About six goblins came charging out of the cave toward us, gray skin stretched tight over wiry frames, oversized ears flapping wildly as they ran. They carried whatever they could get their hands on. Crude clubs. Stone axes. One had something that might once have been a chair leg. They were shouting as they ran, sharp barking sounds that I assumed were insults or threats or both.

  Ephraim reacted instantly.

  He let out that same short sound I’d heard before, the one he’d used on the squirrels before. It wasn’t loud, but there was weight behind it. Pressure. I felt it more than I heard it, like the air itself had leaned in to listen.

  A couple of the goblins had been angling toward me.

  The moment that sound left Ephraim, every single one of them turned and redirected straight at him.

  That confirmed it for me. Whatever that was, it wasn’t just a funny sound. It was a skill. Some kind of attention-grabbing ability, the kind that made a lot of sense for someone whose job seemed to be standing in front of everything dangerous and letting it hit him instead of anyone else.

  Before the first goblin even reached him, Ephraim moved.

  He launched himself into the air away from the cart, and this time I saw it clearly. That dull yellow energy flared around his feet as he pushed off the ground. Not a jump so much as an attack aimed downward. [Power Attack], used in reverse.

  He went up a good ten feet.

  He didn’t draw a weapon.

  He came down on the first goblin like a dropped anvil.

  The goblin hit the ground beneath him with a wet sound and didn’t move again.

  Ephraim was already in motion.

  The next goblin barely had time to register what had happened before Ephraim grabbed it, lifted it bodily off the ground, and it started to glow that yellow glow I was starting to know so well. The goblin screamed as the energy wrapped around it.

  Then Ephraim swung.

  He used the goblin like a club.

  Of the remaining four, three were caught in the arc. All three were sent flying, bodies slamming into stone and dirt hard enough that none of them got back up. They landed in a heap of limbs and weapons and silence.

  The last goblin froze.

  It stumbled backward, chattering loudly in panic, eyes locked on Ephraim like it had just realized it was very much outmatched.

  Ephraim didn’t hurry.

  He walked up to it, calm as anything, while it kept making those desperate noises. Then he brought his boot down. Once. Twice. Again. He didn’t stop until the sound stopped.

  Only then did he turn back toward me.

  I noticed the goblin he’d been holding was still alive. The yellow glow faded from its body as [Power Attack] discharged, leaving it squirming weakly in his grip.

  “Well,” Ephraim said, sounding relaxed, like we’d just finished stretching. “That was a nice little shakeup.”

  He rolled his shoulders. “Good to shake out the cobwebs. Long walk and all.”

  Then he looked down at the goblin.

  “Oh,” he said. “Guess we should do a little training for ya.”

  Before I could ask what he meant, he reached down, twisted sharply, and there was a loud crack. The goblin screamed once, high and thin, and its lower half went completely still.

  Ephraim dropped it to the ground.

  “Lloyd,” he said, looking at me. “Come here.”

  I walked toward Ephraim slowly, very aware of how little I’d actually done during that fight. The whole thing had happened fast, loud, and violently, and I’d spent it hunched over a few steps back, hands half-raised like I was trying to decide whether to help or apologize. By the time my brain had caught up, it was already over.

  Ephraim looked at me, then at the goblin on the ground.

  “So,” he said, casual as anything, “I don’t think you’ve actually killed anything yet with that funny mouth knife of yours. That right?”

  I nodded, the motion stiff and a little embarrassed.

  “Well,” he said, “might as well use it now.”

  I looked down at the goblin. It was alive, technically. Its upper body twitched weakly, eyes unfocused, mouth opening and closing around breathy, broken sounds. I didn’t think it was crying. It didn’t seem capable of that anymore. It just looked lost, like it had no idea where it was or why everything hurt.

  I looked back up at Ephraim. He nodded once.

  That was apparently all the encouragement I was getting.

  I reached into my bag, fingers clumsy, and pulled out the dagger. It felt heavier than it had before. Or maybe my hand was just shaking. I held it awkwardly, blade angled upward like one does with a sword, and leaned down, trying to line it up with what I thought was the goblin’s heart.

  “No, no,” Ephraim said immediately. “That’s gonna be really awkward like that.”

  I froze.

  “You want the blade down,” he continued, stepping closer and gesturing with his hand. “Point it toward the ground. You get more pressure that way. Cleaner. Faster.”

  He made a quick pumping motion in the air, like he was demonstrating how to stab something without actually stabbing anything.

  “Better to just do it,” he added. “Don’t drag it out.”

  I swallowed.

  Whatever feelings I was having about this, I didn’t have time to unpack them. This thing would have killed me if it could. I was already well past the point of pretending that killing was something I could avoid here. I flipped the blade, adjusted my grip, and brought it down.

