Born Good

I finally made it. I stood at the towering gates of Tetherpoint AcademyLocation — AcademyThe premier adventurer academy in Valerguard, founded during the Age of Ashes.→ Read moreTetherpoint Academy, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. After all the years of dreaming, this day had come.

Every grueling hour of volunteer service, every candle-burning night spent hunched over books, every sacrifice to earn those top marks had led me here — to the premier adventurer academy in all of ValerguardKingdomThe kingdom in which the story takes place, governed by the Four Factions.→ Read moreValerguard. The sun glinted off its spires, and for one breathless moment, triumph surged through me like golden light. This was it. My chance to rise. My chance to become something more.

Tetherpoint Academy rose majestic along the shimmering Tether River, nestled in the vibrant academy town of MellonwoodLocation — TownAn academy town just outside the capital, built to serve Tetherpoint.→ Read moreMellonwood just beyond the capital of Tether. The streets thrummed with life: blacksmith hammers rang as they forged gleaming gear for eager students, merchants hawked glowing training manuals and enchanted trinkets from colorful stalls, and legendary adventurers strode among them like everyday heroes — cloaks billowing, weapons at their sides. For the next six years, if I kept my head down, worked hard, and avoided expulsion, this breathtaking place would be my home. My proving ground. My beginning.

It was a world away from the quiet fields of RavenscroftLocation — VillageElias's ancient home village. Rarely does anyone from here attend Tetherpoint.→ Read moreRavenscroft, the humble village where I'd grown up.

Ravenscroft was ancient, its origins lost to time. A few thousand souls carved out a living through honest toil — tending herds and working the soil. My father managed one of the larger cattle stocks and wielded a blacksmith's hammer with the same steady pride. He'd come from Tether originally, meeting my mother during her own studies at a modest academy focused on agriculture and community service.

Simple folk, they called us. And I was the first in generations to walk through Tetherpoint's gates.

Though… there had been a great-uncle on my mother's side who attended long ago.

He had once been the shining pride of the family. Until he chose The VeilFaction — One of the FourA secretive faction wielding forbidden magic. Their methods are considered dangerous by most.→ Read moreThe Veil over The ShieldFaction — One of the FourThe most honorable of the Four Factions, focused on protection and defense.→ Read moreThe Shield. After that, his name became a shadow no one dared speak aloud. I'd learned young that asking about him was the quickest way to silence a room, so I stopped.

The VeilFaction — One of the FourA secretive faction wielding forbidden magic. Blamed for calamities best forgotten.→ Read moreThe Veil — one of the The Four FactionsPolitical StructureThe four governing bodies that maintain balance in Valerguard.→ Read moreFour Factions that held Valerguard in delicate balance. Necessary, some whispered. Dangerous, most believed. Their methods cloaked in secrecy, their magic forbidden in polite circles, blamed by history books for calamities best left forgotten. Yet somehow, the Four kept the kingdom standing. And maybe… just maybe… there was more to their path than the warnings painted.

Or so everyone said.

◇ ◇ ◇

"Alright, out you go."

The voice boomed like a slap, yanking me out of my thoughts. Its owner was a broad mountain of a man with a black beard thick enough to nest birds. He gestured impatiently at the shuffling line of wide-eyed students like we were particularly slow cattle.

"Time to get your stats checked out."

A nervous spark flickered in my chest despite everything. This was supposed to be the dream, right?

That was the promise of becoming an adventurer. The The Wizards EmporiumOrganizationThe organization responsible for performing Soul Enchantments on admitted students.→ Read moreWizards Emporium would perform the Soul EnchantmentMagical ProcessA ritual that transforms students into adventurers, granting stats, levels, and abilities.→ Read moreSoul Enchantment on every admitted student. After that, you could level up, unlock skills, and awaken powers that put ordinary people to shame. Adventurers sat at the absolute peak of society. Only a fraction of a fraction ever made it.

Rarely did anyone from a muddy little backwater like Ravenscroft get this far.

"Oi, shit-for-brains."

The burly bastard jabbed a thick finger into my chest. I yelped as pain flared like an electrified cattle prod.

"You gonna stand there daydreaming all afternoon, village boy?"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

"Then move."

He shoved my shoulder hard enough to nearly send me sprawling. I scrambled forward, clinging to the scraps of dignity I had left.

◇ ◇ ◇

Ahead loomed an enormous stone arch built into a tower. Where a door should have been, a swirling vortex of purple, black, and crimson churned violently.

A portal. The The Academy GateMagical StructureA portal arch that transforms those who pass through into adventurers.→ Read moreAcademy Gate.

I'd read about portals my whole life. Some whisked people across continents. Some guarded ancient ruins. This one was different. This one made adventurers. And somehow, after years of desperate dreaming, standing before it made my chest feel like a cage full of panicked birds trying to claw their way out.

A short red-haired boy stood frozen directly ahead of me in line. When his turn came, he locked up completely.

"I-I don't know if I—"

"Oh look," someone behind me sneered. "Baby's scared."

A large thug stepped forward — the kind of bully who'd learned early that size and cruelty got him whatever he wanted. He grinned at the back of the red-haired kid's head like this was the highlight of his day.

"Maybe we should send him back to his mama."

The red-haired boy shrank inward, shoulders curling like he wanted to vanish.

Before I could think better of it, my mouth opened.

"Leave him alone."

The bully turned, grin widening into something nasty. "And who the fuck are you?"

I swallowed. I was nobody. Just Elias from Ravenscroft. But the kid looked ready to dissolve, and I'd always hated bullies more than I feared the consequences.

"You heard me," I said.

The grin stretched wider. A fist flew. The world spun.

I hit the pavement hard. Before I could process anything, three of them had my arms pinned. Cold cobblestones pressed against my back.

"Thought you'd play hero?" the big bastard laughed, planting his full weight directly on my face. The sulfuric blast that followed nearly finished me off. His friends howled with laughter. I flailed uselessly, gagging.

"Get off me, you oversized pig!" I shouted from a position I'd rather not describe.

"Hero's got spirit!" one of them jeered.

"Let's see how brave he is inside!"

Rough hands grabbed me. The red-haired boy screamed. And before either of us could do a damn thing—

We were hurled into the portal.

That mouth-breathing bastard and his pack of assholes. I wouldn't forget them.

◇ ◇ ◇

As my body tumbled through the chaos, a cold metallic voice echoed inside my skull.

The world dissolved into streaks of purple and silver light.

Then another message appeared.

Windows of translucent glass unfolded before my eyes, hovering effortlessly in my vision. I gasped.

This was the System. And there it was.

I frowned.

I'd never heard of Soul BalanceStat Category — HiddenA mysterious set of hidden stats measuring the moral and emotional fabric of a person.→ Read moreSoul Balance before. Every child in Valerguard learned the six Core Stats before they could even read. But Soul Balance? That was new. And it felt like something I wasn't supposed to see.

