Smoke and groans filled the air. During the goblin raid, a cottage and a storehouse had burned to the ground, and two villagers lay still in the mud. The rest of the defenders leaned on each other, bloodied but breathing.
The bell rang again, signalling that the goblin raid was over. The villagers cheered before tending to the wounded and dousing any remaining fires.
William’s chest heaved from exhaustion. He planted his sword in the dirt, and the magic petered out, leaving the golden steel blackened but whole. He stared at the smouldering edge of the blade. How did I do that? He’d received no notification of his [Divine Fire] skill unlocking; it just happened.
Fredric bent, frowning at one of the fallen goblins. “My lord, look at this.” He held up a crude talisman strung on sinew: a shard of bone carved with strange runes. The lines pulsed, like veins filled with embers.
[Quest Completed: Repel the Goblin Raid]
[Reputation Increase for The Kingdom of Mercia +100]
[XP: +10]
Dismissing the notification, Will felt a half-forgotten memory of goblin raids and magic talismans surface. Normal goblins didn’t carry magic trinkets; this wasn’t just a random raid on an unsuspecting village. Something, or someone, was driving them, and he knew in his heart that this small warband was only the beginning of something more dangerous.
William sat on an old tree stump and watched as the villagers tended the wounded and tried to recover from the goblin raid. A small group of young men was collecting goblin bodies into a pile; anything useful, including their right ears, was recovered. The corpses would be burnt on a large pyre so the bodies couldn’t be used for necromancy.
Will drank a tankard of watered-down ale that an old woman had passed him. As he quenched his thirst, he checked his interface.
[SYSTEM ERROR: Incomplete Interface]
[Skills] Divine Fire (6), SYSTEM ERROR
[Warning: Minor Fatigue 67%]
He couldn’t help but smile at the return of his [Divine Fire] skill at level 6. He didn’t care that it had only recovered 10% of its previous level 62. He had access to his favourite skill and a potential pathway to unlocking more of his skills without having to raid dangerous dungeon bosses. That was a reason to celebrate. He lifted his tankard of weak ale. “To Realm of the Fallen Gods Online.” He chuckled and took a big gulp of his drink.
Why did the skill recover now? He was rerunning the goblin raid through his mind. I didn’t absorb anything. He hadn’t noticed anything special about the goblins. Why? Having no answers, he shrugged. Perhaps all my skills will return at random. It was better than having to kill eighty dungeon bosses just to recover his basic stats.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The elder approached; he was stooped forward with a crooked back. “My lord, thank you for helping to protect Brindlecross.” The old man bowed low, well, lower than he was already stooped. “Many more would’ve perished without your divine blade, my lord.”
William smiled. “It was my duty to serve, elder.” He stood and guided the old man to the tree stump he’d been sitting on. “You’ve been nothing but welcoming since I arrived.” He raised his voice. “Thank you to all of you for welcoming me into your village. I’m beginning to see Brindlecross as my home.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but he’d spent a decade being nice to NPCs to earn reputation.
The elder smiled, and many of the nearby villagers bowed or dropped to their knees in gratitude.
“You honour us with your words, my lord.” The old man smiled. “I was wary of your presence at first; I was concerned it might be a bad omen for things to come.” He gestured towards the growing pile of goblin corpses. “But, without you and your divine blade, I fear Brindlecross may have fallen this day.”
William had slain more goblins than ten of the best fighters in the village. Had he not been in the thick of the action, more villagers would’ve died.
Will smiled at the compliment. “Have you ever seen a goblin wearing one of these?” He asked, showing one of the talismans that had been recovered from the corpses. Around one in ten of the dead goblins had a talisman on their person.
The elder shook his head. “It looks familiar, but I’ve forgotten more than I remember. My memory isn’t what it used to be.” He gave a wry smile. “What is it, my lord?”
“I don’t know for sure,” William recalled some sort of event related to controlled goblins, but it had been around a decade since the game started, and he didn’t have a perfect memory, “but I suspect these goblins were under the control of whoever made these magical talismans.” He pocketed the talisman. “It would be prudent for Brindlecross to prepare for the worst.”
One thing he did recall was that many villages in the west of Mercia were razed before the horde threat was contained. By the end, hundreds of thousands of goblins, orcs, and trolls had invaded Mercia from the Western Wastes. It was a barren land where little grew, and monsters roamed freely.
The elder nodded. “I appreciate your counsel, my lord.” He looked to where the goblins had come from. “After the funerals tomorrow, I’ll call a meeting to discuss the matter.”
Will looked around the village: the wounded, the weeping, and the weary faces of men too old for war, lifting shovels and axes because they had no choice. They were brave, but they weren’t soldiers. And somewhere out in the forest, more goblins were waiting, perhaps hundreds or even thousands.
An hour later, a pyre was lit. As flames licked skyward and black smoke curled into the heavens, Will stood among the villagers, a foreign knight in their midst. He stared into the fire until the last goblin’s face was gone, but the unease in his chest only deepened.
The significance of the talisman weighed on his mind; it was a warning of something worse to come.
Chapter 013 [Raid Warning: Beware of Chicken]
