no sense.
And as for captives? The survival rate inside an overpopulated nest was practically non-existent.
Yet, as Viole stared into the black mouth of the cave, an old, jagged memory resurfaced. The day the news reached him about his parents. No bodies. No finality. Not even a single scrap of cloth to bury in the soil—just a cold verbal confirmation that they were gone, leaving behind an empty house and an open wound.
A sudden, suffocating weight settled right behind Viole's ribs.
Inside his balance center, the phantom pressure hit me like a physical blow.
Hmm...
I absorbed the dull ache from his chest bleeding through his nervous system. Viole's thoughts were a muted, distant feed, but the raw sensation was unmistakable. To have the people who raised you simply erased—no corpse to mourn over, no proper burial, just perpetual air where they used to be. Before I woke up trapped inside this guy's head, I'd never lost anyone like that. I couldn't even imagine the quiet, gnawing torture of knowing your parents' remains were rotting out in some forgotten ditch, beyond reach.
'It's too risky,' Viole's internal voice suddenly surfaced, cold and pragmatic, cutting through his own lingering grief. 'An empty nest is abnormal. We leave it to a Guild recovery unit. If there are victims inside, the Guild will retrieve them.'
Then Viole paused. The line of his shoulders went rigid.
A flaw in his own logic.
The Guild didn't send recovery units on a hunch. To submit a complete commission report and request a formal Guild sweep for casualties, the active party had to visually confirm and survey the site first. They couldn't report what they hadn't seen.
Viole let out a long, quiet sigh, the tension leaving his chest as his discipline overrode his caution.
Even if they're gone, his quiet thought drifted through, rigid and resolute. Their remains still deserve to be brought back. They deserve a proper burial.
I listened to the silent resolve in his head and felt a quiet pang of understanding. He probably didn't even realize it himself—his pragmatic, mechanical brain framing it purely as duty and proper procedure. But I knew where it really came from. Because he was denied the chance to lay his own parents to rest, he was sub-consciously making damn sure no family out there was left wondering about the fate of their loved ones.
"Fine," Viole said quietly. "We check."
He swapped his daggers back for his primary blade, grabbed and lit a torch, and stepped across the threshold.
Before advancing any further into the dark, Viole turned, his crimson eyes locking onto each of the four teenagers with absolute, unyielding intensity.
"Listen to me carefully," Viole warned, his voice low and firm enough to echo off the damp stone. "Whatever happens, whatever you see in there—you do not rush. You maintain formation, and under no circumstances do you break it. From this moment on, we assume there are no survivors. Our only objective is to survey the cave and locate any remains so the Guild can issue an official retrieval report."
Kiran, Eira, Rath, and Luna exchanged solemn glances before nodding in unison, the gravity of his words settling over them.
"One mistake," Viole added, letting the torch flame illuminate the cold edge of his posture, "one lapse in discipline, and everyone in this party could end up dead."
With their silent agreement secured, he turned back toward the gloom.
The scent hit them instantly—a harsh, chemical burn that lingered in the stagnant air. The pepper gas was dissipating, but its residue stuck to the damp walls.
The tunnel sloped downward, splitting into two distinct paths.
"Right," Viole commanded softly.
They moved in lockstep, their boots echoing faintly against the wet stone.
The tunnel opened into a large subterranean chamber. The moment they crossed the archway, weak, ragged sounds reached their ears.
Whimpers. Shallow coughing.
Viole held up a hand. "Hold formation."
He raised the torch higher.
Near the far wall sat a crude wooden cage built from rotting pine branches. Inside, nine figures were huddled together.
Five were conscious—young women, shivering violently, their eyes hollow and terrified as the torchlight hit them. The other four lay completely motionless on the damp dirt floor.
Starvation. Severe trauma. Mana shock.
I felt a cold knot twist in my stomach as I looked through Viole's eyes. It was ugly—the stark, raw reality of what this world did to the unprepared.
"Kiran, Eira—break the lock," Viole ordered flatly while maintaining his stance. "Rath, you're your eyes open. Luna, stabilize the critical ones."
Luna rushed forward, kneeling beside the motionless forms. Her hands glowed with pale green magic, but her face paled instantly.
"Their breathing and heartbeat are too shallow," Luna whispered, her voice trembling. "My basic healing won't hold them. They need cathedral priest!"
Viole reached into his inner breast pocket. He pulled out a single, unmarked vial filled with a brilliant, swirling crimson liquid.
The potion he bought yesterday from Ai.
He handed it to Luna. "Split it between the four of them."
Luna blinked in shock. "This—all of it? Split a single vial four ways?"
"Do it."
Luna uncorked the glass and carefully divided the potion to each victim's mouth.
The reaction was instantaneous.
