Chapter 34: Goblins

Chapter 34: Chapter 34: Goblins

"The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials." — Chinese Proverb

The cold, gray dawn cast long shadows across the lower district.

Riven stood before a cramped, foul-smelling leatherworker’s stall near the settlement’s outer wall. A small pouch of coins rested against his ribs beneath his cloak.

He had counted his money that morning. After paying for his room, meals, and access to the training grounds, he had only three silver pieces and forty-four copper pieces left.

The grizzled shopkeeper eyed him skeptically.

"Standard cured leather vest," the man said, holding up a stiff, brown piece of armor. "It’ll turn a glancing blow from a dagger or a bite from a small beast. Don’t expect it to stop anything heavy."

Riven examined the vest. It was worn but intact, with thick straps and reinforced stitching.

"How much?"

"Three silver and twenty copper."

Riven didn’t haggle. He placed the coins on the scarred wooden counter, leaving himself with only twenty-four copper pieces.

The shopkeeper counted them before handing over the vest.

It was stiff and smelled faintly of tannin and oil. Riven strapped it on beneath his tunic and black cloak, adjusting the buckles until it sat snugly against his torso it was still a bit too big but that was to be expected.

It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

A heavy weapon could still break through it. A sharp blade could still find a gap. But against the teeth and claws of the creatures lurking beyond the settlement, it might be enough to keep him alive.

With the vest secured, Gorn’s short sword at his side, and his remaining coins tucked away, Riven made his way toward the Adventurers’ Guild.

He needed money. More importantly, he needed experience.

The bounty board was crowded with notices, most of them far beyond what a child his size could reasonably handle. He ignored the higher-ranked requests and searched through the lower postings.

Near the bottom, he found one that caught his attention.

Goblin Scavengers in the Southern Brush.

Threat Level: Low.

Bounty: Five copper per ear, plus core recovery.

Riven read it twice.

Five copper per ear. A small reward, but manageable. If the goblins carried anything worth selling, he might earn a little more.

He took the posting to the Guild counter, registered the job, and left the settlement shortly afterward.

By mid-afternoon, he had tracked a small pack to a shallow limestone depression a few miles south of town. Thorn bushes and dead scrub covered much of the area, providing plenty of places to hide.

Riven crouched in the tall grass and watched.

Five goblins.

They were squat creatures with mottled green skin, jagged yellow teeth, and crude weapons made from bone and rusted metal. They crouched around the remains of an animal, chattering in harsh, clicking voices.

Riven studied them carefully.

They were small only around 3 feet tall, but that didn’t make them harmless. Their weapons were crude, yet a single lucky strike could still kill him.

He checked his surroundings. The wind was blowing toward him, carrying the smell of rotting meat from the depression.

Good. They wouldn’t catch his scent.

His right shoulder still ached. The wound had closed, but the muscles beneath it remained stiff and weak. The leather vest helped keep his torso steady, though it couldn’t do much for the pain.

Riven slowly drew Gorn’s short sword.

He reached into his core.

A thin thread of dark mana flowed down his arm and spread across the blade. The steel darkened beneath a faint, light-absorbing sheen.

Shadow Veil.

He had managed to maintain it for longer during his training. He wasn’t sure whether he could do the same under pressure.

He would have to make those seconds count.

Riven moved through the grass, keeping low until he was close enough to strike.

The nearest goblin was still focused on the carcass.

Riven lunged.

His sword cut across its neck before it could turn. The goblin made a wet choking sound and collapsed into the dirt.

Four left.

The others reacted immediately.

They scrambled to their feet, shrieking and snatching up their weapons. Two charged him while the remaining pair hung back.

Riven stepped to the side as the first goblin rushed past. He turned and thrust his sword into its side.

The creature twisted, trying to strike him with its dagger. Riven pulled his blade free and stumbled backward, the shadow coating his sword made it go in and out cleaner.

The second goblin was already on him.

Its crude weapon sliced across his left forearm, leaving a shallow, burning cut. Riven gritted his teeth and struck back, but his sword caught against the creature’s ribs instead of finding a clean opening.

The goblin stumbled.

Riven kicked its legs out from under it and drove his sword down into its chest.

It stopped moving.

Three left.

His breathing had grown heavier. The dark sheen around his blade flickered, then vanished.

He had used too much mana.

Riven retreated a few steps, keeping his sword between himself and the remaining goblins.

They approached together.

One rushed him from the front while the other circled to his side. Riven tried to keep both in view, but the first goblin attacked before he could reposition.

He raised his sword to block.

The impact jarred his injured shoulder.

