Ethan shook out his fingers and stepped away from the cleansed rune, turning to follow the Pack as they moved down the tunnel. That was when he felt eyes on him—more than just the Pack’s.

  A quick, scratching scuffle echoed from further up the passage. Before anyone could react, a small shape leapt from the shadows—a kobold scout, all short, sturdy limbs and ragged leathers, spear clutched tight in trembling hands.

  The creature stood no taller than Ethan’s waist, with a body covered in mottled gray-brown scales. Along its jaw, the backs of its arms, and the ridge of its spine, those scales thickened into dense bristled tufts—like a broom left too long in the rain. At a glance, they almost looked like rough patches of hair, but up close, each “strand” was really a thick, flexible scale. Its snout was blunt, yellow eyes wide and anxious, and its pointed ears were half-flattened in fear.

  The kobold’s tail lashed behind it, balancing a body that looked both underfed and solidly built—every muscle tensed for flight or fight. Small claws gripped its makeshift spear, and scraps of cloth were knotted around its arms and tail, more for superstition than armor. Its wide eyes darted from the cleansed wall to Ethan, then to the rest of the group.

  The kobold pointed its spear, barking something in its own rough language. The sounds came out in sharp hisses and rattled syllables that scraped along the stone.

  Ethan blinked as meaning settled into place—his translation skill flaring without conscious thought. The words hit his mind as clear as speech: “You! Magic human! You break red bad lines! Why? You make more? You trick?” He answered without thinking, the sounds coming out clipped and rough, the meaning still clear in his head.

  Gwenna frowned, not understanding a word. “What the hell language is that? Are you seriously answering him? You’re speaking the same weird noise back!”

  “Wait—what?” Ethan said, startled.

  “You’re speaking kobold,” she said flatly, bow half raised. “Since when do you speak kobold?”

  Ethan shook his head quickly. “I’m not. It’s the System—it’s translating for me.”

  Gwenna blinked at him, then scowled. “Why in the thirteen hells do you even have something like that?”

  Pixie piped up helpfully, “Because he collects weird powers like snacks.”

  Gwenna shot her a flat look. “Great. Next time, translate out loud before I shoot something by mistake.”

  The kobold hissed, hackles raised, clearly on edge. It shouted another burst of sharp, high-pitched syllables—just noise to Gwenna, but to Ethan, the system worked its magic, and the intent slid into meaning:

  “Don’t fight! I no hurt! No want red lines! Too much bad magic—spreads in stone. You break—how you break?”

  Gwenna’s bow was already half-drawn, her body tense. “It’s calling for help. Let me know if I need to take the shot—if it gets away, we’ll be swarmed by kobolds.”

  Ethan quickly stepped between them, hands open and voice steady. “Gwenna, wait—he’s not attacking. I can understand him. He’s asking how I cleared the corruption.”

  Gwenna shot Ethan a sharp look. “You’re sure?”

  Buster answered before Ethan could. “Yeah, we can understand him just fine. He’s not calling for help—he’s scared.”

  The kobold’s spear wavered, lowering a little. He looked between Ethan and the dogs, his face lighting up with real excitement. “You speak! You really speak! I never meet above-ones who talk good words. This is good, very good!”

  Ethan nodded, keeping his movements slow and clear. “We help. We want to stop the red lines, too.”

  The kobold studied the Pack, scaly tail whipping side to side, then gave a small, jerky nod and gestured for them to follow deeper into the tunnels.

  The Pack exchanged glances—wary, but trusting Ethan’s lead.

  The kobold waved for them to follow, then darted into a side passage that branched off from the main sewer. Ethan hesitated, glancing back at Gwenna and Lyra. She ducked her head and gestured for him to go. Gwenna checked her bowstring, muttering about tight spaces, but went next.

  The tunnel was nothing like the wide, rank sewers they’d left. It twisted downward, walls close and rough, the ceiling sometimes so low even Buster had to duck. Ethan, Gwenna, and Lyra all had to stoop and, in places, crawl on their hands and knees. These tunnels were made for kobolds—short, tough, bristly—and not for anyone larger. Ethan scraped his elbow more than once. At least the kobold scout kept glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were still coming, even if his tail never stopped twitching.

  After what felt like a maze of low, winding passages, the tunnel suddenly opened up into a much larger cavern. Ethan straightened and stared. All along the sides of the vast cave, there were holes—burrow mouths, small doors, makeshift windows. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Some glowed with the soft green light of moss, others flickered with torches or the pale gleam of a few scattered mana stones.

  The whole place looked haphazard, stacked at odd angles, some passages winding up into darkness, others dropping off out of sight. There were kobolds everywhere—thousands, Ethan guessed, though most shrank away from the newcomers. In the center, a line of kobolds were roasting rats over spits. On the far side, a large kobold hammered on a battered forge, the sound echoing through the cavern.