  The goblin shuddered once, a sharp involuntary movement, and then went still.

  A moment later, a familiar blue glow flickered into existence in front of me.

  I stared at the fading blue glow longer than I needed to, my brain lagging behind what my hands had just done. When it finally disappeared, I was left standing there with a bloody dagger and a very quiet goblin at my feet.

  I swallowed.

  “Yeah,” I said slowly, more to the ground than to Ephraim. “That one felt a little different.”

  He glanced at me.

  “The other stuff,” I went on, keeping my voice light even though my stomach didn’t agree, “that was all panic and reacting and not wanting to die. This one kind of felt like… paperwork.”

  Ephraim huffed out a short laugh.

  “Cold-blooded?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That. Not a fan.”

  He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder anyway.

  “Good,” he said. “Means you’re still thinking about it. First one’s always the hardest.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring or just honest, but either way, the knot in my chest didn’t quite loosen.

  “Come on,” Ephraim said, already turning back toward the cart. “We’ve got a dungeon to clear.”

  He lifted the handles, and the cart started to glow again, just a faint wash of yellow this time, like it was waking up rather than fully committing to being magical.

  I took one last look down at the goblin’s body. There was blood on the dagger. A lot of it. A sharp, practical part of my brain kicked in, and before I could overthink it, I crouched and wiped the blade clean on the goblin’s own clothing.

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  “Sorry, little guy,” I muttered, more out of habit than meaning, then straightened and followed Ephraim.

  We walked a short distance before the ground dipped and the cave opened up in front of us.

  If I had to describe it, it looked like a child’s drawing of a cave entrance. Big and round, clearly meant to say this is a cave, with jagged rocks around the edges that felt almost decorative. It didn’t look natural once I really focused on it. It looked staged. Like someone had built a cave and then gone back over it to make sure it still looked wild enough.

  Disney cave was the closest comparison my brain offered, and I didn’t like how accurate that felt.

  “So,” I said as we stepped inside, “that last goblin. I got experience for it.”

  “Yep,” Ephraim said.

  “But I barely did anything,” I added. “I mean, you did all the work.”

  He glanced over at me. “You landed the killing blow.”

  “Right,” I said. “So that’s how it works.”

  He nodded. “Last hit gets the kill and the experience. Doesn’t matter who did the rest of the damage.”

  “That feels… exploitable,” I said.

  He snorted. “It is. I keep forgettin’ you’re new.”

  We moved deeper into the cave, and that was when I noticed the light.

  Torches lined the walls at regular intervals, spaced just far enough apart that the glow overlapped. There were no extremely dark corners, no deep shadows, nothing that felt hidden. The fire burned steadily, without smoke, and the light reached farther than it should have.

  I slowed, staring.

  Ephraim noticed. “Dungeon torches,” he said. “They’re part of the place.”

  “Part of it how?”

  “Dungeons want people to come in,” he said. “They’re like living things. They light themselves up so folks don’t get scared off right away. Makes it easier for the creatures inside to see what they’re killing too.”

  Before I could respond, Ephraim dropped the cart again and stepped forward as two more goblins came charging down the tunnel, screaming as they ran. He dealt with them quickly. Efficiently. I barely had time to register where they’d come from before they were on the ground and not moving.

  He picked the cart back up like nothing had happened.

  “Let me guess,” he said, smirking a little. “You didn’t get nearly as much experience from that one as you did earlier.”

  I checked automatically. “23 points”

  “Yep,” he said. “Thats about right.”

  “How so?”

  “All creatures spawn with a base experience value,” he explained as we walked. “Squirrels are one. Goblins are five. It’s a rough measure of how dangerous they are.”

  “And levels?” I had a feeling.

  “Every level adds about ten percent to their value.”

  I frowned. “Wait. So if a squirrel is worth one experience point, does that mean a level two squirrel is still worth one?”

  He glanced over at me, amused. “Now you’re thinking like the system.”

  I didn’t know what that meant.

  He kept going like it was obvious.

  “There’s more to it,” he said. “The number you see is rounded. Underneath that, there are percentages. The system just cleans it up so people don’t lose their minds staring at decimals.”

  Great, I thought. This world has decimals too.

  Still in fantasyland and just can’t escape math.

  “Anyway,” he said, adjusting the cart and pulling it along again, “best be quiet from here on out.”

  I nodded.

  “What I’m going to do,” he continued, lowering his voice as we walked, “is drop the cart whenever something rushes us and deal with the bulk of it. I’ll leave a few alive for you. You finish them off. Get used to the dagger. Get used to killing.”

  He glanced back at me. “That work for you?”