The shallow, dying breathing steadied. The sickly grey tinge on their skin flushed back to a healthy pink. Their body temperatures stabilized in seconds.
I already knew Ai's potions were absurd—I felt it firsthand when she used them on Viole's body. But actually watching it work on someone else? That's a whole different story. It doesn't look like some mystical, glowing miracle. It just looks like the body is violently forced back to life—color returning, breathing snapping into rhythm, like winding up a dying clock in seconds. Cool as hell, sure, but kind of surreal to watch.
My train of thought snapped as a sharp intake of air echoed off the cavern walls.
Luna gasped, staring at the empty vial in utter disbelief.
"…What kind of potion is this?!w"
Viole didn't answer. He had already turned back toward the tunnel entrance, his blade drawn, scanning the shadows.
"The conscious ones can walk," Viole said, assessing the group. "That leaves four who must be carried. I will carry two. Kiran, take one. Eira, take the last."
Rath stepped up. "Who takes point if you three are carrying weight?"
"The gas," Viole said. "We flood the exit tunnel with gas before we sprint out. It limits visibility and disrupts any ambush. Cover your noses with damp cloth. Keep your eyes half-closed and endure it."
He picked up the two smallest victims, draping them over his shoulders with practiced ease. Kiran and Eira lifted the other two.
"Rath, take point with the torch," Viole commanded. "Run!"
They sprinted through the narrow tunnel as the fresh gas charge ignited behind them.
The air turned into raw fire.
Even with the damp cloth pressed against my virtual senses, the burning sensation radiated through Viole's nervous system like liquid acid.
Back on Earth, I'd never experienced anything like pepper gas. It hit me like a physical punch. My throat felt like it was tearing open, my eyes watering violently as the grey cloud enveloped us.
Viole didn't even flinch.
His body reacted—his lungs spasming, his breath hitching in sharp, forced gasps—but his stride never wavered. His internal discipline absorbed the agony, turning it into raw somatic mechanical feedback while I was mentally gagging.
They burst through the mouth of the cave, spilling onto the dirt clearing outside.
Kiran and Eira collapsed to their knees, coughing violently, their faces red and tear-streaked. Viole set his two burdens down gently before lowering himself into a crouch, a series of harsh, deep coughs wracking his frame.
Rath stood at the perimeter, her eyes watering, but her bow was already drawn, tracking the treeline and the cave entrance.
Nothing moved.
Viole wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his breathing slowly returning to a rhythmic pattern.
As he stabilized his lungs, his crimson eyes flicked back toward the dark cave entrance, sweeping the mouth for any lingering movement or stragglers. Nothing. Shifting his gaze back to the clearing outside, he conducted a quiet, methodical headcount.
All four members of his own party were still standing—exhausted, rattled, but uninjured. Among the rescued captives, four remained unconscious in the grass, while the other five were sitting or standing nearby, shivering but lucid. Everyone was accounted for.
Satisfied with the perimeter, Viole stepped toward the group.
"One of the conscious survivors needs to head to the main road and ask for help," Viole said, looking at the eldest woman who was standing shakily. "Can you move?"
She nodded, her jaw set. "I can."
Viole pulled one of his daggers and handed it to her hilt-first. Then he unclasped his heavy dark travel coat and wrapped it over her bare shoulders.
"Follow this trail. Find the Guild transport or any patrol. Tell them we have eight survivors in need of transport."
She clutched the coat around herself, nodded fiercely, and vanished into the trees.
***
A large guild transport carriage ground to a halt at the edge of the clearing after waiting for nearly twenty minutes. Two figures stepped down from the driver's bench—an E-rank ranger and a plate-armored swordsman.
"Guild security!" the swordsman announced, his hand resting on his pommel.
He paused, taking in the scene—dead goblins, the secured cave entrance, and Viole standing silently at the center.
The swordsman gave Viole a crisp, respectful nod. "We've got the carriage loaded. The girl found us on the road."
The survivors were carefully moved into the padded interior of the transport.
As the driver turned the team around, the ranger looked back at Viole. "You're not coming with us?"
"The cave isn't fully cleared," Viole replied.
The ranger shook his head with a mixture of awe and exasperation. "Good luck out there."
Viole raised two fingers in a silent farewell as the carriage rattled away down the dirt track.
He turned back to face the four novices.
"Rest time is over," Viole said flatly. "We explore the left fork."
They re-entered the dark cavern, the air slightly clearer now.
They took the unexplored left path. A few steps in, the atmosphere changed completely.
The ground was littered with crude goblin weapons—broken, bent, and discarded. Dark, dried blood splattered the stone walls.
Then came the bodies. Goblins.
They were not killed by steel or magic. These corpses were dismembered—limbs torn violently from sockets, ribcages crushed inward, heads missing entirely.
This wasn't a battle, I realized, a chill running down my spine. This was a slaughter.