  “Follow fast step,” their guide called, not slowing down. The Pack tried to keep up, but they were quickly noticed. A group of five kobolds leapt out from behind a stack of crates and rock piles, crude crossbows raised and pointed right at them. The Pack stopped short.

  Their guide started yelling, a wild tangle of sounds that Ethan could mostly parse, though it barely made sense: “Red go awayer! Good speaker time! Not hurt bringers! Not red doers!”

  The other kobolds hesitated, then slowly lowered their weapons and shrugged. They kept a loose circle around Ethan and the Pack, herding them toward the biggest hole on the side of the cave.

  Inside the largest opening, the tunnel gave way to a broad, uneven cavern—clearly the heart of the kobold settlement. The space was big enough for Ethan, the Pack, and at least forty kobolds who lined the walls, guards and onlookers watching in tense silence. Even Moose could stand without ducking, though he still looked oversized in the sea of bristled scales.

  At the far end, against the cave wall, sat the biggest kobold Ethan had seen yet. She perched on a makeshift throne built from scrap metal, battered crates, and broken tools—a weird patchwork of anything scavenged and strong enough to hold her weight. Her scales were darker, almost black in the moss-light, and a necklace of mismatched beads and bone fragments hung from her neck. She watched them all with sharp, unreadable eyes, elbows on her knees and claws steepled beneath her blunt snout.

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  The Pack drew up in a loose group, giving each other space but sticking close. The guards with crossbows and spears formed a half-circle behind them. Kobold whispers and the ring of a distant forge filled the room as the leader considered her guests.

  The kobold guide dropped to a crouch at the foot of the throne, chattering a burst of words and gesturing to Ethan and the Pack.

  The leader watched, her gaze never leaving the newcomers. When she spoke, her low, gravelly words were all hard consonants and sibilants—nonsense to Gwenna, but Ethan understood as the system quietly shifted the meaning in his mind.

  “Why you come? Red magic chase, or you make red magic? Why clean bad lines?”

  Gwenna frowned, her eyes flicking between Ethan and the kobold leader. “You’re doing it again,” she muttered. “They hiss, you hiss back, and somehow you both look like you understand each other. Are you actually speaking their language or is that some kind of translation trick?” Gwenna leaned close to Ethan, voice low. “What did she just say?”

  Ethan kept his eyes on the leader and replied quietly, “She wants to know if we brought the corruption, or if we’re here to stop it.”

  Gwenna nodded for him to respond. Ethan spoke up, using simple words, “We fight red magic. I can clean it—see?” He pointed to his hand, then gestured as if wiping something away. “We want to help.”

  The leader’s eyes narrowed, studying Ethan, then flicked a glance at the others. She rumbled another phrase.

  Ethan caught the meaning. “She wants proof. If I can break the red magic here, we’re welcome. If not, we leave.”

  Lyra stepped up beside him. “We’re with you.”

  Moose rumbled softly, “Let’s do this.”

  At a gesture from the leader, two guards stepped forward, spears high, and motioned Ethan toward a patch of wall veined with faint red lines.

  Dozens of kobold eyes followed him, the room buzzing with whispers and the heat of so many bodies in close quarters.

  Lyra’s voice was quiet behind him. “Just warn us if things go bad, all right? We are with you.”

  Ethan managed a tight smile. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  The kobold leader watched Ethan, her gaze sharp, then snapped an order to the guards. Two of them hurried off and returned a moment later, holding a small cage made of twisted wire and bone, covered in rough, dirty cloth.

  They set the cage in the open space before the throne. Even from a distance, Ethan felt the chill roll off whatever was inside. One guard, using only the tip of his spear, lifted the cloth.

  Inside, a rat huddled against the bars. It looked half-starved, but what made Ethan’s stomach twist were the lines of angry red running under its matted fur—veins pulsing with the same sickly glow as the corruption. Its eyes burned red, unnatural, as if lit from within.

  The leader spoke, her voice echoing through the silent crowd. Ethan’s translation skill flickered: “This—red magic. It spreads. It sickens. You fix? Show us.”

  Gwenna looked at the thing and grimaced. “What’s she saying?”

  Ethan answered quietly, “They want me to cleanse it. If I can fix the corruption, they’ll trust us.”

  Lyra moved closer, ready to support him. “We’re with you. Just don’t let it bite.”

  Pixie flattened her ears, “That thing’s creepy. You sure you want to touch it?”

  Ethan’s sword still felt unfamiliar in his grip—his last clean weapon. He focused, letting mana flow from his core down into the blade. Light shimmered along the edge, faint but steady.

  The guards tensed as he stepped forward. The rat hissed, red eyes fixed on him. For a second, Ethan hesitated—then he reached through the bars and pinned the creature with the flat of the sword, pressing mana into the steel and through the rat.

