Adrian and Archer stood side by side at the base of the hill as the morning light settled across the land, pale and cold. Archer's breathing had steadied, and although the worst of his injuries had closed, there was still a stiffness in the way he held himself, the kind that came from pushing too far the day before.
Adrian glanced at him briefly before stepping closer.
"Hold still."
Before Archer could question it, Adrian placed an open hand against his chest. A faint white glow spread from his palm, soft at first, then deeper, sinking into Archer's body. It wasn't a structured spell, not something shaped with intent and incantation, but something more natural, almost instinctive. The energy moved through torn muscle and bruised tissue, easing the strain, restoring strength in seconds.
Archer took a step back, blinking as he rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers, testing the difference. The tension in his body eased in a way that caught him off guard.
"I… I could have healed myself this entire time?"
Adrian pulled his hand away and shrugged, already looking elsewhere.
"Wasted mana. Don't worry about it."
Archer didn't respond immediately. His attention shifted instead to Adrian's hands, to the white wraps covering them from fingers to forearms. Up close, they didn't look like ordinary cloth. There was something too clean about them, too uniform.
"Those handwraps…" Archer said slowly. "They look like bandages. Are you hiding wounds? And I didn't think you could use magic."
Adrian glanced down at them for a moment, then lifted one arm slightly, letting the fabric catch the light.
"They're not bandages."
He rotated his wrist once, the wraps tightening subtly as if reacting to the movement.
"They're something I made. Mana condensed and shaped into thread. They suppress my output because my core's damaged, and at the same time they pull mana out in a controlled way so I can still use it without tearing myself apart."
Archer stared, trying to process that.
"What are they made of?"
Adrian met his eyes without hesitation.
"Pure mana. Compressed and spun. You can't cut them, burn them, or break them with a spell."
Archer let out a quiet breath, somewhere between disbelief and reluctant respect.
"You're full of surprises."
Adrian didn't respond to that. He had already turned toward the distant tree line, attention shifting to something else entirely.
"Come on. The cave's not far."
They moved without rushing, boots pressing into dry ground as they made their way forward. The land stretched quietly around them, broken only by scattered stone and patches of thin grass. Archer found his eyes drifting more than once—first to the wraps, then back to Adrian's face, as if trying to match the calm demeanor with what he had already seen.
The cave came into view gradually, carved into the side of the hill like a wound in the earth. Its entrance was jagged, uneven, and dark enough that the inside couldn't be seen from the outside. A steady stream of cold air drifted out, carrying a smell that grew worse the closer they got.
Adrian stopped just short of the entrance.
Archer drew his sword halfway, then paused, eyes fixed on the darkness.
"You sure about this?"
Adrian didn't look at him. His gaze remained on the cave.
"Goblins die today."
He stepped inside without waiting. Archer followed after a brief hesitation.
The darkness didn't slow them. Even without light, their vision adjusted quickly, shapes forming clearly enough to understand what they were walking into.
The cavern opened wide, far larger than it appeared from the outside. Goblins filled the space—dozens of them, scattered in clusters across the ground. Some crouched, some argued, some fed. In the back, chained against the rough stone, were the women taken from the villages. Some were barely conscious. Some didn't move at all. The smell hit fully now—blood, sweat, rot, and something worse that clung to the air.
Neither Adrian nor Archer reacted outwardly. No anger, no shock. Just recognition.
They moved at the same time.
Adrian bent down and picked up a small rock, weighing it once in his palm before bringing both hands together around it. The moment pressure built, the stone gave way, cracking under force. For a brief second, a faint glow passed through the fragments as mana surged through the wraps, then faded just as quickly. When he opened his hands, the broken pieces were sharper, denser.
He flicked one forward with his fingers.
It cut through the air without sound and pierced straight through a goblin's skull. The force carried it clean out the other side, and the creature dropped instantly, its body collapsing before anything else could react.
Archer moved a second later.
His sword came free in one smooth motion, and instead of closing distance, he stepped forward and swung once through empty air. The blade didn't meet flesh, but the effect carried forward. A clean line passed through a group of goblins ahead, and a moment later their bodies separated at the waist, sliding apart as if the cut had already been waiting there.
The cavern fell into a brief, heavy silence.
Adrian watched the result for a second, eyes shifting between Archer and the bodies on the ground.
"How did one goblin give you trouble… when you can do that?"
Archer didn't answer. He was already moving.
The rest of the horde reacted all at once, the delay breaking into chaos. Goblins rushed forward in numbers, their movements fast, aggressive, uncoordinated but relentless.
They came at Archer first.
He didn't step back. His blade moved once—just once—in a controlled arc. The closest wave of goblins lost their heads before their bodies could even complete the attack. They dropped in place, momentum carrying them forward into the ground.