As I focused on Mercy, the screen shifted.

Mercy — The capacity to forgive, empathize, and value the lives of others above one's own interests.

High Mercy boosted healing affinity, strengthened support magic, and made bonds easier to form. Low Mercy made ruthlessness easier. Made sacrifices more… acceptable. Might even strengthen offensive abilities.

I moved through the others, stomach tightening. Conviction — the strength of one's beliefs under hardship. Resentment — the accumulation of grief, anger, betrayal, and unresolved pain. I paused on that one, a cold spike of fear hitting me. Why the hell would the System measure something like that? What did it do with it?

Then Connection. Hope. And finally — Identity: the degree to which a person remains true to their original self.

I stared at that last one, dread pooling in my gut. Identity: 100.

Was that normal? I had no idea. I'd never heard anyone even mention their Soul Balance scores, which suggested most people didn't have them at all. Or worse — the System only showed them to people it wanted to watch.

My thoughts spiraled darker, but they were interrupted rather abruptly.

I crashed knee-first onto cobblestones.

"AGH!" Pain exploded through my leg. A green bar flickered into existence in the corner of my vision.

I sat up slowly, rubbing my knee. Around me, dozens of students were scrambling upright, shouting excitedly as they poked at their own status screens. I barely noticed them. Because hidden at the bottom of mine, in faint silver letters that flickered like a dying candle, was something I was almost certain hadn't been there a moment ago.

I leaned forward, heart hammering, trying to focus on the text.

And before I could—

The message vanished.

The portal spat us out into an enormous stone hall lined with rows of chairs facing a raised podium. It looked like a lecture hall, except grand enough to make everything back in Ravenscroft seem like a muddy barn. Towering banners with the Tetherpoint crest hung from the vaulted ceiling like they were too good for the rest of us. Everywhere, fresh-faced students were yapping excitedly about their shiny new stats.

"My Strength is twelve!" "I got a Fire Affinity!" "No way, let me see!"

The energy was infectious — if you were into that sort of delusional pep rally. I was too busy staring at the translucent menus hovering at the edge of my vision and the cryptic bullshit that had flashed and vanished moments earlier.

The red-haired kid who'd been hurled through the portal with me suddenly turned my way.

"I saw your screen," he said, deadpan. "I don't have Legacy Features."

I blinked. "You what?"

"Legacy Features," he repeated like I was slow. "Mine does not have them."

A knot twisted in my gut. I wasn't even sure I'd actually seen them myself — the message had flickered for half a second before ghosting. I changed the subject before I could spiral.

"Well, name's Elias. Elias Lumina." I stuck out my hand.

The kid stared at it for an awkward eternity before grabbing it with both of his and pumping enthusiastically. "Kip Krumplnick," he announced.

"Krumplnick?" I echoed.

"That is my surname."

"Right."

Kip kept staring — not rude, exactly, just intensely, like he was trying to memorize every pore on my face. It was deeply unsettling.

"I noticed," he continued, "that you do not have an Affinity yet. I do not either."

I shrugged. "Guess we're both unlucky."

To my surprise, Kip beamed like I'd handed him a prize. "I am delighted."

I had no idea what the hell to say to that.

A loud snort cut through the moment. Across the hall stood the oversized bastard who'd thrown us through the portal — the human embodiment of a barnyard animal with a rage problem. He pointed at me, rubbed his knee theatrically, and howled with laughter. His little pack of idiots joined in.

I glared hard enough to will spontaneous combustion into existence. No such luck.

"Why did you intervene in my social interaction with Cassian?" Kip asked.

I stared at him in disbelief. "Your social interaction?"

"Yes." Kip said.

"The part where he punched me, pinned me down, and farted on my face?"

Kip nodded solemnly. "Yes."

I gaped. "You know he's a bully, right?"

Kip frowned, genuinely confused. "No. Cassian Drake is my friend."

I barked a laugh before realizing he was serious. "Your friend?"

"Oh yes. We have known each other since we were six. We wrestle often."

Before I could explain that getting your ass kicked by someone twice your size didn't count as wrestling, Kip lit up. "Cassian!" And to my utter disbelief, he trotted straight over like an eager puppy.

Cassian groaned theatrically. "Oh gods, the goblin found me."

Kip ignored the insult completely. "Can I see your stats screen?"

Cassian grabbed him by the collar, yanked him into a headlock, and ground his knuckles into Kip's scalp. "Why are you so damn weird?" Cassian laughed.

Kip winced in pain but didn't fight back. Didn't even look angry. The rest of the pack howled while Cassian shoved him away. Kip straightened his clothes, fixed his hair, and immediately started peppering the bully with questions about his Strength score like nothing had happened.

I watched the whole pathetic display in silence. Kip might think Cassian was his friend. All I saw was a bully who got off on hurting people. And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I hated Cassian Drake a little more than I had five minutes earlier.

◇ ◇ ◇

"Welcome! Welcome, Class 777 — The Golden CohortStudent BodyElias's incoming class, called "the luckiest of numbers" by Archmage Varric.→ Read moreClass 777!" a wizard boomed, voice echoing like he owned the place. "What we have come to call the Golden Cohort!"

He stood at the podium in flashy crimson-and-gold robes, flames dancing along the hems like living embroidery. Looked about fifty, but sounded like he'd chugged a youth potion. Dark hair with silver streaks, eyes swirling with blue-white storm light. Dramatic asshole.

"You are our hope," he declared, arms wide. "Our dreams. Triple sevens! The luckiest of numbers. Fortune smiles upon you this day, and history shall remember you as the brightest generation Tetherpoint Academy has ever produced."

The room exploded in cheers. Kids leapt up, hugged, shouted about their futures. The energy was electric — if you hadn't just been punched, sat on, and branded with a cursed family name.

My first day had been getting my face rearranged, discovering secret stats no one else had, and learning my surname was apparently toxic. "Luck" wasn't the word I'd use. I was just Elias Lumina — some nobody farm kid with ordinary parents. Not destined for greatness. Not noble. Not a prodigy. The first in my family to attend Tetherpoint in generations.

Well… the first one anyone bothered mentioning.

My scowl must've been obvious. The wizard's eyes locked on me from across the hall.

"Interesting," he said, smile vanishing. "It appears we have one student in the back scowling during my introduction."

Laughter rippled through the room. My face burned. I glanced around, praying he meant someone else. No such luck.

He grabbed a long black staff topped with a swirling blue-ice-and-red-flame crystal and stalked toward me. The hall quieted with every step. When he stopped in front of me, those storm eyes felt like they were peeling me open layer by layer.

Then his expression twisted. "Oh," he said softly, leaning in. "I see."

I swallowed. "What?"

"What is your name, boy?"

"Elias."

