The next day was a blur of strategy meetings, introductions, and planning sessions with Edward''s men. The surreal nature of it all weighed heavily on me. Edward had fully embraced the role of general, striding through the camp with a bodyguard at his side, exuding the demeanour of an ancient warlord. There was an unsettling joy in the way he dissected every intricate detail of warfare, speaking with a smile about the logistics of a night that, for many, might be their last.
"Better that they have their breakdown here, where we can help them through it, than out there, where the enemy doesn''t care," he said at one point, his words pragmatic.
The admiration I felt for him in that moment unsettled me. Despite everything I knew about him, I couldn''t ignore the wisdom in his approach. It left me deeply conflicted.
Edward’s bodyguard was a giant of a man, standing even taller than Sharla and boasting muscles that made hers seem modest in comparison. His imposing frame was clad in a tactical vest layered over a dark linen shirt, the fabric glistening faintly with silver and copper threads—clear indicators of its magical properties. Strapped to his vest was a knife in a reverse sheath, its handle positioned for a swift draw.
His sharp, chiselled features conveyed both discipline and danger. His brown hair was cut in a classic back-and-sides style, neatly maintained and practical. A strong, square chin added to his intimidating presence, while his dark brown eyes held a piercing focus that seemed to weigh and measure everything in his line of sight.
By midday, I needed a break. I invited Sharla and Milli to join me on a quest, and they both agreed, eager for some hands-on action. Milli used the opportunity to test a few new ammunition types, including an enhanced version of the ice bomb she’d used against the troll. It was the same size of her regular projectiles but was covered in glowing runes.
When she demonstrated it, the blast unleashed a frigid wave of air that slammed into us like stepping into a deep freezer straight from a scorching sauna. The area of effect was impressive—anything within a 3-meter radius would be caught in the icy explosion, and anything closer would be flash-frozen on the spot. Recognizing its devastating potential, we convinced her to save her last remaining freeze bomb for when it mattered most, ensuring it wouldn’t be wasted.
"Only problem is they weigh a ton and take forever to make," Milli admitted, showing us the two she''d managed to bring along—one for testing, the other for live use. Each was the size of a baseball but felt as dense as tungsten.
"How the hell did you manage to carry two of these things?" I asked, hefting one and feeling the cold seep through my gloves.
Milli shrugged as I handed it back, but an idea struck me. Adjusting the strap of my backpack, I handed it to her. Her expression shifted from confusion to pure delight as she realised what I was offering.
"It kinda gets in the way when I’m fighting anyway," I told her as she tried to politely decline. "This way, you can carry way more ammo."
Her excitement bubbled over as she hugged the bag. "Ohmygod, ohmygod, it goes with my suit so well! I’ve been eyeing this kind of leather since forever, but none of the shops sell it." She squealed with joy, her feet tapping rapidly as she admired her new accessory.
I transferred the contents of the bag into my inventory, I didn''t have much—mostly we’d using it to cart loot back to town shops—leaving her free to pack it with her ammunition.
The rest of the day was spent practising a new combat exercise suggested by one of Edward’s men. The idea was to test individual endurance and adaptability: each party member took turns being “it,” fighting waves of goblins solo until they were hit. Once tagged, the other two would jump in to assist.
To my surprise, Milli and I fared better than Sharla in this exercise. Her heavier armour and tanking style meant she often took glancing blows—not enough to require healing but enough to disqualify her under the rules.
The setup turned out to be perfect for her training, though. Each disqualification gave her a chance to heal herself or us, reliably earning her experience. By the time we wrapped up for the day, she’d progressed halfway to level 3.
We were almost back to the settlement when we came across large ogre tracks. The air still carried its rancid, animalistic stench. Normally, ogres stuck to their caves or nearby water sources, but this one had strayed dangerously close to the groups of players scattered throughout the forest. Most of them were still green, having only recently received their classes.
<hr>
Milli:
Guys, we can''t let that thing just wander around out here.
Sharla:
You''re right, it’s dangerous enough as is.
Ryan:
Can we at least call in some backup?
<hr>
A terrified scream tore through the air, no more than 100 meters away. Any thoughts of calling for help vanished as we sprinted toward the sound.
We burst into a small clearing where the ogre’s violence was on full display. A mangled figure lay crumpled on the ground, a mix of gore and shattered armour. Nearby, flashes of magic lit up the trees as someone desperately hurled spells at the towering monster. The ogre roared, the sound rumbling through the forest and making my ears ache even at this distance.
