The road back to the chapel took two days. Nyxara insisted on avoiding main roads. She knew the area better than Zarvon or Lysara, having mapped escape routes from the capital years ago. She led them through narrow forest paths where the trees grew thick enough to block the sun.
"If anyone followed from the capital, they'd expect the eastern route," she said, pushing a low branch aside. "This way we're invisible."
Lysara walked behind Zarvon, her feet sore. "How do you know all these paths?"
"Three years learning how to disappear." Nyxara glanced back. "Useful when your family puts a bounty on your head."
Zarvon ducked under a branch. "Your family put a bounty on you?"
"My father's new wife wanted me gone. A bounty was cheaper than a wedding." Her voice was casual. "The bounty hunters who found me didn't make it back."
Lysara went quiet. Zarvon noticed her grip on her staff tighten. He reached back and took her hand, squeezed once. She squeezed back.
On the second afternoon, they reached the edge of the forest near the old chapel. Zarvon stopped when he heard voices ahead. Rough voices. He held up a hand.
Through the trees, he saw three goblins sitting on a fallen log. One had a wounded leg wrapped in dirty cloth. Another was sharpening a knife. The third was staring at the chapel in the distance with hollow eyes. Their green skin was cracked, their clothes rags.
"Goblins," Nyxara whispered. "Runaways from the demon hunters."
The system lit up.
[Potential Recruits: 3 Goblins – Weak, Injured. Recommendation: Offer protection in exchange for loyalty.]
Zarvon stepped out from the trees, hands raised. The goblins froze. The one with the knife scrambled to his feet, the injured one hissing in pain.
"Easy," Zarvon said. "Not here to hurt you."
The goblin with the knife held it up, hand shaking. "Demon hunter? Come to finish us?"
"I'm a demon. Like you." Zarvon pulled back his hood, let them see his horns. The goblins stared.
"A demon lord?" the injured one whispered.
"Just a demon." He pointed toward the chapel. "Shelter. Food. Protection. You're hurt. You look like you haven't eaten in days."
The goblins exchanged glances. The one with the knife lowered it slowly.
"Why?" he asked. "Why help us?"
Zarvon shrugged. "Need people. You need a place. That's how it works."
Lysara stepped up beside him, her staff in hand. "I can fix your leg," she said to the injured goblin. "Let me see."
The goblin hesitated. Then nodded. Lysara knelt beside him, her hands glowing with soft light as she unwrapped the dirty cloth. The wound was deep, maybe from a sword or a trap. The flesh began to close under her touch. The goblin let out a shaky breath.
"Priestess," he muttered. "Healing a goblin. Never seen that."
"I'm not a priestess anymore." She focused on the wound. "Just someone who helps."
By the time she finished, the goblin could stand without wincing. The other two watched with growing hope. The one with the knife put it away.
"We follow you," he said. "If you give us shelter, we work. Build, hunt, fight. Whatever you need."
The system chimed.
[3 Goblins recruited. Population: 6. Base camp established at chapel.]
Zarvon nodded toward the chapel. "Then let's go home."
---
The chapel was exactly as they'd left it. Small, worn, standing. Zarvon showed the goblins the back room. Lysara found blankets and dried food. The goblins ate quickly, tearing into the bread like they hadn't seen food in weeks.
Nyxara stood by the window, watching the tree line. "This place won't hold against an attack. One demon hunter squad, and we're done."
"I know." Zarvon leaned against the wall. "That's why we build. Walls. Watchtower. The goblins can help."
"We need more than walls." She turned to him. "We need information. If the church finds out about this camp, they'll send hunters. We need to know when they're coming before they arrive."
He looked at her. "You have a plan."
She smiled. "I always have a plan."
---
Three days passed. The goblins worked hard, cutting wood, clearing brush, building a simple palisade around the chapel. Lysara set up a small garden behind the building. Nyxara sent messages to her contacts through street kids and traveling merchants. By the third day, she had reports coming in.
Zarvon spent his time learning his new abilities. Shadow of Night let him merge with darkness. Aroma of Seduction worked constantly. The goblins kept their distance when he walked past, not out of fear but awe. Lysara made jokes about him being a distraction.
On the fourth night, a goblin named Rik spotted movement in the forest. He ran back to the chapel, his face pale.
"Torches," he said, gasping. "Five, maybe six. Coming fast."
Zarvon moved to the window. Orange light flickering between the trunks, getting closer. The system flashed a warning.
[Alert: Demon Hunters detected. Estimated arrival: 10 minutes.]
"Demon hunters," Zarvon said. "Six of them."
Nyxara pulled a knife from her belt. "I counted seven last week. Maybe they lost one."
Lysara's hands shook, but she grabbed her staff. "I can heal. I can't fight."
"Stay behind me." Zarvon looked at the goblins. "All of you."
The goblins grabbed whatever weapons they had—knives, a broken sword, a piece of wood with nails driven through it. They positioned themselves behind the palisade.
The hunters arrived five minutes later. White and gold uniforms, helmets, swords glowing with holy light. The leader stopped at the edge of the clearing, raising his hand.
"By order of the Luminous Church, any demons harbored here will be cleansed. Surrender the demon lord, and your deaths will be quick."
Zarvon stepped out from behind the palisade. "That's a generous offer. But I'll pass."