His eyes narrowed. "Your surname."

"Lumina."

The change was instant. Color drained from his face. Jaw clenched. Then — without warning — he spat. The glob landed inches from my boots.

The entire hall went dead silent.

"What the hell, sir?" I blurted.

Whispers exploded. "Did he say Lumina?" "I thought that family was finished." "No wonder…"

No wonder what?

The wizard straightened, composing himself, though his face stayed ice-cold. "Yes," he muttered. "A Lumina. Of course."

I stared, stunned. I'd expected nobles to sneer at the farm kid. I hadn't expected one of the academy's top dogs to look at my name like it was a fresh turd on his boot.

"Get to your seat, novice," he ordered.

I wanted to argue. Wanted to demand answers. But the dangerous stillness in his eyes warned me that wouldn't end well. I sat.

◇ ◇ ◇

He turned away and strutted back to the podium like he hadn't just publicly humiliated me.

"This is indeed a happy moment," he proclaimed grandly. "I am Archmage Varric Pyre, Elementalist Extraordinary, master of ice and fire, veteran of many wars, and now your prestigious instructor at Tetherpoint Academy."

The students erupted in applause. I barely heard it. For the first time, I found myself wondering what the hell my great-uncle had actually done to earn this kind of reception.

Varric droned on about the academy's glorious eight-hundred-year history since the The Age of AshesHistorical EraAn ancient period during which Tetherpoint Academy was founded.→ Read moreAge of Ashes, name-dropping legendary graduates who slew dragons and sealed rifts. Every few minutes he'd blast out flashy magic — flames twisting into warriors, ice sculptures shimmering like show-off bullshit.

I tried to pay attention. Really. But my mind kept circling back to his little spit-take.

A Lumina. Of course. Why the fear? Why the whispers? And why did no one in my family ever speak about my great-uncle?

"Look around you," Varric boomed, silencing the room. "Look left. Look right. Look at the poor souls beside and behind you."

I obeyed. Cassian sat ahead, smirking like he owned the place. Kip was staring at the ceiling, mouthing numbers like a weirdo.

"Statistics tell us only half of you will graduate," Varric continued, pacing like a showman.

The hall went quiet.

"Half will fail. Some will quit. Some will realize they're simply not cut out for this." Nervous murmurs rippled. Then he grinned. "And I say nay to those statistics!"

He thrust his hands up. Flames roared skyward, twisting into a massive phoenix that spanned the hall. Gasps and cheers. Then he flicked his fingers — the fire cooled, and shimmering snowflakes drifted down like magical confetti.

The students lost their minds.

"This is Class 777!" he roared. "The Golden Cohort!"

More cheering. Fists pumping. For one stupid second, I almost bought it. Maybe we were special. Maybe I belonged here after all.

A freezing avalanche of snow slammed onto my head instead of gentle flakes.

I gasped as icy slush poured down my neck and soaked my shirt. Shock flipped to rage. I shot up, wiping my eyes, looking around wildly.

Some kids stared in shock. Others grinned like it was the highlight of their day. One thing was crystal clear: nobody else was covered in snow. Just me.

"Seriously, what the fuck?" I demanded, voice echoing.

Laughter died. All eyes on me.

Archmage Varric Pyre turned slowly. Any fake warmth from his speech was gone. He looked at me, at the dripping mess, then back at me. He knew I hadn't done shit. And he didn't care.

"I warned you, young Lumina," he said coldly. "Do not disrupt this gathering."

"But you—" I started.

Without thinking, I raised my hand. For a split second I imagined ripping that stupid staff from his grip and cracking it over his skull. I could almost feel the weight. Almost see the shock on his face.

Something in my chest tightened, like raw power was right there if I just wanted it badly enough.

Nothing happened.

Varric didn't even blink.

"I did not ask for your explanation," he said, voice like a slamming door. "I asked for your silence."

I opened my mouth anyway — the stubborn idiot in me refusing to shut up.

Varric raised his staff and pointed it straight at me.

The world vanished.

No flash. No explosion. One second I was in the hall. The next I was falling.

I crashed onto cold stone, air knocked out of me. Groaning, I sat up. Small, dreary room. Bare walls, narrow bed, tiny desk under a slit window. Thick iron bars on the door.

A brass plaque beside them read:

I stared. "Well… fuck."

I dropped into the chair and buried my head in my hands. Snow still melted in my hair.

What the hell was so toxic about my last name? Why had Varric looked at me like a ghost? Why the whispers? And why did it feel like I was being punished for crimes I'd never committed?

I'd worked my whole life for this. Late nights studying. Volunteer work. Perfect grades. Years dreaming of Tetherpoint. Had I really busted my ass just to crash and burn on day one?

No answers. The silence sure as hell wasn't offering any.

◇ ◇ ◇

My thoughts spiraled darker until a shrill screech snapped me out of it.

I looked toward the window. The strangest owl I'd ever seen perched there — ancient, ragged feathers, one eye pitch black, the other glowing gold like it had seen too much. It studied me with unnerving intelligence.

After a long silence, it hopped inside, landed on the desk with a heavy thud, and stared some more. Then, apparently disappointed in whatever test I'd failed, it huffed, spread its wings, and flew out.

But it left something behind.

A weathered envelope sat on the desk where nothing had been moments before. Yellowed, soft with age. Silver ink on the front:

I picked it up. Set it down. Picked it up again.

Nobody ever talked about Uncle Daemeon. Not once. His name was conversational poison — the kind that killed chatter and made eyes dart away. I'd stopped asking years ago.

Now, stuck in detention on day one — snow melting in my hair, my name a curse, an archmage's spit still fresh in my mind — I finally had something from the family ghost.

This time, I didn't put the envelope down.

Elias, my dear nephew,

Take this gift. Know this: it will only awaken if you join The VeilFaction — One of the FourThe most feared faction. Studies souls, memory, identity, and forbidden magic.→ Read moreThe Veil. Should you do so, it will grant you power. More power than you can presently imagine. And with it, you will discover the truth of our ancient heritage.

The world will tell you many things about me. Most of them are lies. I pray that, one day, you will understand why I chose the path I did.

With love,
Uncle Daemeon

"Fuck no," I spat aloud. I nearly hurled the pendant across the cell like it had personally insulted my mother.

No goddamn way was I following that disgraced bastard's footsteps. I wasn't joining The VeilFaction — One of the FourThe most feared faction. Studies souls, memory, identity, and forbidden magic.→ Read moreThe Veil. I wasn't dabbling in their poisoned, forbidden shit. I was raised to protect people, not slink around in shadows hoarding dirty little secrets like some gutter rat.

But... the fucking thing was beautiful.

