Jace stepped out of the northern gate of the capital with a quiet sigh, the crisp morning wind brushing past his hair. Behind him stood walls of stone and iron, the bustling heart of the kingdom. Ahead of him was a winding path that led into quiet hills, and beyond that, Willow Village.
He glanced at the quest scroll again.
"Goblin extermination. D-rank. Thirty targets. Solo mission."
He scoffed.
"They're either cheap, stupid, or lying."
The sky was still tinted orange when he began walking, the road uneven beneath his boots. Trees loomed in the distance, their shadows stretching like claws. He kept a steady pace, hands in his coat pockets, his mind already running through tactics.
What he didn't carry in heavy armor, he made up for in preparation. He didn't need to swing a sword like a brute. He just needed to think smarter.
"I wonder how loud they'll scream when the traps go off," he muttered to himself, smirking.
The further he walked, the quieter it became. Just birds, the crunch of gravel underfoot, and the occasional rustle of leaves. That was, until he heard it.
Faint voices.
He stopped.
Somewhere deeper in the forest, he heard murmurs. Distant and broken.
"...gathering... goblins... king…"
The words drifted through the trees like whispers. He tilted his head, listening closely.
But the wind shifted. The voices vanished.
He waited. Nothing.
He shrugged.
"Not my problem. Yet."
With his usual calm pace, Jace continued along the dirt path until it eventually gave way to a crude, weed-covered trail. That was when he saw it.
The infamous Willow Forest of Death.
Even from the outside, the forest looked like it didn't want visitors. Dense. Dark. Old. It was the kind of place that swallowed people whole, leaving behind only rumors and unpaid debts.
Just ahead was Willow Village, resting at the forest's edge. Small houses with crooked roofs, fences patched together with rotting wood, and tired faces watching from windows.
Jace arrived at the village gate and was met by an elderly man with a long walking stick and sharp, worried eyes.
"You're the one who took the extermination quest?" the man asked.
"Yeah."
"I'm Harven, village chief. You sure you're ready for this?"
Jace looked around the village and then back at Harven.
"You sound like you expect me to die."
"I won't lie to you. We faked the request rank. Said it was D. Truth is, it's probably a B."
Jace raised an eyebrow.
"There's a Goblin King," Harven continued. "And way more than thirty goblins. Last we counted, it was closer to a hundred. Maybe more."
Jace chuckled.
"That all?"
The chief blinked, confused.
"That's not a problem?"
Jace's eyes narrowed slightly.
"This is easier than hunting food back home."
He didn't mention where he was from, and the old man didn't ask. Some things didn't need explaining.
Harven led him to a tall watchtower that creaked with every step. Jace climbed halfway up and got a clearer view of the trees beyond the village.
That's when he saw them.
Goblins. Not wandering like wild animals. These ones were patrolling. Carrying makeshift shields, spears made of bone, scavenged scraps of armor. Watching. Guarding.
Jace's expression darkened.
"This isn't a goblin nest. It's a camp. A damn military camp."
They really tried to scam the guild.
He could turn around now and no one would blame him. But where was the fun in that?
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's have some fun."
---
He headed straight into the trees.
The first thing he looked for were fruits. Not just any kind. A local fruit called Redheads, used by villagers to brew their strongest homemade alcohol. They were about the size of his palm, with a strong, sharp smell.
"Perfect for fire."
Jace collected as many as he could find. Then he climbed the tallest tree overlooking one of the smaller goblin outposts.
He began arranging the fruits carefully, planning to ignite them with fire magic. Just enough to start chaos. Maybe even make it look like a forest fire.
What he didn't know was that these weren't ordinary Redheads.
They were a rare variant.
Tropical Redheads.
Highly explosive. Incredibly foul-smelling. One spark could ignite them in a blast strong enough to shatter bones.
He lit one, aimed carefully, and threw it at the nearest goblin lookout.
Boom.
The explosion was instant. The force tore through wood and bodies. Goblins were flung into the air, some limbs flying in opposite directions. Black smoke curled up into the trees, and a stench like rotting meat filled the air.
Jace burst out laughing.
"That was supposed to just burn!"
He sat back on a branch, eyes wide with disbelief. Then something clicked in his mind.
He remembered reading a damaged old book back in the frozen forest gramps library. A passage that mentioned mutated versions of natural fruits. Legendary variants that only appeared once every few years. Worth tens of thousands of credits each.