  The effect was instant. The rat shrieked, body arching as the red veins burned out from the inside. The corrupted glow faded; the rat went limp, then slumped, eyes dull and gray again. A faint, oily smoke rose from its fur and quickly dissipated.

  Ethan pulled his sword back, hand trembling from the lingering shock. He took a breath and looked up.

  The room was dead silent—dozens of kobold eyes fixed on the cage. The leader rose slowly from her throne, staring at Ethan with new respect, maybe even fear.

  The guide was the first to find his voice. “He did it. Red magic gone. He broke it! Big-Boss, he broke the bad magic!”

  A ripple of awe swept through the crowd. The guards stepped back, no longer pointing their weapons at the Pack. The leader sat back on her throne, never taking her eyes off Ethan.

  “She says…” the guide managed, “you are welcome here. You friend. Kobolds help you. You help kobolds.”

  Gwenna glanced at Ethan, still pale from the tension. “I’ll take your word for it. Whatever you said, it worked.”

  Moose’s voice was quiet, “That was impressive.”

  Pixie stuck out her tongue, eyeing the now-normal rat. “Still creepy. But nice work.”

  Ethan finally let out a shaky laugh, lowering his sword. “I think we passed the test.”

  The crowd’s awe settled into excited chatter. Ethan let the tip of his sword drop and checked his mana—barely a quarter left. He felt hollow, but the pride in what he’d done made it worth it.

  Before the Pack could turn to leave or speak to the leader, Ethan looked at their guide. “I don’t think we ever got your name.”

  The kobold’s eyes widened, tail flicking with pride. “I am Kipik. Scout for Big-Boss.” He puffed his chest, then glanced toward the throne. “She is Gritstone. Big-Boss of deep clan. She watch, keep safe, fight red magic.”

  Ethan nodded respectfully to the leader. “Thank you, Gritstone. Thank you, Kipik. We’ll come back. We’re friends now.”

  Big-Boss Gritstone stood and raised a clawed hand for silence. She pointed at Ethan and then to an empty alcove near her throne. “You help. You good magic. You… have den here. Kobolds keep. You… almost kobold now. Stay, if want.”

  Kipik, beaming, translated for the others, “Big-Boss say: Ethan have place here. Stay as kobold-friend. Den always open.”

  Ethan blinked, surprised and touched. He bowed. “Thank you, Gritstone. That’s a huge honor. But I need to go back up for now—my pack needs rest, and people above are waiting. I promise, I’ll come back soon.”

  Gritstone thumped her tail in approval, her smile showing sharp teeth. “Good. You come. Den open. Ethan kobold-friend always.”

  Kipik added, “You family if want. You come, we happy. You safe here.”

  Gwenna, glancing back at the vast den and the swarming crowd, murmured to Ethan, “I need to report what happened here—well, maybe not the massive kobold city, but everything else.”

  Ethan managed a tired grin. “Probably for the best.”

  He turned to Kipik one last time. “Thank you for guiding us, Kipik.”

  Kipik stood taller. “Kipik happy to guide. Come again, I show best tunnels.”

  The farewells finished, Kipik led the Pack toward the far side of the great den. The tunnel mouth waiting for them was barely big enough for a kobold—let alone Moose or Ethan. With one last look back at Gritstone on her scrap-metal throne and the crowd of bristled faces, Ethan ducked his head and squeezed in behind Kipik.

  The passage immediately shrank around them. Ethan, Gwenna, and Lyra had to crouch, and more than once they scraped elbows and knees as they squeezed around tight corners. The air felt warmer, packed with the smells of earth and moss and thousands of kobolds. Moose’s sides brushed both walls at once, and Pixie disappeared completely except for the tip of her tail.

  “Sorry, best tunnels still small,” Kipik said over his shoulder, voice apologetic but proud. “Kobolds build for kobolds.”

  Pixie huffed, her voice echoing up from somewhere near Ethan’s boots. “I think I found a tunnel only a rat could love.”

  Buster wriggled and grumbled, “Can we go back to big caves? I miss breathing.”

  After what felt like forever, the close-packed tunnels opened up abruptly. The familiar cold and wet air of the city sewers rushed over them, almost fresh by comparison. The stone widened, water trickled in the gutters, and even Moose could stand up and shake out his fur.

  At the threshold, Kipik paused. The others stopped behind him.

  He gave Ethan one last toothy, bristled smile. “You see now—kobold tunnels best tunnels. Next time, I show even more.” He gave the Pack a little bow, tail flicking in the wet.

  Ethan grinned and clasped Kipik’s shoulder. “We’ll come back. And maybe bring better snacks.”

  Kipik’s grin widened. “You say, I wait. Safe walk, above-ones. Kipik not forget friends.”

  With that, Kipik slipped back into the darkness, his claws tapping away until all that was left was the echo.