The Luminus PendantLegacy Item — DormantA mysterious pendant from Uncle Daemeon. Swirls with blue-green light and ancient symbols.→ Read morependant sat in my palm, unnaturally warm, blue-green light swirling beneath the surface like a trapped, malevolent sea. Ancient symbols drifted through the glow, teasing secrets before vanishing. I hated how desperately I wanted to slip it over my head.

"Damn you, Daemeon Lumina," I growled, fists clenched until my knuckles cracked. "Damn you straight to whatever pit you crawled out of!"

My fist slammed the desk.

"OI! NUMB NUTS!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The mountain of a man from the gate — the bearded gorilla who'd herded us like sheep — loomed outside the bars, scowling like I'd pissed in his ale.

"We ain't runnin' no desk brothel in here! Keep yer filthy hands off the furniture, boy."

I blinked. "What?"

"Ye heard me."

For the sake of my continued existence, I decided not to press my luck. Fucking hell. This walking avalanche ran The Detention BlockLocation — Tetherpoint AcademyAn underground holding area beneath the Great Hall, overseen by Borin Grimhall.→ Read moredetention? Nothing good ever came from a place like this.

I raised my hand like a nervous schoolboy.

"Sir?"

"Yes, food for maggots?"

"How do I get out of here?"

He stared at me for three long seconds, then exploded into a belly laugh that shook the bars.

"Graduate."

My stomach plummeted.

"Kiddin', lad," he wheezed, wiping his eye. Then he squinted at the clipboard. "Elias Lumina, eh?" A pause. "Huh."

My guts twisted.

"Interestin'," he muttered. "Another Lumina."

Another?

I opened my mouth, but he was already lumbering over with a ring of keys big enough to club someone to death.

"Tell ya what, kid," he rumbled as the lock clanked open. "This whole mess reeks of a setup."

The iron door groaned.

"Name's Borin GrimhallAlly — Detention WardenA mountain of a man who runs the detention block. Member of The Veil.→ Read moreBorin Grimhall." He thrust out a dinner-plate hand. "Pleasure."

I hesitated half a second before shaking it.

That's when I spotted it: the silver insignia pinned under his beard — a hooded eye wreathed in black thorns.

The Veil.

I stared.

Borin's face hardened.

"Ain't polite to stare, boy."

I jerked my eyes up.

"S-Sorry."

Silence stretched.

Then he grunted.

"Most folks see this and shit themselves."

"I'm nervous," I admitted.

A ghost of a smirk.

"Good. Means you ain't completely brainless."

He stepped aside.

"Off with ya."

I snatched Daemeon's letter, then my eyes locked back on the Luminus PendantLegacy Item — DormantA mysterious pendant from Uncle Daemeon. Swirls with blue-green light and ancient symbols.→ Read morependant.

Still glowing softly.

Still tempting.

Still a goddamn trap wrapped in pretty lies.

The letter was crystal clear: it only woke up if I joined The Veil.

Which I absolutely, positively, under-no-circumstances was not doing.

Still...

If it was inert right now...

It was one hell of a nice necklace.

Then paranoia hit.

What if it was cursed?

What if the second I touched it Daemeon turned me into a toad or a mindless puppet?

I glared at it like it owed me money.

"You ain't seriously scared of a shiny rock, are ya?" Borin called.

"I'm exercising caution."

"Yer glaring at it like it kicked your dog."

I scowled.

The pendant just sat there, glowing all innocent.

Bastard.

"Hey!" Borin barked. "We ain't got all day, space cadet!"

With a defeated groan I grabbed the thing and shoved it into my inventory.

A faint blue notification flickered:

It vanished before I could dig deeper.

Interesting.

At least the old traitor had been half-honest. The pendant really was tied to our cursed family blood.

But why the hell did it only work if I sold my soul to The Veil?

If they were the villains... why would anyone choose that path?

And if they weren't...

No.

I shook the thought away like a bad smell.

The Veil dealt in forbidden filth, hidden knives, and secret atrocities.

Everyone knew that.

Didn't they?

"'EH!" Borin bellowed from below.

I leaned over the railing.

"If ye ever need somethin', I'll be down here babysittin' you sorry lot of scoundrels!"

I couldn't help a reluctant half-smile.

"Thanks!"

It came out more uncertain than grateful.

Hell of a way to make an ally — a Veil thug running detention.

Shouldn't that be The Shield's job?

Best not to dwell.

Thinking too hard about any of this shit just invited migraines.

I reached the top of the stairs, cracked the massive wooden door, and peered out.

The The Great HallLocation — Tetherpoint AcademyThe central gathering space where major announcements and ceremonies take place.→ Read moreGreat Hall.

Perfect.

Varric was still droning on.

I ducked back like a coward.

No way in hell was I getting zapped back into that cell today.

"And now," Varric boomed, "you shall commence Faction TryoutsAcademy EventAn exercise where students whose souls are deemed ideal are selected as faction leaders.→ Read moreFaction Tryouts!"

The hall exploded with chatter.

"Those whose souls have been deemed ideal representatives have already been selected as leaders..."

He waved his staff.

Four students lit up like prize livestock.

Golden light flared, and faction insignias burned onto their uniforms.

The Shield.

The Flame.

The Grove.

And—

I squinted.

No.

Fuck no.

Cassian Drake stood front and center, glowing like a false prophet.

Then, with the universe's sickest sense of humor, the insignia of The ShieldFaction — One of the FourThe protectors of Valerguard. Knights, guardians, and defenders of civilization.→ Read moreThe Shield blazed proudly across his chest.

I nearly choked.

What?

Absolutely fucking not.

The guy who punched me in the face, pinned me down, and farted on my head — repeatedly — was now a shining example of heroism?

What in the ever-loving, twisted fuck was this place?

I scanned the room for outrage.

Nobody batted an eye.

Nobody except me.

And that was somehow the most terrifying part of all.

I spent the night tossing and turning in the Year 1 Male BarracksLocation — Tetherpoint AcademyCramped maze of bunks housing all first-year males before faction sorting.→ Read moreYear 1 male barracks, my mind a vicious hamster wheel of rage and disbelief. Because the faction sorting hadn't happened yet, all the first-year males were crammed together in one stinking maze of bunks like cattle in a pen.

Thank the gods my cot was as far from him as possible.

Cassian DrakeRival — First-Year NoviceA large, confident bully who uses his size to dominate others.→ Read moreCassian.

I glared at the stone ceiling, fists clenched white-knuckle beneath the threadbare blanket. How the fuck was that walking sack of shit tracking for The ShieldFaction — One of the FourThe protectors of Valerguard. Knights, guardians, and defenders of civilization.→ Read moreThe Shield? A protector? The bastard who'd punched me, pinned me, and used my face as a goddamn throne.

Preposterous.

They should've dragged him straight to The VeilFaction — One of the FourThe most feared faction. Studies souls, memory, identity, and forbidden magic.→ Read moreThe Veil with the rest of the degenerates.