The tunnel opened into a vast, cathedral-like cavern. The ceiling stretched up into absolute blackness.
From the far corner, a faint, human whimper echoed through the dark.
Before anyone could react—
PRESSURE.
It wasn't a sound or a visual cue. It was a wave of pure, suffocating malice that slammed into the room.
FLASH STEP. The words surfaced from Viole out of nowhere.
The world didn't move—it skipped.
Viole's body vanished from the front of the line, reappearing instantly in front of Luna. His katana was already unsheathed, locked in a tight, diagonal guard.
CLANG!
A massive, shadowy form smashed out of the upper darkness, heavy bone-claws slamming directly into Viole's steel blade.
The force of the blow echoed through Viole's boots, cracking the stone beneath his feet. Sparks rained down in the dark.
Viole held the guard, his arms absorbing the monstrous impact without yielding an inch.
The creature recoiled, landing light on its feet ten paces away. A low, wet growl vibrated through the chamber, accompanied by the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh.
"Luna—Light spell," Viole commanded, his voice dead flat.
Luna raised her staff, her fingers shaking as a sphere of radiant white light flared into existence overhead.
The chamber illuminated.
At the far end lay two human survivors, shaking, barely conscious.
Standing in the center was the monster.
It was a wolf—or had been one. Its frame was towering, lean, and muscular, but its flesh was sloughing off in grey strips. Darkened, necrotic veins pulsed visible beneath missing patches of hide. Its eyes were milky white and dead.
Its the Undead Direwolf.
"That explains it," Viole said softly. "It drove the goblins out of the cave system. They fought it, lost, and fled to the surface."
His eyes narrowed as he analyzed the beast's stance. "It's intelligent. Its initial strike targeted Luna, the healer."
The direwolf circled slowly, its dead eyes locked onto Viole.
"Undead," Viole stated. "Standard physical attacks will not destroy it unless the core or head is utterly pulverized. We have no holy magic or consecrated water."
He didn't pause. "We fall back. Leave the survivors."
"No!"
The word cut through the gloom, tight and fierce.
Luna took a step forward, her knuckles white around her staff.
"They're right there!" she cried out, her voice breaking. "They saw our torch! They saw us! They think someone came to save them!"
She looked at Viole, tears welling in her eyes. "We can't just leave them to be eaten!"
Viole didn't look back at her. His blade remained pointed at the beast's.
"I didn't become an adventurer to play a hero," Viole said, his tone devoid of warmth. "I do this to live."
I heard his words, cold and logical. It was the correct tactical play—the survivor's play.
But deep inside his mind, a memory flashed.
Hands urgently pouring potion over his body, liquid splashing past his lips. A slender frame hoisting his weight over her shoulder, supporting his faltering steps down an empty road. Ai.
The memory didn't come with words, but its weight was absolute.
iole exhaled a slow, heavy breath through his nose.
"…Fine."
Even if we pull back, Viole's internal thought surfaced, cold and logical, It may pursues us while running.
I listened to his mental calculus and couldn't help but shake my head inside his balance center.
Yeah, right... Keep telling yourself it's just logistics, man.
I took in the memory of Ai that had just flashed through his mind—the frantic hands, the spilled potion, the girl who dragged a dying stranger off the road for zero reward—and then looked at the shivering, terrified survivors hiding behind the rocks just past the monster in front of us.
Or maybe, I thought softly, letting the realization settle, it's just because someone showed you unconditional kindness when you were down in the dirt, and now you can't bring yourself to walk away when it's your turn. From where I'm sitting, that's what it looks like to me.
Viole didn't—or couldn't—hear me, but the atmosphere around him instantly shifted from defensive survival to absolute, focused lethality.
"Listen," Viole commanded, his voice dropping into an octave of pure authority. "I take its attention. Rath—suppressive fire. Kiran, Eira—sprint to the far wall and secure the two survivors. Luna—stay behind my back and maintain the light field."
No one argued. The plan was set.
Viole stepped forward and lowered his center of gravity.
He took the stance. A stance I saw in one of the anime I've seen.
Koncho-no-Kamae. That's what I think its called
His body lowered until his lead knee was bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle. The katana was drawn back behind his right shoulder, the tip pointing slightly outward like a folded wing. His grip was feather-light, yet the tension in his forearms was coiled like a steel spring.
From the outside, the stance looked completely exposed—a open invite to be torn apart.
I knew better. I felt the spatial calculations running through his somatic memory. It wasn't an opening—it was a trap. A position designed to convert defensive momentum into an instantaneous, blinding counter-thrust.
The Undead Direwolf sensed the shift. Its low growl cut off, its posture lowering as it crept forward with newfound caution.
"Now!"
Kiran and Eira burst into a sprint toward the far wall.
