Chương 30: Chapter 25: The First Test (Part 2)

The forest lay before them, dark and wide, full of unseen life. Behind them, dozens of goblin eyes watched from inside the cave. They were not in the cage anymore, but the weight of the choice sat on their shoulders heavier than any bar. The cold night air bit deeper once the cave's warmth was gone. Gideon led the way up the familiar rise, the same slope he'd climbed so many times carrying buckets or fouled bedding. Tonight, with a pack on his back and a real spear in his hands, the hill felt different somehow.

Exposed. Open. Every rustle of leaves in the forest ahead of him carried a hint of threat and possibility. At the top, the five spread out clumsily, unsure how far apart to stand. The moon cast a pale sheen over the trees, broken in places by drifting clouds. A faint breeze stirred the tall grass on the hillside. For a long moment, none of them spoke. They were alone now. Just five goblins and a wide world that wanted them dead. Gideon planted the butt of the spear in the dirt and dropped the pack to the ground.

The food shifted, a reminder of temptation that didn't let him forget what Dravak had done. He set his feet without thinking. Shoulder-width. Rear foot angled. Hips turned just enough. His goblin body was lighter than his old one, but the stance still came to him naturally. He ran through a few small movements. A careful thrust. A sweep. A pivot that felt wrong until he lowered his center of gravity another inch. The spear stayed between him and the dark.

He was so absorbed in his stances and drills that he didn't notice the four others staring until one whispered, "What are you doing?" Gideon lowered the spear.

"Keeping my hands from shaking," he said. The tall one frowned.

"Those aren't drills I've ever seen."

"They're not from here," Gideon said.

"They helped me once. They might help again." Another narrowed his eyes.

"You trained before this?"

"Some," he admitted.

"But not with a real spear like this." He tapped the metal head lightly with a knuckle.

"But wood is wood." They exchanged glances. Before their capture and enslavement, they had been Warriors in their own tribes. They knew spearwork. But the way Gideon moved looked wrong to their eyes. They shifted into a loose line along the hilltop, each covering a slice of slope leading down into the trees. The forest murmured below them. Insects buzzed. An owl called, then went quiet. Time stretched as Gideon continued his movements. The night grew old.

After a while, a chime echoed in Gideon's head, and he opened the waiting notification. [New Skill Acquired: Spear Proficiency - Level 1] Hours passed in slow, aching silence. The forest settled from the restless sounds of early night into the muted, heavy quiet before dawn. Whenever the cold began settling too deeply into his limbs, Gideon worked through parts of his stretching routine, rolling his shoulders, loosening his back, and bending carefully through each leg while keeping his eyes on the trees.

The others followed in turn without being told, one moving while the rest watched, then returning to position before the next began. By now, the motions had become almost automatic. They held their places, tired but alert. Grub stood closest to the crest, his spear upright beside him. The five packs lay in a single pile nearby, where the others had placed theirs beside his. He was beginning to think nothing would happen. Hoping it, even. Then the air changed.

A low, shuddering growl drifted from the treeline, ragged and hungry. The sound froze all five where they stood. The slaves lifted their spears at once, moving closer together, their instincts raw and immediate. Grub felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he watched shadows shifting between the trees. Two shapes emerged from the undergrowth, creeping low on gaunt legs. Their ribs jutted like blades through mangy fur, bodies trembling with starvation. Their eyes gleamed with a desperate brightness.

Foam flecked the corners of their jaws. Wolves. The tallest slave swore under his breath. The wolves slunk forward, one keeping low, the other circling wide. The five of them instinctively drifted back together, grouping up into a tighter formation.

"We hold," Gideon whispered.

"Spears out. Don't chase. Don't break. Stay together." The wolves crept closer. A warning snap of teeth. Then both wolves lunged toward them in a fluid motion. The first wolf hit their line too fast and too low. The crooked-nosed slave braced his spear, but the wolf twisted mid-leap, jaws clamping onto the haft instead of skewering itself. The impact drove the goblin backward, feet scraping dirt. Gideon stepped in and swung his spear shaft like a staff, cracking it across the wolf's flank.