Then again...

Borin GrimhallAlly — Detention WardenA mountain of a man who runs the detention block. Member of The Veil.→ Read moreBorin was Veil.

Gruff as a rusty axe, sure, but he was the one who actually let me out of detention.

Agh.

Fuck this hypocritical hellhole already.

Sleep, when it finally came, offered no mercy.

It dragged me into a suffocating nightmare: a vast field of gray ash stretching endlessly beneath a dead sky. Burnt corpses littered the ground like discarded dolls. Faces flashed before me — twisted in agony, eyes wide with betrayal. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

Every single one felt like an accusation.

Just as one face began to sharpen into someone I recognized —

A blinding white flash ripped me awake.

"GOOD MORNING, CLASS OF 777!"

I nearly fell out of my cot.

Standing in the center of the barracks was Sylin MerryweatherAnnoyance — Year 6 RAA relentlessly cheerful sixth-year and proud member of The Grove. Wakes cadets at dawn with a Shiver-Beak Rooster.→ Read moreSylin Merryweather, Year 6 Residential Assistant and insufferably proud member of The GroveFaction — One of the FourHealers, druids, and nature mages who serve as the backbone of any adventuring party.→ Read moreThe Grove. His staff blazed with artificial sunrise bullshit while perched atop it was the true instrument of evil — a Shiver-Beak RoosterCreature — Magical BeastAn enchanted bird whose screech drains mana and the will to live.→ Read moreShiver-Beak Rooster.

The scrawny little bastard let out another screech.

Pain exploded behind my eyes.

My teeth rattled. My skull vibrated. It felt like the bird had reached directly into my brain with tiny claws and scraped away my will to live.

Sylin, apparently immune to the suffering of others, beamed at us.

"Today will be a great day!" he announced with the enthusiasm. "You will all embark on your very first adventure! Archmage Varric will meet you in the dining hall with further instructions."

◇ ◇ ◇

"Yip, yip!"

The noise scraped across the barracks, flat and dead-eyed, courtesy of Kip KrumplnickAlly — First-Year NoviceA small, red-haired boy with an intense stare and an oddly literal way of seeing the world.→ Read moreKip. He'd apparently glanced at the morning board and discovered the kitchen was serving potato hash and scrambled eggs — and this, tragically, was his version of unbridled ecstasy. I watched him for a second, right up until Cassian "accidentally" broadsided him, sending Kip face-first into the menu frame.

For a fleeting, beautiful second, Kip scrambled up with actual fury painting his face. But the moment he realized it was Cassian who'd leveled him, the anger evaporated, replaced instantly by that same vacant, grateful grin.

The dynamic was pathetic. I still harbored a vivid, detailed fantasy of stringing Cassian up by his big toes until his ears bled for the way he played Kip like a cheap fiddle. But whatever. Not my circus, not my brain-damaged monkeys. Best to just focus on surviving my own day.

Then Kip's yipping cut short. He spotted me and scuttled over like an eager, oversized beetle.

"Hello friend. We are having breakfast hash and scrambled eggs today at morning chow. That is great, do you not think?"

Kip topped out at a generous 5'2" to my 5'10", forcing him to crane his neck and look up at me with the devastating expectance of a golden retriever waiting for a tossed ball. He wanted a partner in his culinary excitement.

I forced my lips into a shape resembling a human smile. "Oh right, yes. Delicious."

The lie sufficed. His attention span drifted, and he mercifully looked away.

"Let us walk together," Kip chirped, falling into step as we headed for the mess hall.

The trek was a masterclass in psychological horror. Kip spent the entire walk rambling about his grand aspirations to join The Shield. Apparently, he and Cassian had discussed at length how Kip would make a "dutiful soldier," and how crucial it was for Kip to remain "completely submissive to the chain of command."

Submissive. Grooming a glorified meat-shield and calling it leadership. It wasn't just an abuse of power; it was a goddamn masterclass in it. And why would Kip want in The Shield, he seemed more like he belonged in The FlameFaction — One of the FourWarriors, duelists, and battle-mages who thrive in direct combat.→ Read moreThe Flame or The Grove.

Breakfast, infuriatingly, was actually good. The hash boasted wild boar and Emporium Silver potatoes, and the eggs weren't some mass-produced chicken sludge — they were genuine Drake eggs. Fine. I could finally begrudge Kip and his palette. But the gourmet spread was just a tactical reminder: we were being turned into the elite, and they spared no expense on their investments. For a fleeting second, a rush of unadulterated entitlement hit me. I earned this spot. I belong here. Then the familiar, heavy knot of guilt slammed into my chest, choking out the pride. I didn't have the luxury of enjoying a meal. I needed to make The Shield. I needed to scrub the stain off my family's name and force my parents to look at the son they raised without shame.

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The heavy oak doors banged open. Archmage Varric PyreInstructor — Elementalist ExtraordinaryMaster of ice and fire. Member of The Flame. Targets Elias with open hostility.→ Read moreVarric sauntered into the mess hall, radiating effortless superiority. To ensure every eye was fixed exactly where it belonged — on him — he flicked his wrist and conjured a localized, crackling thunderstorm directly over his head. Lightning flashed against the stone ceiling; thunder rattled our plates.

"A wonderfully good morning to you all," Varric purred, his voice easily cutting through the rumble.

His eyes swept the room like a landlord assessing a barn full of livestock. They snagged on me for a fraction of a second. His brow twitched into a micro-scowl of profound disappointment before he smoothly looked past me to begin his sermon.

"Every great adventurer starts with a singularly pathetic first step," Varric announced, pacing with an insufferable smirk. "Today is yours. It seems the Rustlefoot GoblinsCreature — EnemyBottom-tier pests (level 3 max) outside Tether. Foots, Clerks, and Handlers.→ Read moreRustlefoot Goblins outside Tether have mistaken our patience for weakness. No longer content with eating our garbage from the landfill, they've graduated to robbing the defenseless. They even slaughtered a resisting elderly woman after she dared to defend herself with a cane."

The hall erupted into a chorus of predictable, idealistic gasps. Those around me looked properly outraged.

"Yes, yes, do pipe down," Varric sighed, waving a dismissive hand as if their anger was a mild social inconvenience. "She was a delight, really. Grannie EzmereldaPerson — DeceasedBeloved former Academy cook murdered by Rustlefoot Goblins.→ Read moreGrannie Ezmerelda. Cooked in this very hall for decades before retirement. Tragic." He paused for a performative, theatrical moment of silence.

"So, you see, we must clean up the trash. The Rustlefoot pests are bottom-tier garbage — level three at absolute best. Little more than pests. Their pathetic bands consist of three types: the 'Foot,' a basic grunt who dual-wields daggers; the 'Clerk,' who fumbles with rudimentary potions to provide weak heals and laughably futile fire bombs; and the 'Handler,' who commands mangy, wild strays, throws pebbles, and expects you to be intimidated by a mutt."