I quickly typed out a plan and sent it to the group chat:
<hr>
Ryan:
Milli, go for the eyes. Wait for Sharla and me to get whoever we can clear, then lob your freeze bomb.
<hr>
We closed the distance fast. I tossed Milli a coprolite, and she caught it deftly with her net as we entered the fray. The clearing opened up to a shallow stream where the ogre stood, towering over a round man desperately flinging glowing orbs of light. The spells splashed harmlessly against the monster’s hide, dazing it for only a moment. The man stumbled back, gasping for air, his sweat-soaked clothes clinging to his frame.
I activated my identify++ the moment I got a good look at the creature.
<hr>
Hostile NPC:
Ogre
Description:
This isn’t the wisecracking Michael Myers-type you might be familiar with—this ogre is big, mean, and desperately in need of anger management therapy. Fast, strong, and capable of basic pattern recognition, these brutes make for no easy fight. Once confined to their primeval forest homeland, they’ve ventured out to prey on unprepared players. With their thick hides, dense bones, and wickedly powerful lungs, you might want to bring some earplugs—you''re going to need them.
Resistances:
<ul>
<li>Blunt weapons</li>
<li>Paralysis</li>
<li>Table etiquette</li>
</ul>
Common Weaknesses:
<ul>
<li>Easily distracted</li>
<li>Struggles to stand when toppled</li>
</ul>
Hidden Vulnerabilities:
<ul>
<li>Light-producing spells can daze them for short periods of time.</li>
</ul>
Bonus Tip:
Extremely territorial, ogres attack intruders on sight. Unfortunately, they don’t leave signs, and their territories shift frequently, so tread carefully.
<hr>
Sharla rushed to his side, slinging one of his arms over her shoulder to half-carry him away from the fight. I turned my attention back to the ogre just in time to see Milli’s coprolite arc through the air and strike the creature square in the face. It staggered, one foot slipping into the stream.
Then the freeze bomb detonated.
The wave of cold hit me like a sledgehammer, burning my ears and leaving a thin layer of frost over my entire back. When I turned around, the ogre’s right foot was frozen solid, blackened with frostbite. The shot had fallen short of it''s target. It let out a roar, wrenching its leg in a desperate attempt to free itself. The frozen flesh gave way, snapping off at the ankle. The massive creature toppled over, crashing to the ground with a deafening thud.
Sharla and I didn’t waste a second. She activated her warhammer’s prayer, unleashing an AoE buff that bolstered our attacks. Her warhammer came down with brutal precision, crushing the ogre’s skull into a misshapen lump. The beast swatted at her weakly, clearly stunned.
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I followed up with Milli’s Multi-tool, extending it to its full length and activating the blade. I leapt onto the ogre’s back, aiming for a heart blow, but the blade hit bone. The ogre inhaled deeply, preparing a roar that could easily rupture our eardrums—and probably much worse at this close of a range.
Sharla swung again, her hammer smashing into the side of its head. The blow interrupted it, causing it to let out a bellow of fetid breath that filled the air with a rancid stench.
I yanked the spear free, shortening it to the length of my arm, and drove it into the base of the ogre’s skull. The blade thudded against bone again. Bracing myself, I extended the spear to its full ten feet, driving the blade through the back of its head and into the dirt below.
The ogre thrashed violently, nearly throwing me off its back, but after a few moments of struggle—and one especially violent spasm—something inside its neck cracked. The monster went limp.
<hr>
Achievement:
Timber!
Description:
You have killed a monster more than twice your size, way to rack one up for the short kings.
Reward:
1 pair of platform crocs
<hr>
A notification flashed in my interface: my spear skill had levelled up to 3.
We escorted the injured man back toward the settlement, and along the way, he explained what had happened. His teammate, an archer, had fled the moment their fighter was killed. Their entire strategy relied on kiting monsters and wearing them down until their fighter could finish them off. When she ran, he tried to follow but couldn’t keep up.
About ten minutes from the settlement, we encountered a group of players jogging down the road. I recognised them as some of the people who had received their class assignments on the first day.
“Hey, have you guys seen an ogre back that way?” the party leader asked, directing the question toward Sharla.
“Yeah, we took care of it. This guy’s friend left him to die. Lucky we got there in time,” Milli answered, stepping forward. We had agreed a while ago that Milli was the party’s “face,” the one best suited to handle social interactions.
