Marcus and Liz walked back through the marketplace in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Vendors called out their wares. Children ran between the stalls, laughing. Normal life continuing like the world wasn’t about to get complicated.
"We need to prepare," Liz finally said. "If we’re really doing this."
"We are." Marcus’s voice left no room for doubt.
"But first, I need to finish up with something. Get stronger. Whatever’s waiting in Ashveil, I’m not walking in unprepared." He paused, jaw tightening. "Though the longer we wait, the more disastrous it’ll be for Corvin. Don’t know if he’s already dead now."
"Meh, I’m confused?" Liz stopped walking and turned to face him. "He went out of his way for us. Basically, you would’ve slept in that cell for who knows how long.
Marcus smirked while facing down. "It would never had come to that."
Liz’s eyes widened slightly. "I hope it’s not what I’m thinking you were planning?"
Marcus didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
They stopped at a street corner where their paths would split.
"We’ll move first thing tomorrow morning," Marcus said. "Can’t pay a dead man his debt. Go ahead, we’ll meet up later."
Liz shrugged at him. "Don’t go too hard on yourself."
She headed back in the direction of their apartment, her silhouette disappearing into the afternoon crowd.
Marcus stood there for a moment, watching her go. Then he turned in the opposite direction.
Whoosh!!
He took off at a dead sprint toward the forest outside the city limits.
The problem wasn’t just about getting stronger. It was about time. Every hour they delayed was another hour Corvin spent running or worse, not running anymore. Marcus needed to push his stats up fast, and there was only one way to do that efficiently he didn’t want to risk encountering another vorrath unprepared .
****
The forest swallowed him whole. Thick trees pressed in from all sides, the canopy above blocking out most of the afternoon sun. The deeper he went, the quieter it became. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of his boots crunching against dead leaves.
He stopped in a small clearing and took a breath.
"Been long since I called you, my friend."
Marcus raised his hand, feeling the familiar drain as his MP dropped.
[SUMMONING: MALACHAR — THE CRIMSON TYRANT][MP: 100/100 → 50/100]
The air split open like a wound. Crimson light poured out, thick and oppressive, carrying the smell of old battlefields and spilled blood. The ground trembled as a massive figure stepped through the rift.
Malachar emerged in full armor, every inch of him radiating raw power. His helmet bore twisted horns that curved back like a demon’s crown. His crimson cloak billowed despite the absence of wind, and his gauntleted hands rested on the pommel of a greatsword nearly as tall as Marcus himself. Red eyes burned behind the helmet’s visor, ancient and merciless.
"My liege." Malachar’s voice was deep, resonant, like thunder rolling through stone. He knelt on one knee, his massive blade planted in the earth. "You called."
Marcus grinned. "I’ve been wondering something. If we were to fight, really fight, who would win?"
Malachar’s helmet tilted slightly. "I cannot let my sword fall upon you, my liege. You are my summoner."
"Figured you’d say that." Marcus rolled his shoulders, loosening up. "Good thing we’re not here to fight each other."
BUZZZZ!!
A rustling sound came from the bushes.
Then another.
Then a dozen more.
Small, green-skinned creatures crept out from behind trees and undergrowth, their beady yellow eyes locked on Marcus and Malachar. Goblins. Short, hunched things with crude weapons rusty daggers, sharpened sticks, a few clubs that looked like they’d been carved from tree branches.
They surrounded the clearing in a loose circle, chittering to each other in their guttural language.
Marcus counted at least twenty. Maybe more hiding in the shadows.
"Looks like this place is a goblin nest," Marcus muttered.
A memory flashed through his mind. The village. His first real fight in this world. Goblins rushing at him while he fumbled with a spear that bounced off their thick hides. He’d barely survived that encounter.
He looked at the goblins now and smiled. "Oh, my very first friends. Seems they want to talk to us for a bit But unfortunate for y’all am not the same person".
The largest goblin probably the alpha stepped forward. It was taller than the others, with scars crisscrossing its face and a bone necklace hanging around its neck. It raised a crude axe and screamed.
Ahdgzidzhdjx!!!
The rest of the goblins charged.
"Malachar."
"Yes, my liege."
"Don’t hold back."
The Crimson Tyrant rose to his full height, pulling his greatsword from the earth in one smooth motion. "As you command."
The first goblin never saw it coming. Malachar’s blade swept horizontally, cleaving through three of them in a single stroke. Blood sprayed across the clearing. The creatures didn’t even have time to scream before they burst into ash and shadow, their essence absorbed by Marcus’s Void Harvest.
[VOID HARVEST ACTIVATED][+15 CURRENCY]
Marcus drew Dagon from its sheath. The short sword felt light in his hand, almost eager. He sidestepped a goblin’s wild swing and drove the blade up through its jaw. The creature gurgled once, then dissolved.
[+5 CURRENCY]
Two more came at him from the left. Marcus pivoted, using his speed 31 SPD was no joke and slashed across both their throats in one fluid motion. They dropped.
[+10 CURRENCY]
Behind him, Malachar was a whirlwind of destruction. His greatsword moved with impossible speed for something so massive, each swing ending another goblin’s existence. The ground was slick with blood and ash.
"More incoming!" Marcus shouted.
From deeper in the forest, reinforcements poured out. These weren’t the small scouts. These were warriors larger, better armed, with actual leather armor instead of rags.
Marcus grinned. Perfect.
He charged forward, Malachar at his side. Marcus took the low angles, cutting through legs and bellies. Malachar handled everything else, his massive blade carving through armor like it was paper.
A goblin warrior swung a mace at Marcus’s head. He ducked under it, feeling the wind as it passed, and drove Dagon into the creature’s gut. It screamed. Marcus twisted the blade and kicked it off, already moving to the next target.