Students looked around at each other, some with cocky grins, others with a rising mask of panic. This was the exact moment things got real. Real monsters, a real adventure, and a real threat of death the second we accepted the quest.

"Some of you may be feeling squeamish," Archmage Varric's voice boomed over the murmurs. "If you are not up to par, please see me after chow. I can easily strip your adventurer stats and send you back home to your mothers."

Varric made a grand, sweeping gesture with his staff, and all four corners of the The Great HallLocation — Tetherpoint AcademyThe central gathering space where major announcements and ceremonies take place.→ Read moregreat hall transformed. Each corner warped, shifting to display the distinct aesthetic of a separate faction.

"But for those of you who are not neutered kittens," Varric sneered, "you will find your chosen faction's corner. Gather there."

I looked across the expanse of the room. My eyes immediately locked onto The Shield corner — marked by the emblem of the lion. And, of course, standing right at the center of it was Cassian.

That was my corner. "This is merely a trial," Varric added. "You have not taken the The Insignia OathAcademy TraditionThe formal ceremony by which a student pledges allegiance to a faction.→ Read moreInsignia Oath yet. You are simply trying to find a fit."

Cassian was already acting as The Shield's de facto leader, and I knew I had to cooperate since we would, unfortunately, be forced to spend the campaign together. I mustered what little confidence I had left, took a deep breath, and strode deliberately over to the lion emblem.

"Well, well. Look who we have here." Cassian's face contorted into a condescending smirk the moment I approached. "In The Shield, we expect discipline." He looked me dead in the eye. "Name and desired role for this campaign?"

"Elias Lumina. I… I'm not sure yet." My confidence faltered, a sudden wave of unpreparedness hitting my chest.

"Well, for fuck's sake," Cassian barked, rolling his eyes. "You're tanking, then. Go grab a shield and a one-hander." He looked me up and down, evaluating my frame. "You've got a little muscle on those chicken-wing arms of yours. Grab the mace."

"A tank? Seriously?" I protested, my temper flaring. "Shouldn't you be the tank? You're the biggest one here!"

The smirk vanished. Cassian got real mean, real quick. "I do not tolerate insubordination, village boy. Insubordination gets people killed."

Before I could even register the movement, Cassian moved. He slammed me hard against the stone floor, the air rushing from my lungs as he pinned me down under his massive weight. He drew back a heavy, clenched fist, hovering it inches from my face.

"Don't you ever try to embarrass me in front of my crew again," he growled, low enough for only me to hear.

The rest of the trainees just watched in silence. Nobody stepped in.

He shoved himself off me, leaving me gasping on the floor. I swallowed the rage burning in my throat, pushed myself up, and walked over to the equipment racks to grab the gear.

And thus, I was officially a damn meat-shield for Cassian Drake.

That peanut-brained buffoon wanted his absolute discipline, and the System was more than happy to let him enforce it. The sheer absurdity of assigning me to the tank position was laughable. I was quick, agile, and knew how to swing a hammer with leverage. But I was lean—easily swatted aside compared to a lumbering mammoth like Cassian. By any logical metric, I belonged on the front line as an aggressive skirmisher or a high-mobility striker.

Instead, I was a tank. Bureaucratic, institutional violent conformity, codified by a stat block.

Just get through this one quest, I told myself, checking the unfamiliar weight of the trainee's shield on my arm. Survive the trial, then convince the bastard to let me switch roles. Maybe if I performed with aggressive, malicious incompetence, he'd realize my build was entirely unsuited for the frontline grind and reassign me out of sheer utility.

The parameters of the trial assignment materialized on our interfaces. The mission objective was a simple, sterile numbers game: cull exactly 20% of the local Rustlefoot GoblinsCreature — EnemyBottom-tier pests found outside Tether. Their bands consist of the Foot, the Clerk, and the Handler.→ Read moreRustlefoot Goblin population. Mathematically, that translated to ten kills per squad.

With roughly thirty trainees assigned to The ShieldFaction — One of the FourProtectors of Valerguard. Knights, guardians, and defenders who believe duty is the highest calling.→ Read moreThe Shield, the cohort was split into standard five-man adventuring cells. Cassian, playing the role of the grand commander, didn't actually lower himself to join a specific squad. He positioned himself squarely in the center of the operational zone, distributing trans-communication crystals to his hand-picked squad leaders.

The crystals were standard-issue gear for low-level Shield officers. They allowed the squad leaders to feed a direct visual data-stream into Cassian's system interface while granting him a high-priority, targeted teleportation anchor to any squad's location.

They were actively grooming him for institutional command. The realization made my stomach turn. That position should have belonged to someone with an actual brain. Me. Kip. Hell, literally anyone else.

An audible, bitter sigh escaped my throat.

"You got something to say, soldier?" Cassian's voice cut through the noise, sharp, clipped, and dripping with unearned authority.

"No, sir," I muttered. I didn't even bother hiding the venom in my delivery. My skin burned with a cocktail of humiliation and rising Resentment.

I turned my back on him to evaluate Group 3. It was a bizarre, mismatched collection of first-year outcasts. Kip was locked in as our ranged damage dealer. Next to him stood Telilah, an intense girl nervously white-knuckling a pair of dual-wielded short-swords, while her twin brother, Tevin, checked his inventory of low-grade healing potions to act as our dedicated party support. Then there was Markko, an eccentric who spent his entire preparation period hoarding unstable explosive reagents, clearly intending to detonate the goblins rather than fight them.

And I was supposed to stand in front of this circus and take the hits.

"Good," Cassian barked, completely ignoring the tension. He stepped past me, his eyes landing on the red-haired boy. "Kip. You're leading Group 3."

He pressed the glowing trans-communication crystal into Kip's hands.

"Yes, sir!" Kip barked with terrifying, unironic enthusiasm.

I was glad he was picked, but the knot in my stomach only tightened as I watched the exchange. This wasn't a case of Kip being used. Kip was fiercely, genuinely loyal to Cassian. Yet, inexplicably, Kip was also my friend. Trying to navigate his split devotion was exhausting; he was completely blind to Cassian's malice, viewing the tyrant's cruelty as necessary discipline, while still showing me a raw, intense loyalty of his own.

But looking at the crystal in Kip's hand, the strategic insult was unmistakable. In any standard adventuring doctrine, the tank is the de facto party leader. It's basic tactical common sense: the guy taking the hits controls the pace of engagement and manages enemy positioning. By forcing me into the meat-shield slot but handing the leadership crystal to his favorite whipping boy, Cassian was completely throwing out standard combat logic just to keep me under his heel. He didn't even follow basic system protocol. It was a calculated institutional slap in the face to me, and a reward for Kip's compliance.

