A couple of hours after my conversation with Beri, we arrived at Quiet Village. Archers stationed on watchtowers greeted us with unfriendly stares.

  “An unexpectedly high level of preparedness for such a remote place, isn’t it?” remarked Scot, who had once again appeared beside us. “I heard from the captain that three years ago, an old soldier settled here—something like retiring from all the noble squabbles and power struggles. He’s been training the locals ever since, as if preparing them for war against the rest of the world.”

  “And who exactly do they have to fight?” I asked, seizing the chance to keep him talking.

  “Yeah. See those fields around? You think every settlement owns land like this? Yeah, right—keep dreaming. It’s way too much of a coincidence. The forest marks the border zone between two barons and a count, so constant conflicts kept flaring up here, and as a result, there was no real authority. That’s exactly what small-time bandits and monsters took advantage of. The locals never even knew who to pay taxes to for protection, so none of the sovereigns ever sent their people. They survived only by sheer luck and prayers to the Sun.”

  “And that old soldier helped them?”

  “Yep. He became their knight in shining armor. He quickly brought the locals under his control, and since, as you can see, the territory turned out to be practically golden, it started developing by leaps and bounds: walls with watchtowers, weapons, training, food—even those scarecrows over there are dressed no worse than you.”

  “Yeah. We’re practically brothers.”

  “So what’s the situation now?”

  “Well, as far as I understand, the nobles want their share back, but they can’t really do anything about it. Which suits the locals just fine—they’re their own masters and servants now. That’s why newcomers get such wary looks—they’re suspicious of everyone.”

  While Scot explained the situation, Sem approached the gates, spoke briefly with a guard, then gave us orders to wait. He disappeared behind the gates with one of the sentries. The archers above still watched us, but their gaze had grown noticeably less hostile.

  Suddenly, the twins tensed up, exchanged glances, and spoke:

  “Someone’s approaching from the fields. Short and noisy. Probably goblins.”

  “Not many—twenty or fewer.”

  “No real threat from them. Weak and stupid.”

  “Any ideas or plans?”

  This unexpected news surprised me—and delighted Scot. He shifted his grip on his spear and smirked:

  “I’ll go. Larry, cover me just in case?”

  “Sure,” the girl’s voice held no enthusiasm, “but are you really sure it’s smart to charge in first? Maybe we should wait for the captain?”

  “Come on—it’s just two dozen goblins. I can easily take them alone,” Scot said, turning toward the fields—only to be grabbed firmly by a broad, strong hand. His eyes, fixed on Drodul, clearly screamed, Why?

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Don’t rush. Last time, the panthers showed up just as suddenly.”

  Scot puffed out his cheeks, ready to protest—but no words came out. Instead, he turned to the rest of the squad and asked:

  “What do we do then? We can’t just let them get all the way to the walls. The guys on the towers will spot them soon anyway.”

  The team stood in a loose circle, occasionally tossing out disconnected remarks, clearly bored—but no coherent plan emerged. It was obvious they weren’t afraid of a hidden attack, yet no one seemed eager to act. Watching this, I decided to toss a bit of initiative into the mix:

  “Maybe we should inform the guards and ask how we can help? I imagine they deal with this kind of thing often.”

  My unusually long speech through the artifact had an effect. Drodul glanced at the twins, but their expressions made it clear they didn’t care—he could decide himself. He nodded and called out loudly to the local warriors:

  “Hey! Don’t mean to alarm you, but a group of goblins is heading this way. We don’t want trouble, so if you’ve got plans for them, we won’t interfere. But you could also hire us to handle it. What do you say?”

  Drodul’s words stirred the archers. They immediately began relaying the news further. A commotion and murmuring rose from behind the walls—but even after some time, the gates remained shut, and no new guards appeared.

  “Two hundred fifty meters. Soon within bow range,” Mikhail announced the enemy’s updated position.

  “Well? What’s your decision?” Drodul called out again.

  “We’ve received orders from the village headman,” replied one of the newly arrived guards atop the tower. “We’ll pay you after the enemy is eliminated. Your commander has already been informed and gave his consent. One condition: don’t damage the crops in the fields. Anything destroyed will be deducted from your reward.”

  “Eh? But that’s such a pain…” Scot’s voice grew even more dejected.

  “I’ll do it,” Beri said unexpectedly—she’d been silent until now. “I’ll drive them all onto the road. The rest is up to you.”

  “Fine. Hope there’s enough of them for a proper warm-up,” Scot said, rolling his shoulders and neck.

  “Remember I told you I had a gift?” Beri was speaking directly to me this time. “Watch closely. It’ll be beautiful.”

  She stepped away from the group—but Drodul stayed less than two steps behind her at all times. The girl raised her hands to shoulder height and slowly clenched them into fists. Her body began to glow faintly blue, though it looked no more than sunlight playing on her skin. When her fists formed two perfect spheres, she sharply brought them together and pressed them to her chest.

  At that exact moment, I saw short humanoids begin flying out of the tall fields surrounding the village like a surging sea. Their indistinct shrieks filled the air. All of them rushed toward a single point, colliding into a chaotic heap—which, seconds later, started moving toward us. I noticed a faint reddish aura shimmering around their bodies.

  As this stream of floating greenish figures drew near, Beri immediately stopped pressing her hands to her chest and ducked behind Drodul. At the same instant, Scot darted forward to meet the falling creatures. I couldn’t make out his individual movements clearly, but I grasped the whole picture: he resembled an arrow streaking toward its target. His motions were smooth and precise, yet occasionally sharp and stinging—I realized it was his spear in action. With astonishing agility, he weaved among the goblins, piercing their bodies. First, fifth, fifteenth. Not a single one managed to land before being struck down. They all collapsed to the ground, motionless. No groans, no cries—just silence. They were all dead.

  When I lifted my gaze from the corpses, I saw Scot standing with his spear—only the blade exposed. He faced away from us and the bodies, scanning the area. Seeing nothing else unusual, he slowly turned and walked back.

  “Just regular goblins. Weapons mostly wood and rusty iron—as if they’d looted the village. Otherwise, nothing special.”

  As he spoke, he began wrapping the blade in a leather strap—to my astonishment, not a drop of blood stained it. Despite everything, his breathing remained steady, and he showed no sign of fatigue. What kind of panthers were those, exactly, that forced him to flee and seek Drodul’s help? The thought struck me instantly—but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  “Alright, people—let’s go,” I heard Sem’s voice. He stood in the half-open gate, waving us in. “We’ve been granted permission to stay here for a few days.”