[+8 CURRENCY]
The forest became a blur of motion. Green skin. Red blood. Black ash. The goblins kept coming, wave after wave, like they were defending something important.
Then Marcus saw it.
Through the trees, deeper in the nest a massive shape. Easily twice the size of the warriors. Thick arms. Scarred hide. A club made from an entire tree trunk.
"Hob-goblins," Marcus muttered as indicated by the system.
Three of them emerged from the shadows, flanking a fourth figure in the back a goblin queen, draped in bones and feathers, her eyes glowing with unnatural intelligence.
"Malachar. Those big ones are mine."
"Understood."
Marcus sprinted toward the nearest hob-goblin. It roared and swung its club down with enough force to shatter stone. Marcus rolled to the side, feeling the impact shake the ground, and slashed at the creature’s ankle. His blade bit deep. The hob-goblin howled and stumbled.
He didn’t give it time to recover. Marcus jumped, driving Dagon into its throat. The creature collapsed, dissolving into ash.
[+25 CURRENCY]
The second hob-goblin was smarter. It feinted with its club, then lashed out with a clawed hand. Marcus barely dodged, feeling claws scrape against his Devil Loom Coat. The enchanted fabric held, but the impact knocked him back.
He circled the creature, waiting for an opening. The hob-goblin lunged. Marcus sidestepped and brought Dagon down on its wrist. The blade cut clean through. The creature screamed, clutching its stump, and Marcus finished it with a thrust to the heart.
[+25 CURRENCY]
The third hob-goblin charged while Marcus was recovering. No time to dodge. He raised Dagon to block.
Malachar’s greatsword intercepted the club mid-swing. The impact sent shockwaves through the clearing, but the Crimson Tyrant didn’t budge.
"Thank you," Marcus said.
"Always, my liege."
Together, they cut the third hob-goblin down.
[+25 CURRENCY]
That left the queen.
She stood in the center of the nest, surrounded by the last few goblin warriors. Her eyes locked onto Marcus, and she hissed something in her language
a command.
Gdjdtxjdjxgxxh!!!
The warriors charged as one.
Marcus and Malachar met them head-on.
It was over in seconds.
The queen was last. She tried to run, but Marcus was faster. He caught her at the edge of the nest and drove Dagon through her back. She collapsed, her glowing eyes fading to nothing.
[+50 CURRENCY]
The forest fell silent.
Marcus stood there, chest heaving, covered in blood and ash. Around him, the goblin nest was nothing but corpses and shadows."when last did I had this much fun".
Then the notification came.
[LEVEL UP!][STATS INCREASED][STR: 23 → 25][SPD: 31 → 34]
[VOID HARVEST TOTAL: +386 CURRENCY]
Marcus pulled up his full status, checking the changes.
[SYSTEM][STATS]Name: Marcus Vael Level:Nil. Class: SummonerSubclass: Sovereign Tier — Unclassified / Weapon MasteryRace: HumanSTR 25 / 100. DEX 5 / 100. SPD 34 / 100. CON 3 / 100. INT 12 / 100. HP 99 / 100. MP 50 / 100.
"Not even a scratch ".
Marcus turned to Malachar, who stood silently among the carnage. "Nice fighting with you again, my friend."
The Crimson Tyrant bowed his head. "The honor was mine, my liege."
Marcus dismissed him. The rift opened again, pulling Malachar back into whatever realm summons returned to. The crimson light faded, leaving Marcus alone in the silent forest.
He sheathed Dagon and started walking back toward the city.
Tomorrow, they’d ride for Ashveil.
****
Morning came too fast.
Marcus met Liz at the edge of the marketplace just as the sun was breaking over the eastern wall. She had two travel packs slung over her shoulder and a determined look that said she hadn’t slept much either.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Always."
They made their way through the waking city toward the stables where that boy Finn, Marcus remembered kept their horses. The kid was already up, mucking out stalls and humming some tune that sounded vaguely like a tavern song.
"Morning!" Finn called out when he spotted them.
"Here for the horses?"
"Yeah," Marcus said. "We’re heading out."
Finn led them to the back stalls where two horses waited, already saddled and ready. One was a gray mare with intelligent eyes. The other was a chestnut gelding that looked like it could run all day without complaining.
"Took good care of them," Finn said proudly. "Fed them extra oats this morning. They’ll treat you right."
Marcus tossed him a few coins. "Appreciate it."
"Where you headed?" Finn asked while helping Liz secure her pack to the mare’s saddle.
"Ashveil," Liz said quietly.
Finn’s hands stilled. "Ashveil? That’s... that’s pretty far. And I heard—" He caught himself. "Never mind. Safe travels."
The way he said it made Marcus’s instincts prickle. Everyone who knows about Ashveil reacts the same way. Fear. Hesitation. Like they know something they’re not saying.
They mounted up and guided the horses toward the main gate. The city was slowly coming alive around them merchants setting up stalls, guards changing shifts, early morning crowds shuffling through the streets with the kind of tired determination that came from making a living in a fantasy world that didn’t care about your problems.
They’d just cleared the gate when Marcus spotted a familiar figure on the road ahead.
Renn.
The archer was leaning against a milestone marker, bow slung across his back, looking like he’d been waiting for them. When he saw Marcus and Liz approaching, he straightened up and waved.
"Leaving so soon?" Renn called out. "Just got your D-rank promotions and you’re already running off?"
Marcus reined in his horse. "Urgent business."
Renn’s easygoing smile faded slightly. "Must be pretty urgent to skip the celebration. Most people milk that promotion for at least a week of free drinks."
"Not most people," Liz said.
Renn studied them both for a moment, his expression turning more serious. "This about Corvin?"