The direwolf lunged—
FLASH STEP.
The cavern skipped a frame.
Viole vanished from his standing position and reappeared directly inside the direwolf's attack path.
The katana snapped forward from the Koncho position in a blinding, horizontal arc.
CLANG!
Steel hit decaying bone. The direwolf's right claw intercepted the blade with terrifying speed.
Without missing a beat, Viole executed a second Flash Step, skipping behind its blind spot and driving the blade toward its neck.
The beast twisted mid-air with unnatural fluidity, blocking the blow with its left hind leg before sweeping its heavy tail around like a whip.
Viole caught the tail sweep on his flat blade, the force sliding his boots back three feet across the slick stone.
Claw. Blade. Counter. Step.
The exchange became a violent, high-speed rhythm—steel flashing in the radiant light, bloodless decay flying through the air as Viole locked the monster in a localized zone of absolute combat focus.
Thwip!
An arrow from Rath struck the direwolf squarely in the shoulder. The beast didn't even flinch.
"Fire!" Viole called out, parrying a vicious snapping jaw. "Eira—explosion spell at its feet! Create space! Rath—fire arrows! Light your tips on the torch!"
"On it!" Rath yelled, smashing a torch against the rock to ignite her arrowheads.
"I'll take its legs," Viole said, his voice terrifyingly calm amid the chaotic clash of steel. "Once I sever the tendons, burn the open wounds to slow down its regeneration. If the fire holds—I'll take the head, then we run."
The direwolf coiled to spring again.
Viole sheathed his katana in a single, fluid click.
He dropped into Iai—the quick-draw stance.
The direwolf leaped, its jaws opening wide to crush his skull.
Viole didn't move. He waited until the rotting teeth were inches from his throat.
FLASH STEP.
He slipped beneath the leaping beast's belly. His hand flashed—the katana cleared the scabbard in a single, invisible draw.
SLASH!
The left rear hamstring severed with a sickening, wet pop.
The direwolf crashed heavily onto the stone, its hind leg collapsing uselessly beneath it.
"FIRE!"
Eira's spell detonated beneath the beast's belly, setting the grey flesh ablaze. Rath's flaming arrows rained down, embedding deep into its ribcage.
The direwolf thrashed, emitting a soundless, horrifying screech as the flames began to spread on its fur and consume its necrotic tissue.
Viole didn't stop. He moved like a butcher—Flash Stepping around the burning monster, executing precise, mechanical cuts to its remaining joints.
Front right knee—severed.
Left foreleg—cleaved.
The beast fell flat onto the stone, immobilized, a mass of burning, twitching limbs.
Viole stepped up to its thrashing neck, raised his blade vertically, and brought it down like a guillotine.
DECAPITATED.
The heavy, wolf-like head rolled across the ground, its jaw still snapping futilely until the flames consumed its dead eyes.
Viole stepped back, pivoted on his heel, and spat out a single command: "Take the survivors. Run!"
No explanations. No wasted breath.
Rath and Kiran didn't hesitate for a second. They scooped up the remaining survivors—hauling them into their arms or over their shoulders—and broke into a full sprint. There was no time to walk, and no time to negotiate.
We fell in right behind them, keeping a brutal pace, but this time I felt every single fraction of the physical cost bleeding through our shared nervous system.
Viole's breathing wasn't controlled anymore. It wasn't the steady, mechanical engine he usually maintained during a run. Each inhale came sharp and forced, scraping against his throat like hot gravel—his lungs still raw and burning from the lingering gas.
And then came the backlash.
He had chained Flash Steps back-to-back in that dark corridor, pushing far past his normal physical limits. Now, the bill was coming due. His thigh muscles twitched violently with every stride, his legs growing heavier with each step as if dragging through wet cement. His forearms throbbed with a dull, sickening ache, making even the weight of his katana feel unnaturally heavy. Even his vision shifted, the edges of his sight blurring into dark, unstable fringes.
He was running right along the ragged edge of physical collapse.
And yet, he didn't slow down. He didn't let out a single grunt of pain, nor did he allow his posture to slump. He simply clamped his jaw shut, locked his gaze forward, and kept driving his boots into the earth.
Ahead, the oppressive dark of the tunnel finally fractured into a blinding tear of sunlight. Fresh, cold air flooded into his lungs as we burst through the cave mouth and broke out into the open forest.
No pursuit surged out behind us. The woods remained dead silent. But nobody stopped, and nobody looked back. If that thing back in the dark was capable of rising again, sheer distance was the only safety they had left.
We plunged through the dense treeline, pushing full-speed toward the main road, toward the city walls. And Viole kept moving—lungs screaming, body protesting every footfall, vision threatening to slip into black—holding onto his conscious mind by a thread, determined to see them all safety across the line.