The beast yelped and spun, but didn't fall. It turned on him, snarling.

"Left!" Gideon snapped. Two spears stabbed forward at once. One hit shallow, slicing fur and skin. The wolf recoiled, hackles rising. The other was dodged with an agile hop from the beast. They were holding it at bay, just barely. The second wolf had circled wide and now lunged at the smallest slave from the side. The goblin screamed, raising his spear a fraction too late. Teeth sank into his forearm, ripping flesh. Blood sprayed. The wolf shook hard, trying to drag him down.

Gideon surged forward and thrust on instinct, sinking the spear deep into the wolf's shoulder. It yelped in pain.

"Back off!" Gideon shouted. The wolf didn't. Probably didn't understand the goblin language. Oh well, worth a shot. It hauled back, claws digging trenches as it tried to drag the small goblin away. Gideon dropped into the stance his body remembered and sliced the spear across the wolf's ribs with all his weight. The blow hit solidly, digging a jagged cut into its flank. The wolf staggered, and the slave's arm tore free of its jaws. He scrambled backward, clutching the wound, eyes wide.

"Hit it again!" someone screamed. Gideon pressed forward, spear spinning in a tight arc, keeping the wolf's head from finding a new angle. The wolf snapped at air, trying to circle. It lashed out with a paw, sharp claws flashing in the moonlight, and it managed to tear a few lines in Gideon's calf. He screamed in pain, but didn't dare lose focus. They were small. They were tired. They were bleeding. Gideon needed a distraction, something to turn the tide in their favor.

His eyes flicked to the ground and found a stone. Rough and palm-sized. He snatched it and let his fingers feel the weight. He tried to cast Pebble Toss and launch it at the nearest wolf. His Mana stirred, then stuttered. He couldn't figure out why, until he felt a buzzing sensation. It was coming from his spear. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The metal head from the spear did it.

Even thinking about casting near it made the flow of Mana catch and snap. Not now. He didn't hesitate. He slammed the spear head hard against the ground, then stomped on the shaft, breaking it. Now, he was holding a regular wooden staff, and he felt his Mana flowing freely again. Earth welcomed him. He cast Pebble Toss. A faint dampness gathered across his fingers as the Spell took hold. The stone vanished in a blur. Crack. It struck the wolf just above the eye. The beast reeled, yelping, momentarily blind.

"Now!" Gideon barked. All four slaves lunged together. Spearpoints drove into the wolf's side, chest, and neck. The beast collapsed with a choking cough, blood soaking into grass and dirt. A chime echoed in Gideon's head. The remaining wolf hesitated for only a moment, then lunged for them anyway, too hungry to think about retreat. Spears jabbed. One struck its jaw. Another pierced its flank. A third drove between ribs.

Gideon swung low with the staff and smashed the wolf's foreleg with a sickening crunch, the impact jolting up his arm. Bone cracked, and the wolf went down in a heap. They ended it quickly from there. Silence followed, broken only by two more faint chimes in Gideon's ears. All five of them stood panting over the corpses, their breath white in the cold air, spears and splintered staff dripping with blood. The forest had gone still again, as though satisfied with the bloodshed.

The smallest slave sank to one knee, clutching his torn forearm. Another pressed a hand against his side where teeth had broken through skin. Gideon's own calf burned where the creature's claws had opened several bloody lines through the flesh. The wounds were ugly, but not critical. Gideon forced his breathing under control and crouched beside the packs.

"Empty three of them. Put the food in the other two." The others moved without hesitation, cramming the dried meat together while Gideon cut the emptied hide bags into long strips. He knelt beside the smallest goblin and began wrapping the torn forearm. Across from him, the crooked-nosed slave folded a strip of hide against the bite in the other goblin's side while another wound a longer piece around his middle to hold it in place.

"Tighter," Gideon said, glancing over.

"But not so tight he can't breathe. You need to stop the bleeding." They adjusted the binding together. Before Gideon could reach for his own calf, the broad-shouldered slave crouched beside him and took one of the remaining strips.