Pain shot through him, sharp enough to blur his vision. His grip faltered, and the goblin’s dagger scraped against his leather vest.

Riven stumbled backward.

He couldn’t keep fighting like this.

The goblin lunged again. Riven kicked it hard in the knee. The creature buckled with a shriek, and he thrust his sword into its chest before it could recover.

Riven turned his attention toward the last goblin

Riven turned toward it, breathing hard. His shoulder throbbed, and a dull headache was beginning to form behind his eyes.

The goblin hesitated.

The goblin looked at its fallen companions.

Then it ran.

Riven didn’t chase it immediately. He watched it retreat through the brush, waiting to see whether it was leading him toward anything else.

When nothing followed, he lowered his sword.

Four goblins were dead.

One remained.

He had no idea where it had gone.

The fight had left Riven exhausted.

He knelt beside the bodies, keeping his sword close while he checked the surrounding brush. Once he was certain nothing else was approaching, he took out a small skinning knife.

The Guild wanted goblin ears as proof of the kills. Their magic cores were worth recovering, too.

Working carefully, he cut away the ears and opened each corpse to search for its core. The small, dull-gray stones were difficult to distinguish from the surrounding tissue, but he remembered the old man’s instructions from the mining camp.

He placed each core into his spatial storage bag.

Four ears. Four cores.

Riven wiped the knife against the grass and stood.

He still needed to find the fifth goblin.

A faint rustle came from the brush.

Riven turned toward it.

Thwip.

Something struck his right hand.

A crude stone-tipped arrow punched through his palm.

Pain exploded up his arm. His fingers opened involuntarily, and the short sword slipped from his grasp, clattering against the limestone.

Riven gasped.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He could only stare at the arrow lodged through his hand.

Then he heard laughter.

The fifth goblin emerged from behind a thicket of dry roots. It stood upright, clutching a crude bow in one hand and a rusted blade in the other.

It had been waiting for him to lower his guard.

Riven tried to reach for his sword, but his right hand was useless. The goblin was already moving toward him.

He had no time to pull out the arrow. No time to retrieve his weapon.

The goblin raised its blade.

Riven threw himself forward.

He slammed into the creature with his shoulder, knocking it off balance. The impact sent another burst of pain through his injured arm, but he kept moving.

They tumbled into the dirt.

The goblin clawed at him, trying to bring its weapon around. Riven caught its wrist with his left hand and forced it away from his body.

The creature shrieked and struck at his face with its free hand.

Its jagged nails tore across his cheek.

Riven barely reacted.

He released the goblin’s wrist and grabbed its throat with his left hand.

The creature struggled violently, kicking and clawing at him. Riven pressed down with all the strength his small body could manage.

He couldn’t let it reach the dagger.

He couldn’t let it get away.

His injured hand throbbed beneath him. His shoulder screamed with every movement, and the headache behind his eyes grew worse.

Still, he held on.

The goblin’s movements became increasingly frantic. Its heels beat against the frozen ground as it struggled to breathe.

Riven stared down at it.

He wasn’t thinking about the bounty anymore. He wasn’t thinking about the Guild or the money he might earn.

This was more primal this was life or death.

Eventually, the goblin’s movements slowed.

Its claws stopped scraping against his face. Its legs went still.

Riven kept his grip for several more seconds before finally releasing it.

The goblin didn’t move.

The Aftermath

Silence returned to the depression.

Riven rolled onto his side, clutching his bleeding hand against his chest. The arrow shaft still protruded from his palm, and every movement sent another wave of pain through his arm.

His shoulder throbbed. His cheek was bleeding. His right hand felt as though it were on fire.

For a long moment, he simply lay in the dirt, staring up at the pale sky.

He had won.

But he didn’t feel victorious.

He had underestimated the goblins. He had allowed one to escape his attention, and that mistake had nearly cost him his life.

Riven slowly pushed himself upright.

The last goblin’s corpse lay beside him. He still needed its ear and core if he wanted the full bounty.

He didn’t want to leave anything behind.

Using his left hand, he retrieved his skinning knife and worked as carefully as he could. The task was awkward, and the pain in his injured hand made him grit his teeth, but he eventually managed to collect the final ear and core.

Five ears. Five cores.

He also collected their crude looking weapons.

He placed them into his storage bag and secured it beneath his blood-spattered tunic.

Then he looked toward the settlement.

The walk back would be long.

His hand needed treatment. His shoulder had probably been aggravated again, and the cut on his cheek stung whenever he moved his face.

He knew the cleric would be furious when she saw him.

Riven stood, retrieved his sword with his left hand, and began the slow journey home.

Survival wasn’t clean.

It wasn’t fair.

But he was still alive.