"Did I just throw away a hundred grand?"
He started laughing again, harder this time, nearly falling off the branch.
"Totally worth it."
---
Far away, in the capital...
An A-rank adventurer stepped into the guildhall, brushing dust off his armor. He had just returned from a raid and was expecting a routine debrief.
Instead, he found chaos.
The receptionist ran up to him, pale-faced.
"We've got a problem. Big one."
"What happened?"
"Goblin horde. Estimated 130 strong. There's a Goblin King in the group. Location: Willow Village."
The man's expression turned serious.
"That's a B-rank threat, minimum."
"I know. But the quest went out before we had full details."
"And?"
"It was picked up by a D-rank adventurer."
The man froze.
"You're joking."
"No. He's out there right now. Alone."
The A-rank looked around. "Where's the rest of the guild?"
"Only low-rank adventurers are available. Most are out on missions. But—wait, the Night Troupe just got back."
His eyes widened.
"The Night Troupe? They're here?"
Just then, the doors to the guild slammed open. Nine adventurers entered, each carrying an air of overwhelming presence. Leading them was a broad-shouldered man in armor that glowed faintly with enchantments. Behind him was a man known only by his title—Terror of the Night. An S-rank assassin.
One of the strongest parties in the Amiha Kingdom had returned.
As the receptionist explained the situation, the group's leader didn't hesitate.
"Get us a wagon. We ride now."
---
Back in the forest...
Jace had already taken down over thirty goblins. Most were guards caught in the first few blasts. But now they were regrouping.
He spotted movement deeper in the camp.
A full column of goblins was emerging from the wooden barricade, rallying under banners of bone and fur. Their eyes glowed with fury.
Jace smirked.
"Time to run."
He leapt from the branch, missed his footing, and slammed into another limb on the way down.
Crack.
"Damn it. That's gonna bruise."
He landed hard, rolled to absorb the impact, then heal himself and sprinted deeper into the forest.
Behind him, the goblins followed. And that was exactly what he wanted.
He ran through narrow trails and open clearings, each one prepped with traps he had set in advance. Pressure-triggered snares, spiked pits, collapsing nets. Techniques he'd learned in the frozen north to hunt beasts far deadlier than goblins.
The forest lit up with smoke and flame as explosions echoed one after another.
Dozens of goblins dropped like flies.
He stopped at a safe distance and counted the wreckage.
"Seventy, give or take."
Then the ground trembled.
A roar shook the trees, and Jace turned slowly.
From the heart of the goblin camp, a towering figure stepped forward. A hulking beast with thick muscles, yellow fangs, and a rusted greatsword slung over his shoulder.
The Goblin King.
Behind him were sixty more goblins, fully armed and coordinated.
Back in the village, the townspeople heard the roar. Panic spread like wildfire.
The chief raised his voice.
"Evacuate the children! All men to the barricades!"
Villagers scrambled. Old hunters brought out bows. Blacksmiths grabbed hammers. Even the young stepped forward.
One boy, no older than ten, grabbed a pair of knives and ran straight for the gate.
"Wait!" the chief shouted.
Too late.
The boy ran across the field, slashing a goblin's leg. The blade barely pierced the skin. The goblin growled, knocked him aside like a toy.
Jace saw the whole thing.
"Damn it, kid."
He scanned the area, looking for options. Then his eyes landed on a patch of herbs growing near a tree.
Poison.
An idea formed in his head.
He dodged a goblin spear, grabbed the herbs, and started focusing mana into his hands.
What if healing magic could be reversed?
He concentrated. Inverted the flow of magic. Bent the intent from restoration to corruption.
A soft green glow shifted into deep violet.
He touched a goblin.
Nothing happened.
He tried again. And again.
On the third attempt, the goblin twitched violently, then dropped. Foaming at the mouth.
"It worked."
He grinned. The other goblins hesitated. They didn't understand it, but they felt the fear.
Jace began casting a more advanced spell.
Reverse Great Heal.
A technique designed to reattach limbs, restore near-death bodies, and regrow tissue.
If reversed?
It would rot a target from the inside out.
But the cast time was long. Too long.
Just as he neared completion, an arrow whistled through the air.
Thunk.
It struck his right shoulder.
Pain tore through him as blood soaked his coat.
He fell to one knee, gasping, clutching the wound.
But he wasn't done.
Not yet.