"I can do it." Gideon hesitated only a moment, then stretched out his leg. The goblin wrapped the cuts carefully, his hands clumsy from exhaustion but following the same steps Gideon had taught them over the past several days. When the knot was tied, Gideon checked the pressure with two fingers and gave a small nod.

"It'll hold. Thank you." He looked over the other bindings once more, then placed a steadying hand on the smaller goblin's shoulder.

"We're alive," he said.

"That's what matters." The goblin nodded shakily. The crooked-nosed slave stared at Gideon, his breathing still uneven.

"That stone," he said slowly.

"That wasn't normal." Another swallowed.

"That was magic." Gideon stiffened. The word felt heavier out here in the dark somehow. He hadn't meant for that to be what they noticed. He hadn't even thought about how it would look. In the chaos, he had only been trying to survive, to buy them the moment they needed to win the fight. He glanced at the broken shaft in his hand, then at the wolves.

"It was… something," he said carefully.

"Keep it to yourselves. For now. Please." The tallest slave shook his head once, not in refusal, but in urgency.

"No. You don't understand." Gideon blinked.

"Understand what?"

"If the Chief knew," the tall one continued in a low voice, "he might gut you like a fish."

"What?" Gideon demanded quietly.

"Why?" The four exchanged a look.

"Goblins don't trust magic," the crooked-nosed one said.

"Not real magic."

"Because of the stories," the smallest added, voice thin but insistent.

"About the shaman."

"What shaman?" Gideon asked, pulse quickening for an entirely different reason now.

"Long ago," the tall one said, eyes flicking toward the treeline as if the forest might be listening, "there was one who wielded great magic. Promised strength and glory. Promised protection. The tribes of the forest followed him."

"And?" Gideon pressed.

"They died," the crooked-nosed one said flatly.

"Most of them at least. The shaman wanted more than they gave. Since then, magic means betrayal for goblins. Weakness. Loss."

"Hunters kill with a bow. Warriors kill with a spear," the smallest muttered.

"That is our strength. Magic is trickery." Gideon's mind raced. The System. Skills. Mana. All of it suddenly felt far less abstract.

"I didn't call spirits," he said quietly.

"I threw a stone."

"You made it fly," the tall one replied.

"Well, please. Keep it to yourselves. For now at least. I'll think of something," Gideon said. One by one, the slaves nodded their agreement.

"We owe you that much, Grub," the tallest one said.

"Your secret is safe with us." He opened his mouth to ask them more about the shaman, but dawn interrupted him. The sky lightened subtly at first. A thinning of the darkness between the trees. The faintest gray bleeding into black. Then the first thin line of sunlight broke across the horizon, cutting through the treeline like a blade. The night was finally over. From somewhere behind them came the distant sound of movement. Gideon looked toward the growing light and felt the shift. The first test had ended.

The sky brightened from charcoal to bruised lavender, and the first thin beams of morning light slanted through the trees. The wolves corpses lay cooling at their feet, dark shapes against the paling grass. Footsteps rustled from behind them, coming up the slope. A trio of Warriors emerged first, squinting into the sun. Their eyes widened slightly at the sight: five goblins upright on the hillside, bloodstained but alive, standing over two dead wolves.

Then Dravak stepped out of the cave and took in the hilltop with one slow sweep of his gaze. His eyes paused on the bodies, the bloodied strips of hide wrapped around three wounds, and the two packs bulging at the seams. Last, he looked at Gideon's spear, now missing its metal head and reduced to a plain wooden staff. He grunted once.

"Well." No celebration. No praise. But no disappointment either.

"Packs." The Warriors stepped forward and took the two bags. Gideon handed them over, feeling the weight leave his hands and knowing how easily it could have gone the other way. Then Dravak nodded toward the weapons.

"Spears." The four slaves handed theirs over instantly. Gideon hesitated half a breath, glancing at the broken shaft in his hand, then passed it over as well. A Warrior bent and retrieved the discarded metal spearhead from the grass, eyeing the snapped haft and torn rawhide binding with a raised brow, but said nothing. Dravak's gaze shifted to the blood soaking into cloth and skin.