More followed.
And this time, Adrian stepped in.
While that happened, a goblin lunged at Adrian, thrusting a rusted sword forward with a motion that looked almost practiced. The angle wasn't random. It had weight behind it, timing behind it.
Adrian noticed.
"…Where'd you learn that from?" he muttered under his breath.
He didn't step back. Instead, he shifted in just enough and drove his knee into the back of the goblin's elbow. The joint bent the wrong way with a sharp, wet crack. The creature shrieked, the sword slipping from its grip before it even understood what had happened.
Adrian caught the weapon mid-drop.
In the same motion, he turned his wrist and cut clean across its neck. The head came off without resistance, the body collapsing a second later.
He didn't stop moving.
Goblins rushed him from the front, claws and crude weapons coming in from different angles. Adrian walked straight into them, not rushing, not hesitating, just moving forward like he had already decided none of them mattered. One grabbed at him—he slipped past it, drove his shoulder into its chest, and let it fall behind him without looking back.
Then he stopped.
One goblin stood directly in front of him, frozen for a split second.
Adrian looked at it.
Around them, the others closed in—but before they could reach him, something shifted. The space around Adrian seemed to tighten, like pressure building in the air. The goblins nearest to him jerked mid-step, their bodies breaking apart before they could even react. Flesh split, limbs separated, and blood misted outward, hanging briefly before dropping to the ground.
Adrian exhaled lightly through his nose.
"…Yeah. That works."
He stepped forward again, leaving what was left behind him.
Across the cave, Archer moved differently. Where Adrian flowed through the horde, Archer cut through it. His blade didn't swing wildly—it moved with control, but not perfectly clean either. One goblin ducked lower than expected, forcing him to adjust mid-swing, the blade dragging slightly before finishing the cut. Another came from the side, and he shifted his footing to meet it, breath steady but heavier than before.
Still, each strike landed where it needed to.
The fight didn't last long.
By the time the movement stopped, the ground was covered. Bodies, pieces, blood pooling into the uneven stone. The count didn't matter, but it was there—over a hundred, easily.
Adrian wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand, smearing blood across the skin without much thought. Archer stood a few steps away, lowering his blade for a moment, drawing a slow breath through his nose.
Neither of them spoke immediately.
The cave stretched deeper ahead of them, dark and quiet in a way that didn't feel empty. Faint sounds carried through—movement, low snarls, something shifting further in.
This wasn't the end.
Adrian turned away first, heading toward the chained figures at the back. He moved through them without slowing much, cutting restraints one by one. His hands worked quickly, efficiently. He didn't say anything, didn't try to reassure them. He just kept moving.
Archer watched him for a moment before speaking.
"It's pointless."
Adrian paused slightly, just enough to acknowledge it, then looked back.
Archer's gaze had shifted to the women who hadn't moved, to the ones whose bodies told a different story. Their stomachs were swollen, stretched in a way that didn't look natural. Something moved beneath the skin.
"Even if you free them," Archer continued, voice quieter now, "they're going to die."
One of the women let out a dry, broken laugh.
Archer stepped closer, pulling his sword and planting it into the stone with a dull ring. He didn't rush what he said next.
"I'm going to explain what happens," he said. "You deserve that much."
He spoke plainly. No dramatics, no hesitation. Just facts.
As he finished, the silence that followed was heavier than anything before it.
Some of the women cried. Some turned away. Some just stared.
One of them met his eyes.
"My name is Eleanor."
Archer nodded once.
"Nice to meet you."
The blade moved. Clean. Quick. No hesitation.
He continued like that, one after another. Not fast, not slow—just steady. Each motion deliberate, but not perfect. His breathing shifted slightly as he went, shoulders tightening and relaxing with each swing.
When it was over, he stood there for a second longer than necessary before sheathing the sword.
Then he turned.
Adrian stepped into his path.
They stood there, close enough that neither needed to raise their voice.
"I've done this before," Archer said. His tone didn't rise, but it hardened. "More times than I can count. I'm not debating it. I'm not justifying it. It's what needs to be done."
Adrian held his gaze, calm, unreadable.
Then he stepped aside.
Archer walked past him without another word.
The cave settled again, quieter now, but not empty.
As they moved deeper, Adrian glanced at him from the side.
"I wasn't going to lecture you," he said. "Just checking where your head's at. I can't deal with you freezing up later."
Archer didn't respond, but his jaw shifted slightly.
That was enough of an answer.
They rounded the next bend.
The second chamber opened up wider than the first, and this time the number was obvious at a glance—far more than before. Goblins filled the space, packed tighter, more alert.
Adrian stopped using the infused stones. Archer lowered his blade slightly, mana settling into his body instead of his swings.
No words this time.
They moved at the same moment.