Kip might be an eccentric, unsettlingly literal outlier, but he was far more perceptive than any other first-year I'd crossed paths with so far. I just had to hope that perceptiveness wouldn't get us killed under his idol's gaze.

Before I could dwell on it, Cassian started barking orders at the entire cohort.

"Attention, squads! We move out toward High Breen village. Scout reports indicate a massive troupe of Rustlefoot Goblins holding the terrain between here and the settlement." He then began pointing and mapping out our specific coordinates within his grand, sweeping semi-circle strategic design. I wanted to physically gag at the pompous naming conventions he threw around, but I settled for rolling my eyes when his back was turned.

Group 3 was assigned the spearhead—the dead center of the formation, driving straight down the main path toward the village.

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And so, we were off, crystals shining brightly in the hands of the squad leaders. As we marched past the outer perimeter, the gems shed their light silently across the path. I couldn't help but wonder why the local monsters were growing increasingly bold. Were their numbers surging, or was something deeper drawing them out toward the settlement?

My contemplation lasted exactly until Cassian decided to test the audio link.

Instantly, his obnoxious, booming voice rattled through the crystals. The bastard was taking this whole 'absolute compliance' routine to a borderline pathological level. For the entire trek, Cassian read aloud from a standard-issue Shield tactics manual, unironically micro-managing our step-by-step formations.

It was completely unnecessary. Archmage Varric had been fully confident that even the soft-hearted scholars from The GroveFaction — One of the FourHealers, scholars, and caretakers who believe compassion is the highest virtue.→ Read moreThe Grove could clear these woods. For a cohort that had explicitly volunteered for The Shield, this was basic, common-sense stuff.

The strategy was rudimentary: the tank pulls the aggressive focus of the goblins using insults, throwing rocks, or executing a frontal charge—whatever it takes to get them thoroughly pissed off. Once the targets are sufficiently distracted, the backline throws explosives and looses arrows. Tevin was supposed to keep me alive, while I used my positioning to slow down any cowards trying to break rank and flee. Cassian's manual explicitly dictated that a brutal skull-bash with a mace was the optimal opener, but looking down at my lean frame, I privately resolved to target their Achilles' tendons instead.

We finally spotted them lurking in a dense thicket. The Rustlefoot Goblins were a grotesque sight—squat, four-foot-tall degenerates with warty, greenish-blue skin and tattered rags hanging from their frames. Their protruding chins jutted out beneath short, disproportionate arms, and their bow-legged feet shifted in the dirt.

There were three of them, all Level 1, huddled around a crude campfire.

I didn't give them a chance to coordinate. I sprinted forward, initiating a heavy shield-charge directly into the center of their camp. The impact caught the lead goblin dead-on, driving him backward into the dirt.

"Ah, what the fuck, man!" one of the remaining goblins shrieked. It scrambled backward, wildly flinging jagged stones in my direction.

I snapped my wrist up, angling the trainee's shield into the trajectory of the rocks.

A translucent notification flashed across my vision right as I drove my mace downward into the skull of the staggered goblin.

Before I could recover my stance, the third goblin ambushed me from the flank, lunging with a rusted dagger. The blade bit deep into my side, bypassing my guard.

A splash of cold, pressurized fluid burst across my shoulder as Tevin tossed a low-grade healing potion from the rear.

A sharp whistle cut through the air. Kip loosed a perfectly timed arrow, striking the first, staggered goblin squarely through the eye socket. The remaining fifty points of its health bar instantly depleted, and its body collapsed into a lifeless heap.

I quickly pivoted, shifting my shield to wall off the dagger-wielder. The maneuver intentionally exposed my flank to the stone-thrower, but a jagged rock only bruised for a single point of damage—far less lethal than getting systematically carved to pieces by a blade.

"Tank, pin the daggers," Kip commanded, his delivery entirely monotone despite the chaos. "Telilah, rush the stone-thrower and execute."

The squad moved like clockwork. Telilah sprinted past my perimeter, her dual short-swords blurring as she delivered five rapid, vicious stabs into the stone-thrower's chest. Its health bar plummeted into the red right as Kip anchored it to the dirt with another volley of arrows.

I was left fending off the dagger-wielder alone. I cycled through rapid shield-blocks and desperate dodges, trying to find a clean window to land a retaliatory strike with my mace. The little bastard was incredibly quick. Shallow cuts began accumulating along my forearms, but I managed to prevent the blade from finding a vital organ.

Still, the cut damage was adding up fast. After absorbing roughly forty points of cumulative cut damage, I realized my health bar was getting dangerously low—and the expected healing splash wasn't coming. I glanced back and realized the grim truth: Tevin was completely ignoring my status bar to hover over his twin sister.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, heal me!" I roared, parrying another frantic swipe.

"Chain of command, asshole," Tevin bellowed back, casually organizing his satchel. "Listen to the squad leader."

"Heal him," Kip stated flatly, not breaking his aim.

Tevin scoffed, reluctantly smashing a secondary potion at my boots.

"He's a shit tank," Tevin muttered to Kip, loud enough for me to hear. "Takes way too much damn damage."

Rage flared hot in my chest, and I funneled that raw irritation straight into my swing. I caught the dagger-wielder with a brutal, crushing side-swipe, obliterating a quarter of its remaining health pool. With the stone-thrower already neutralized by Telilah and Kip, the entire squad converged on the final target. Outnumbered and surrounded, the last goblin didn't stand a fraction of a chance.

As the light faded from its yellow eyes, a golden cascade of text erupted across my field of vision.

With the adrenaline fading, I looked back and saw Markko laying face-down in the dirt. It looked as though the stone-throwing goblin had managed to best him early in the chaotic scuffle, knocking him out cold before he could even detonate a single explosive reagent. Fortunately, his health bar wasn't critically low, but he was completely paralyzed under a standard [Unconscious] status debuff.

Seeing that his sister was no longer in immediate danger, Tevin finally deigned to do his job, reluctantly throwing a low-grade heal potion at Markko's limp form to clear the negative status effect.

Once Markko scrambled groggily to his feet, coughing up dirt, we crowded around the camp to split the spoils of the encounter. Kneeling beside the dissipating corpses of the three goblins, we began to systematically loot their ragged gear.

Outside of a few tarnished copper pieces, the wretched things had absolutely nothing of value on them. No rare drops, no enchanted trinkets—just the absolute baseline scraps of a low-level encounter. We divided the meager coin evenly among the party, each of us pocketing exactly 4 copper pieces for our trouble.

Turns out, this school doesn't teach you how to swim—they just chuck you into the deep end and watch you drown.

And that smug-nosed bastard of a healer? Left me out to dry. I know he's got some creepy psychic tether to his twin, but she was fine. I am the tank. I take the hits, I get the heals. That's how the math works.

Fucking hell. Now I'm actually calling myself a tank. I don't even want to be a tank. Goddammit.