"Inside," he said.

"Clean yourselves. Then sleep." That, more than anything, marked the difference. They weren't shoved back into the cage immediately. They were escorted down the slope and into the cavern under watchful eyes. The silence that followed them wasn't mocking. Warriors tracked the torn flesh, the steady way they walked despite it, and the dead wolves being dragged into the cavern behind them. Under the stone overhang where their supplies were kept, the Warriors stepped back and gave them room. Gideon moved first.

"Get water boiling. Bark and needles. We need to clean these properly." Two of the slaves went immediately to the fire while Gideon crouched beside the smallest and began loosening the blood-stiffened strips around his forearm. The crude binding had slowed the bleeding, but dirt and matted fur still clung beneath it. The goblin hissed when the last strip peeled free.

"Hold still." While the fresh wash boiled, another slave unwrapped the bite along the second goblin's ribs. The folded hide beneath the binding came away dark and wet, exposing the torn flesh below. Gideon's own calf throbbed beneath its makeshift wrap, but he left it alone for the moment. When the wash was ready, one of the slaves carried the steaming pot over with both hands.

"Not yet," Gideon said.

"Add cold water until it won't burn us. It'll weaken the wash, but we don't have time to let it cool." The slave nodded and hurried to dilute it. Gideon cleaned the torn forearm first, pouring slowly while another slave steadied the goblin's shoulder. Dirt, fur, and dried blood ran across the stone. The goblin clenched his teeth but didn't pull away. Beside them, the others treated the bite wound together.

One poured the wash while another wiped carefully around the torn flesh, following the same motions they had practiced over the past several days. Meanwhile, resin cloths were warmed near the coals until they softened. One was wrapped around the forearm, another against the goblin's ribs, and the edges were sealed with charcoal-resin paste before it could harden.

"Keep the arm raised," Gideon said. The smallest nodded, breathing unevenly. When both wounds were covered, the crooked-nosed slave looked toward Gideon's leg.

"Your turn." Gideon glanced down at the stained binding around his calf.

"It can wait." The slave was already crouching.

"No. Sit." Gideon was surprised at the command in the goblin's tone, so he sat. The slave loosened the strips and peeled them away carefully while another brought the wash. The cuts burned the moment the liquid touched them, and Gideon grunted through clenched teeth. Neither of them paused. They cleaned the claw marks with surprising gentleness, warmed another resin cloth, and wrapped it into place with the same care.

"You keep the tribe standing," the tall one said quietly.

"We keep you standing." Gideon looked at the four of them, then gave a small nod.

"Thanks." Only after every binding had been checked and the paste had hardened did Dravak gesture toward the cage.

"Rest now." The door swung open. They stepped inside without resistance, and the bars shut behind them with a heavy thud. For a moment, they simply stood there, swaying as the last of the adrenaline drained from their limbs. Then exhaustion claimed them. The four slaves sank to the ground in a loose cluster, shoulders brushing, breath evening out in the dim cavern light. The scent of bark wash and resin lingered faintly beneath the iron tang of blood.

Sleep took them quickly, five battered goblins who had stood their ground and lived. Gideon remained upright a moment longer while the others drifted off, his back against cold wooden bars, eyes half-lidded. Only then did he reach inward and open his notifications. The familiar translucent pane slid into existence before him. [Congratulations! You have slain Wolf – Level 4. Experience earned.] [Congratulations! You have slain Wolf – Level 6. Experience earned.] [Congratulations! Spear Proficiency has reached Level 2.] He stared at the lines in silence. He had not delivered the killing blow to either beast. The others had driven their spears home together. Yet the System counted the kills for him as well. Participation and contribution to a fight were all that mattered. That was good to know. It meant survival and strength didn't require selfishness. He let the window fade. His body was already sagging, the ache in his leg dulling into something distant as fatigue took control.

He lowered himself onto his thin bedfur beside the others and closed his eyes. Sleep dragged him under before he could think of anything else.