The leader studied him. "You're the one who took the priestess from the village. Word travels fast. The church doesn't tolerate corruption."
"Funny." Zarvon tilted his head. "Your church tolerates plenty of corruption when it comes to nobles and gold. Just not when a demon does it."
The leader's sword flared brighter. "Enough words. Kill him."
The hunters charged. Zarvon activated Shadow of Night, his body dissolving into the darkness. The hunters stumbled when their target vanished. The leader swung wildly, cutting empty air.
Zarvon reappeared behind the slowest hunter, grabbed his helmet, slammed his head into a tree trunk. The hunter dropped without a sound. The others spun around, their formation broken.
The goblins attacked from the sides, small and fast, knives finding gaps in armor. One hunter fell with a goblin's blade in his thigh. Another screamed when Rik's nailed plank connected with his knee.
The leader recovered quickly, his sword swinging in wide arcs. Zarvon ducked under one swing, came up inside the man's guard, and drove his fist into the hunter's ribs. Armor cracked. The hunter gasped and staggered back.
"You're strong," the leader said, blood running from his mouth. "But holy light burns demons."
He raised his sword, and the blade blazed with white fire. Zarvon felt the heat on his skin, a burning sensation that made his muscles seize. He stumbled.
Lysara stepped between them, her staff raised. A barrier of white light flared around her, deflecting the sword. The hunter's eyes went wide.
"Priestess magic," he snarled. "You've truly fallen."
"I've risen," Lysara said, and she shoved her staff forward. A wave of force threw the hunter back, his sword clattering to the ground.
Zarvon didn't waste the opening. He grabbed the hunter by the throat, lifted him off the ground. The man's face turned red, then purple.
"You came to my camp." Zarvon's voice was low. "You attacked my people. You brought holy fire to burn us."
The hunter clawed at his arm, but his grip didn't loosen.
"I'm going to let you go." Zarvon held him there for another second. "You're going to take your wounded and leave. And you're going to tell whoever sent you that this camp isn't worth the bodies."
He dropped the hunter. The man hit the ground gasping, crawling backward until he found his sword. He looked at Zarvon, then at the goblins, then at Lysara.
"This isn't over," he said, his voice hoarse.
"It is for tonight." Zarvon didn't move.
The hunters retreated, dragging their wounded. The torches disappeared into the forest. The clearing fell silent.
---
The system chimed.
[Victory: Demon Hunters repelled. Reputation increased. Camp defense rating upgraded.]
[New construction options: Watchtower, Reinforced Palisade.]
[Current population: 6. Resources: Wood – 50, Food – 12 days, Gold – 45.]
Zarvon let out a long breath and leaned against the palisade. His arms were shaking, his body still burning from the holy light. Lysara rushed to him, her hands already glowing.
"You're hurt," she said.
"I'm fine." He let her heal him anyway.
Nyxara walked over, cleaning her knife. "Seven hunters, you said. We counted six."
Zarvon looked up. "What?"
"One stayed back." She pointed toward the treeline. "I saw him watching from the ridge. He left when the others retreated."
"Scout." Zarvon's jaw tightened. "He'll report back. They'll know exactly where we are."
Nyxara nodded. "Which means we have maybe a week before they send a real force. Five hunters was a probe. Next time, it'll be twenty."
Zarvon looked at the chapel, at the goblins tending their wounds, at Lysara's tired face and Nyxara's calculating eyes. A small camp. Barely any defenses. A church that wanted them dead.
"Then we build faster." He pushed off from the palisade. "And we find allies before they find us."
The system displayed a new mission.
[Main Mission: Expand territory. Current objective – Establish a permanent base with walls, watchtower, and minimum 50 population.]
He looked at Nyxara. "We need numbers."
"I know." She was already thinking. "I have contacts. We'll find them."
---
The next morning, the goblins started cutting more wood. Lysara expanded her garden. Nyxara sat at the chapel altar, using it as a desk, writing letters to every contact she had.
Zarvon walked the perimeter, checking the palisade, counting supplies. Rik approached him at midday, a crude map drawn on a piece of bark.
"There's a cave two miles north," he said. "More goblins there. Maybe ten, twelve. Hiding from hunters. If you give them shelter, they come."
Zarvon studied the map. "Can you reach them?"
"I know the way." Rik stood straighter. "I bring them. Two days."
"Go." Zarvon handed him a loaf of bread and a knife. "Be careful."
Rik nodded and disappeared into the forest.
By sunset, the camp felt different. Still small, still vulnerable, but alive. The goblins sat around a fire, eating stew Lysara had made, their voices low and content. Nyxara joined them after finishing her letters, sitting close to Zarvon without saying anything.
Lysara sat on his other side, her head resting on his shoulder. "We survived."
"This time," Zarvon said.
"Next time too." Her voice was tired but certain. "Because we're not running anymore."
Nyxara glanced at her, then at Zarvon. "She's right. Running gets you killed eventually. Building something worth defending—that's the only way."
Zarvon looked at the fire, at the small circle of people who had chosen to follow him. He felt something he hadn't expected. Not power. Not ambition. Just a steady purpose.
"Then we build," he said.
[Nymphaearoot the Author]: Hope you enjoy reading! If you like it, please add it to your library and let me know your favorite moments in the comments