As we walked back, Milli described the fight to them in vivid detail, pantomiming each attack and action with dramatic flair. By the time we reached the training camp, she had them completely engrossed.
At the camp, Sharla immediately went to report the ogre incident and to see if anyone had located the man’s teammate. When she returned, her expression was grim.
“The guy I talked to said this is the second ogre today. The monsters are ramping up—there were reports last night of goblins sniffing around the gates,” she said, her tone detached, like a doctor delivering bad news.
“Have they organized night patrols yet?” I asked.
“If they have, it wasn’t mentioned. I’ll go find someone to start putting together shifts for round-the-clock coverage,” she replied thoughtfully.
“We should also organise rapid response units to handle emergencies and make sure everyone has each other in their contact lists,” Milli added, her eyes already flashing with activity as she began drafting ideas.
The sheer number of logistical details was overwhelming. Any oversight could lead to disaster. I felt a wave of gratitude for Sharla and Milli. Despite the monumental challenges, they had taken to leadership like ducks to water. After getting the ball rolling on our suggestions, we left the execution to Edward’s men. They were far more capable of implementing the plans than we were.
That evening, we went to bed early. The mental strain of constant planning and talking was a different kind of exhaustion, one we weren’t accustomed to. I fell asleep during my usual Samantha’s Kiss come-down, thankful for the temporary escape from its ever-present pull.
When I woke, the sun was already high, and I felt more rested than I had in days. I knew tonight would be another late one—Hoarthin had promised me a fight, and the thought of earning another charge was a constant distraction.
We spent the day escorting less experienced players on patrols, acting as support so they could safely level up their skills. To mitigate risks, every group now included at least one designated “canary”—a term one of Edward’s men had coined. Their job was to hang back and call for help if their party found themselves in trouble. Rapid-response squads had also been formed to handle emergencies, greener players were also no longer allowed to venture out unaccompanied. The precautions seemed like overkill but we had lost four players yesterday to wandering mobs alone.
The day-to-day raid preparations were running like a well-oiled machine under Edward’s supervision. There were occasional flare-ups—instances where someone was pushed too hard and fights broke out—but they were quickly mediated. While helping our second party of the day, I finally received the message I’d been anticipating.
<hr>
Hoarthin:
Hope you’re ready, because tonight you’ll be fighting a real mean bastard. Make sure you’re well-rested—I’ve got a lot of Crowns riding on you pulling off another stunt like you did with Rilbrin.
<hr>
I didn’t reply, focusing instead on helping a young man with a thick Korean accent refine his spear technique. Despite the language barrier, his excitement was infectious when he finally succeeded.
We capped off the day with a meeting with Edward. He had been holed up in his base of operations, finalising the assault plan. His strategy was deceptively simple: funnel the goblins into a tight space and take them out in manageable bursts.
The genius was in the execution. A vanguard of experienced players, led by us, would clear the approach, disabling traps that could hinder the main force. Once at the encampment, Edward’s men would use pre-made fortifications carried in their inventories to form a 15-foot-long causeway down the road. Meanwhile, firebombs would create a burning wall on either side, flushing out ambushes from the forest. The rearguard, composed of our elite units, would handle anything that got past the front lines and would respond from anything that came up behind us.
Sharla, Milli, and I were tasked with infiltrating the residential area, locating Nobblehob, and taking him out. Josh, Andrew, and Fiona insisted on joining the assault.
"We''re not going to let you guys go in there alone," Josh said firmly when I tried to object.
We still had no idea what was waiting for us under the tent, and time was running out. Edward wanted to launch the attack in three days, convinced that waiting any longer would make the mission impossible, no matter how much additional training we crammed in.
When we returned to the tavern, Josh, Andrew, and Fiona were waiting for us with food and drinks. They were hyper-aware of the strain we were under and took every opportunity to ease the burden. For a few hours, we let them distract us with jokes and drinking games. But as the fight drew closer, I excused myself and made my way to the church.
Earlier, Sharla had asked me how much longer I’d be stuck doing this quest. I gave a vague answer.
"I''m there for as long as sh–they want me to be, I guess," I’d said, nearly slipping.
The arena had been reconfigured into an MMA-style ring. It was elevated about two meters off the ground and enclosed with high chain-link fences. The seating was packed with rowdy spectators, though the harsh lighting obscured their faces from my view.