"Shit work, Lumina!" Cassian's voice cut through the air, dripping with pure disgust. "You let your melee DPS take damage. You failed to protect her. Because of your incompetence, the healer had to pivot and neglect you."

I sneered, opening my mouth to defend myself. "Well, if you would have—"

He dismissed me with a lazy wave of his hand, completely cutting me off. "As a tank, your party looks to you for leadership."

The sheer audacity. If leadership was the goal, why the fuck wasn't I running the show? "You would have been healed just fine if you actually protected your DPS," he added smoothly.

"You know what?!" I snapped, my voice spiking. "Why the fuck is Kip the leader instead of me if I'm supposed to be running things? I can't command a squad like this!"

Cassian didn't argue. He just flashed a sinister, razor-sharp grin and leveled me.

Before I could even blink, he charged. The impact slammed me flat on my ass, violently knocking every molecule of air right out of my lungs. I lay there, gasping like a fish on dry land.

"Kip is a better strategist than you," Cassian said, completely unbothered by the fact that he'd just manhandled me. He turned his back on my wheezing frame. "Now, Kip! Constant communication with your tank. More assertiveness."

"Yes, sir!" Kip barked back, his reply pathetic and entirely too eager to please.

"Do better next time," Cassian shouted over his shoulder while teleporting away before the dust even settled.

"Fucking hell... that miserable prick," I wheezed, clutching my throbbing ribs as I dragged myself off the dirt.

"Go fuck yourself, Lumina!" Telilah shrieked from the sidelines. "You heard the man. Do better!"

A dark, toxic heat seethed in my chest. What I wouldn't give to rip one of her precious daggers from her belt, shove it directly down her throat, and watch her choke on her own blood.

"Okay. Let's move. Seven more goblins to slaughter," Kip ordered, already marching forward like a good little soldier.

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The next three goblins went down with considerably less blood—mine, specifically.

My new Fast Feet passive combined with my boosted agility actually let me move like a functional human being for once, dancing around their rusty blades. I also figured out that if I planted my shield directly into a goblin's teeth, the bash knocked them completely senseless for a solid minute, leaving them wide open for the rest of the squad to execution-style finish them off. Even Markko managed to stay conscious this time. His bomb-throwing was actually useful; the blasts kicked off a blinding, mini-sun flashbang effect that kept the little bastards disoriented.

That light show gave Telilah all the opening she needed to slip into the shadows, get behind them, and drive her blades home. Her backstab hit like a freight train, opening up brutal bleed wounds that drained the goblins in seconds.

But of course, there was still a glaring weak link. Her prick of a twin brother, Tevin, still waited until the absolute last agonizing second to throw a heal my way whenever I took a hit. Getting "topped off" apparently wasn't in his vocabulary. I absorbed every ounce of punishment in that fight while his precious sister didn't suffer a single scratch, and the bastard still treated my health bar like an afterthought.

On the bright side, Kip was finally growing a spine. I fed him the tactical line-of-sight info from the front lines, and to my surprise, his brain actually processed it instantly. He was scarily adept at spitting out the right commands. I still could have done the exact same thing myself and cut out the middleman, saving us all some damn time, but at least Kip wasn't a total liability. He was actually competent.

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"Group three, turn to two o'clock. I need you to take out a band of four level-twos." Cassian's voice crackled through the communication crystal, smug and detached.

Now this felt like an actual test. Up until now, we'd only been swatting level-one trash in groups of three. As we closed the distance, the threat became clear. This wasn't a mindless horde; it was a balanced squad. Two of them were Foots, dual-wielding nasty, rusted blades. The third was a rock-throwing Handler, and this time, the bastard brought a mangy attack dog. The final goblin was a Clerk—the squad's designated healer.

"So that's basically five of them," Markko muttered, his voice tightening.

"Tank, charge the clerk," Kip ordered, his voice snapping with newfound authority. "Markko, flashbang the handler and the foot sitting next to each other. I'll multishot them while Telilah and Tevin eliminate the clerk. Tank, pivot immediately after your charge to bash the second foot."

I absolutely hated the plan. Prioritizing the clerk felt like a trap, and leaving a dual-wielding foot unmonitored was a fast track to getting Telilah butchered. So, I decided to fix his strategy on the fly.

Ignoring Kip, I charged the un-stunned foot and yelled for Telilah to back me up. But she didn't. She actually listened to Kip, bypassing my target to lunge at the clerk. It went to hell instantly. Telilah drove her blade into the clerk, but the little monster didn't drop; instead, it chugged a potion, instantly sealing its wounds, and cast a fear spell straight into her face. Telilah shrieked, sprinting away in a blind, terrified panic, while the clerk began chucking healing potions over to the foot I was actively trying to kill.

Suddenly, I was locked in a localized duel with a single, constantly healing foot, completely failing to tank the rest of the room. The flashbang wore off. The handler's dog broke loose and bolted straight for Tevin, tearing into his robes with bloody teeth. Worse, the second foot and the handler bypassed me entirely, sprinting straight for Kip and hacking into his health bar.

A cold sweat broke out across my neck. I had fucked up. Royally.

Seeing the mutt gnawing on Tevin didn't exactly break my heart, but watching Kip get systematically dismantled set my blood on fire—especially since my own arrogance had caused it. Something deep inside my chest cracked open, burning white-hot.

Before I could even think, I lunged forward. I launched ten feet into the air, defying gravity, and came crashing down directly on top of the foot attacking Kip. My mace hit the dirt with a sickening crunch, fracturing the stone beneath us and sending a shockwave through the dirt.

Every monster within a three-meter radius stiffened, stunned cold for a full second and crippled with a five-second speed debuff. The foot directly beneath my mace was turned into a red smear, completely eliminated.

Fueled by the raw adrenaline of the new resource bar, I blurred across the clearing at supersonic speed, slamming my shield directly into the mutt that was chewing on Tevin.

"Heal Telilah!" Kip barked, coughing up blood but still managing to read the field.

The dog and the remaining foot both locked onto me, their aggro instantly snapping to me. I dragged them toward the handler, who was already sitting at a quarter health from Markko's previous fire. Telilah finally snapped out of her fear state, slipping through the shadows to drive a devastating backstab into the final foot just as I pinned the handler down.

My own health bar was tanking hard, plummeting toward the 50% mark under the weight of the combined attacks, but the squad finally rallied. Markko hurled a fire potion directly into the handler's chest. The goblin ignited like firewood, screaming as the flames ate through its leather armor. Kip finished off the stunned dog with a tight cluster of arrows to its skull. To close the circuit, Telilah lunged at the last standing goblin, dragging her dagger across its abdomen with a vicious tear. Its innards spilled onto the dirt before it even hit the ground.

A crisp, glowing notification flooded my vision, washing away the exhaustion.