1.20 – Goblin Stronghold IV

Another eruption of darkness and blood, another body fell. Rika lashed out again, the edge of her blade gleaming in the firelight as she tried her best to ignore the slow ticking down of Dark Strike’s timer. Vilmos was both agonizingly close, yet impossibly distant. He’d been surrounded the moment the goblins sprang their trap, and now it was everything Rika could do to fight her way to his side.

She checked the levels of the goblins. All were at least level nine, and as high as level eleven. The ghostly white text floated in the darkness just beyond the light cast by the bonfires. The light that had blinded them, that had obscured what was waiting. That had led them to this. To countless nameplates, each one showing a number that was beyond what they should be facing. Beyond what any sane or competent leader would have pushed them toward.

They were level six, for fuck’s sake. Eight plus. Eight. Plus. They’d all seen the same thing, the same changes. They all knew what they’d been headed toward, and they charged in at the command of their foolish, fearless leader. The leader, who even now stumbled under the weight of a press of goblin flesh, and the rain of blows hammering against his armor and shield. The leader Rika desperately fought her way toward.

A goblin warrior rushed her with a spear, charging from the dark beyond the fires. Rika swatted the attack away with a Shield Slam. Not the most effective use of her skill, but it opened the goblin’s line of attack. She stepped inside the creature’s reach, looming over it like a wave ready to break. Her sword fell, the goblin followed.

Soaked in sweat and blood, she waded through the sea of goblins. With each one that died, whether by her hand or by another’s, the pressure just below her ribs increased. Threatening to spill over, to overwhelm her for the moment it took to gain her next level. A distant, detached part of her mind, still capable of thoughts other than survival and death, wondered if she should block the level up. Chryson had said she could. She’d wondered at first why anyone would want that, but now she knew.

Would this be the fatal distraction that saw her belly opened by a goblin’s axe? Would she survive the surge of power, no matter how brief, to fight on once it was done? She lifted her gaze from the still-warm, still-bleeding body at her feet. Vilmos fought. A dozen pairs of hands grabbed at his arms, his armor, dragging at him, pulling him down. She’d been beneath that press once before. She knew what it would do to him.

No. She needed the strength, the power. Kriztan was somewhere off to her right. She caught glimpses of him, twisting through the press of bodies, his short sword in one hand and flinging daggers with the other. He mostly avoided getting bogged down, leveraging his impressive Finesse to its limit. But he bled. Dark stains marked his gambeson. He looked to be favoring one leg slightly. All this, despite the soft golden glow of Erik’s Mend skill.

Rika narrowed her focus and pushed forward. Three goblin warriors, all level nine, peeled off from Vilmos. They came at her in a flurry of clubs and axes. She blocked an axe, then shoved the goblin warrior back with her shield. For her trouble, she took a club to her knee. Pain shot through her leg as the joint gave. She nearly fell. Then, relief.

A soft pulse of golden light caressed her aching limbs, her countless cuts and bruises. For an instant, pieces of her pulled back into place. She grimaced against the sensation of her flesh closing and cracked bones fusing together, a month’s healing happening in an instant. She grimaced at the knowledge that a heal for her meant the others had to go without.

As the goblin she’d shoved to the ground scrambled to reclaim its axe and get back to its feet, she slammed a boot down on its back. Pinning the creature, no larger than a child, to the cave floor, she turned her attention to its companions.

Dark Strike I: 12 seconds

Blood splattered across her cheeks. She blinked the sweat and worse from her eyes. That one hadn’t even the chance to scream before it died. Then, the dam in her chest failed. The wash of strength and vitality and divine certainty broke over her. She took a step back without realizing it, freeing her prone captive. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. This was what mattered right now.

Enemy Slain: Goblin Warrior – Level 9

Congratulations! You have reached Level 7!

Name: Rika
Class: Dark Warrior (Basic, Rare)
Level: 7 (Grade I)
Affiliation: Adventuring Guild – Novice

• Stats Increased: Might +2, Finesse +2, Resilience +2, Magic +1, Control +1, Ward +2

• Primary Stats

  • Might – 15

  • Finesse – 15

  • Resilience – 15

  • Magic – 9

  • Control – 9

  • Ward – 15

The increased Resilience didn’t heal her. It didn’t make the bone-deep fatigue go away, or banish the ache in her muscles. But it did help. It was a small measure of respite, however brief. Enough to let her push on, to take another step forward, and swing for a few more moments.

Something hard hit her in the small of her back. One of them had gotten behind her. Just that morning, a blow like that would have dropped her. Sent her to the ground, spasming in pain, and left her vulnerable to a killing blow. Now, she barely took half a step forward.

She half-turned, sweeping out with an almost casual backhand stroke. Metal hit bone, and bone cracked, then broke apart. When she pulled back her sword, bits of white and gray were mixed in with the trailing red. A hammer fell from lifeless fingers, and the goblin warrior followed a moment later.

Dark Strike ticked down. Another burst of umbral power cleared her way forward. She stepped over the corpses of the three warriors before charging the press of goblins surrounding Vilmos. To his credit, the Defender stood firm. His Resilience was impressive, and he’d Might enough that he’d grown his own collection of dead goblins. But his class feature, Forceful Presence, cut both ways. The more he fought, the more he killed, the more he drew their attackers’ ire.

Under normal circumstances, that would be fine. But this wasn’t a normal fight. This was a fucking disaster. His disaster, Rika reminded herself. They were in this because Vilmos had insisted they throw caution to the wind. That they rush forward, ignore the obvious fact that they were in over their heads, and charge brainlessly toward their deaths. She’d never let him live this down.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

With a roar, Vilmos slammed his heater shield into the mass of warriors in front of him. The one he hit directly crumpled to the cave floor, its fellows falling back on themselves. His axe gleamed in the firelight as it rose and fell, again and again, more ruby droplets trailing off the blade each time he lifted it anew.

Rika hit the rear of the press surrounding him.

Shield Slam I: 30 seconds