There were no other fighters in the waiting area; my opponent was being kept a secret. I spent the half-hour wait meticulously checking over my equipment. The fight rules allowed for outside gear, but nothing that could cause lethal injuries or endanger the crowd. I tried to get a good look at the ring, but the angle made it impossible.
Finally, the chime sounded, and I walked out onto the platform. A set of metal stairs led me up and into the cage. As I entered, the crowd roared in anticipation, the din of their excitement reverberating off the cavernous walls. Then I saw him, and a cold chill ran down my spine.
It was Edward’s bodyguard.
He’d been imposing when I first saw him, but here, he radiated pure menace. The chain-link fence seemed like a joke against someone like him. He was shirtless, revealing his massive, rippling physique, though he wasn’t wearing the tactical vest that had given him his air of invincibility. In one hand, he held a short stick made of what looked like dried bamboo. The way he casually flexed his shoulders and performed deep stretches that looked impossible for someone his size sent goosebumps crawling up my arms.
I suddenly felt very small, like a child squaring up to an Olympic heavyweight. Every instinct screamed for me to leave, but the cage door locked the moment we were both inside. I swallowed hard, moving to the opposite side of the arena, following the instructions of a vinegar-scented nun. I mimicked the bodyguard’s stretches, trying to loosen my trembling muscles as sweat dripped from my face.
A booming, amplified voice echoed through the chamber.
"Standing at 203 centimetres and weighing in at a staggering 128 kilograms, we have the connoisseur of carnage himself—Captain Mathews!"
The crowd erupted into a deafening roar. Mathews raised one massive arm into the air, his muscles twitching as he drank in their cheers.
The announcer''s voice returned, dripping with mockery.
"And in their debut match, standing at 171 centimetres and weighing a paltry 83 kilograms, we have the scrappy newcomer—The Nightingale!"
I waved awkwardly at the crowd, though the blinding lights made it impossible to see their faces. My throat was dry, my heart hammering. Across the ring, Mathews stood still as a statue, his dark eyes fixed on me with unsettling intensity. A wicked grin spread across his face, his head tilting slightly, as if he’d just been handed something he didn’t know he wanted.
I shifted on my feet, watching him closely, but his expression was unreadable—cold, calculating, and emotionless.
The gong sounded.
Mathews launched himself forward in a blur of motion, faster than anyone his size had any right to be. His foot swept low, a vicious kick aimed to take my legs out from under me. I barely had time to react, extending my staff to block the attack. His boot hit the staff with bone-shaking force, snapping through my defence and sending me sprawling to the ground.
Before I could fully process what had happened, he was already on me. His baton swung down with a force that promised to break bones. I deflected it with my staff and rolled backward, using the momentum to scramble to my feet. With a grunt, I swung my staff wide, hoping to catch him across the head. He parried the strike effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise, then lunged forward.
His arms slammed into me, driving me back in a brutal tackle. My breath exploded from my lungs, and my vision blurred with red at the edges. I tried to gasp, but my diaphragm refused to cooperate. Panic gripped me as he pinned me to the ground, his weight pressing down like a slab of iron.
Desperation overtook me. I retracted my staff, aimed it upward, and extended it in a snap. I was aiming for his nose, but he twisted at the last second. The staff smashed into his ear, tearing it off.
Mathews recoiled in pain screaming, the sound reverberating through the arena. He staggered back, clutching the side of his head, and I seized the moment to scramble to my feet. My chest heaved as I fought to regain my breath, each inhalation a jagged knife stabbing into my ribs.
He turned to face me, his face contorted with rage. Blood streamed from the side of his head, but to my horror, the flow slowed immediately, the wound scabbing over in seconds. His healing factor was insane. I watched, transfixed, as he stooped to pick up his severed ear, pressing it against the side of his head as if trying to force it back into place. It didn’t work. With an angry growl, he pulled the ear into his inventory, his glare locking onto me like a predator sizing up its prey.
Without warning, he hurled his baton at me. The weapon flew through the air, and I leapt to the side, narrowly dodging it. But before I could recover, he was sprinting at me again, his hands raised like claws.
I jabbed my staff forward, aiming for his centre mass, but he sidestepped the thrust with terrifying ease. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, coming up on my right side. I shortened my staff and brought it up to block, just in time to absorb the impact of his fist.
The punch hit me like a truck. My feet skidded across the arena floor as I struggled to maintain my footing. But before I could recover, his fist filled my vision.
Then, with a crunch of bone, everything went black.