Adrian went straight in, closing the distance without slowing. A goblin lunged—he caught its arm, twisted, and drove his palm into its throat hard enough to crush it. Another came from behind; he shifted just enough to avoid the grab and drove his elbow backward into its face, feeling bone give under the impact.
"…Okay," he muttered, almost under his breath. "This is better."
There was something lighter in the way he moved now. Not sloppy, not careless—just more natural, like his body had settled into something it understood.
Archer wasn't far behind. Mana reinforced his steps, his strikes coming faster, heavier. One swing didn't fully take a head, and he followed through immediately, correcting it without breaking rhythm. His breathing stayed controlled, but there was a slight edge to it now, something sharper.
Neither of them said it.
But they were both starting to enjoy it.
Archer flowed beside him—blade a blur, cutting through limbs and torsos in clean, economical arcs. Mana-enhanced steps carried him across the chamber in blinks, every swing precise, every kill instant. There was an ease to him now, a rhythm that was almost… satisfied. Not glee. Not childish. But something darker, sharper—a quiet acknowledgment of the craft in the chaos.
The goblins didn't stand a chance. Within minutes, the chamber was silent again—bodies piled, blood pooling on the uneven stone.
They cleared the second chamber the same way. Then the third. And that was when they were met with the most horrendous sight yet.
The goblins were literally assaulting the women right in front of them.
Adrian's eyes narrowed. But there was no panic, no surge of blind rage. There was recognition. Interest. And, faintly, the thrill of the hunt.
Before Adrian could move, Archer acted. In a heartbeat, he raised his sword, mana coiling along the blade like liquid steel. His voice whispered the incantation—low, cold, and final.
"In all that is in front of me, my blade will meet the neck. Distance does not matter. Angle does not matter. By the words of the Air Sovereign…"
The air itself seemed to scream in acknowledgment. Every goblin in the chamber—dozens—exploded into dismemberment at once. Heads tumbled. Torsos split. Limbs collapsed in wet clumps.
The women—finally free—fell to the ground, shaking and sobbing. Archer lowered the sword slowly. Adrian's face remained unreadable, his stance calm, as though he had been expecting this. There was no celebration. No sigh of relief. Just… observation.
As they moved deeper, the tunnel widened into another chamber. Archer walked ahead, cutting chains with controlled swings, letting the freed women slide to the ground. Most were too weak to rise. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and fear.
One woman—a grotesquely swollen figure—was in the final stage of carrying a goblin offspring. Neither Adrian nor Archer registered the danger immediately. Then the creature burst from her abdomen with claws tearing flesh. She screamed—a wet, raw sound—and then convulsed violently.
Adrian reacted instantly. He drove a bare hand into the newborn's skull, crushing it with a sickening snap. Archer's blade followed, severing the creature before it could fully emerge. But the damage was done. The woman convulsed once more, then went still.
The other freed women—those who could move—stared for only a heartbeat. Something in them snapped. They seized the scattered rusty weapons from the fallen goblins—knives, shards, broken spears—and turned them on themselves. One slit her throat. Another drove a spear into her chest. Another slammed her head against stone until it stopped.
Within seconds, the chamber fell silent again. Only the drip of blood and the faint crackle of dying torches remained. Adrian stood, still, absorbing the scene without emotion, without comment. Archer lowered his sword, face unreadable. Death had come on their terms—not the goblins'.
The cave stretched onward. More snarls echoed from deeper shadows. The hunt continued.
Adrian glanced sideways at Archer.
Archer's jaw tightened, nothing else. That was all the answer Adrian needed.
They rounded a bend into the next chamber. No horde. Instead, a single figure sat on a crude throne of stacked rocks.
A goblin—but not like the others. Taller, broader, skin dark green, almost black. Eyes glimmered with intelligence… and boredom. He rested his chin on a clenched fist, watching without interest.
"So… you're the ones killing my children." His voice was low, gravelly, and amused.
In a heartbeat, he released a wave of pure malice. The sheer force made both men stagger, stomachs churning, vision blurring, knees weak for a heartbeat.
Archer's teeth gritted.
"Let's run," he hissed.
Adrian's voice was steady, unmoved.
"If we turn our backs, we're dead men."
The Goblin King vanished.
And then he reappeared mid-swing, massive double-edged longsword in hand.
Adrian raised the rusty sword he had taken earlier to block.
The impact shattered everything.
The rusty sword split in half. Adrian's forearms snapped under the force. He was hurled backward, slamming against the cavern wall. Bones cracked. Blood sprayed from his mouth, eyes, ears. His hands twisted at unnatural angles.
The Goblin King turned toward Archer.
Archer's face went pale. Fear flickered in his eyes—the first time it had appeared.
"Now," the Goblin King said, voice dripping boredom and malice, "you face me."