  I hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I think I can handle that.”

  “Good,” he said. “You’ll need to.”

  We moved deeper into the cave, and sure enough a pattern started to form.

  Goblins rushed us in small groups, sometimes two, sometimes five, sometimes more. Ephraim would drop the cart without breaking stride and step forward like this was a chore he’d done a hundred times already. He moved fast, precise, and brutally efficient. Limbs broke. Bodies flew. Hit the cart. Most of them never even had time to react.

  He did try to leave some alive.

  I could tell.

  But it was also obvious that this was not something he was naturally good at. The ones that survived did so more by luck than intention. A missed swing. A body deflecting another body. A goblin tripping at just the right moment and not getting crushed outright.

  Those were mine.

  I stabbed. Again and again. Awkward at first, then less so. I found myself focusing on angles, on getting it over with quickly, and on not thinking too hard about the fact that these were still things that screamed and begged in a language I didn’t understand.

  We kept moving, the cart clattering along the dirt floor behind Ephraim.

  As we went deeper, I started to notice the levels floating above their heads. Most of them ranged from 15 to 22. One group had a level 25 that Ephraim flattened immediately without comment.

  By the time we stopped to catch our breath, I’d killed seven or eight goblins. I checked my status out of reflex and did the math.

  258 experience points.

  I stared at the number longer than I meant to.

  It wasn’t much. Not really. But it was more than I’d ever gotten in a stretch like that before, and the fact that I could now casually tally kills like entries on a spreadsheet made me uncomfortable in a way I didn’t quite have the words for yet.

  I glanced over my status page again and saw where I stood.

  2,123 /13,100 experience toward level 28.

  All these kills were barely a drop in the bucket.

  What made matters worse was that I was pretty sure that I was way under-leveled for this dungeon. It really must take forever to get levels here.

  We kept walking.

  Things grew quiet as we walked, the kind of quiet that made every footstep feel louder than it should have. The cave sloped downward more noticeably now, and we passed over several rough sections where the floor broke into uneven steps and angled stone. Ephraim had to tilt the cart at odd angles to get it through, lifting one wheel at a time and muscling it forward like this was just another inconvenience.

  The cave itself turned out to be mostly a long, narrow tunnel, but every so often it opened up into wider pockets where the goblins clearly lived. We passed crude sleeping areas with piles of furs and rags, low fire pits where food had been cooked and left to dry, and more than one spot that was very obviously their version of a restroom.

  Those smelled… impressive. In the worst possible way.

  After that, things went quiet again. Too quiet.

  Ephraim glanced back at me as we walked. “Alright,” he said. “We’re getting into the good stuff now. This part’s a bit more serious.”

  “Prepared for what?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer. He just kept walking, like the question hadn’t even been worth acknowledging.

  A few minutes later, the silence broke.

  A loud shout echoed down the tunnel ahead of us, deeper and rougher than the goblin noises I’d heard before. Then several figures came charging around a bend in the cave.

  There were five of them.

  These goblins were bigger. Broader. Their movements were more confident, less frantic. They weren’t rushing blindly this time, and the one in front carried himself like he expected to win.

  A blue tag appeared above his head, just above his giant bat ears.

  Hobgoblin {Level 32}

  I glanced at the others as they fanned out behind him.

  Hobgoblin {Level 31}

  Hobgoblin {Level 30}

  Hobgoblin {Level 30}

  Hobgoblin {Level 31}

  I swallowed.

  That was… noticeably higher than everything we’d dealt with so far.

  They also looked better equipped than the others we’d run into so far. Not cleaner exactly, but more put together. They wore crude metal armor that had been hammered into shape rather than scavenged, plates strapped together with leather and wire. It was rusty and poorly maintained, but it was still armor.

  Each of them carried a metal axe instead of stone or wood. The blades were nicked and dull in places, orange with rust, but they were heavy and solid, and the way the hobgoblin in front held his made it clear he knew how to use it.

  Ephraim didn’t drop the cart this time.

  He slid it to the side of the tunnel instead, showcasing what must have been his full strength, one hand still on the handle, and took a step forward like he was bracing against bad weather rather than a group of armed hobgoblins. The lead hobgoblin barked something sharp and the others spread out, boots scraping stone, axes coming up in practiced grips.

  That was new. Coordination.

  Ephraim exhaled and made that sound again. Short. Flat. Heavy. It hit the air like a command rather than a noise, and I felt it press against my chest the same way it always did.

  All five of them turned toward him at once.

  The lead hobgoblin roared and charged.

  Ephraim met him head-on. He stepped into the swing instead of away from it, the axe glancing off his shoulder with a burst of yellow light as [Power Attack] flared defensively. The impact still carried force, enough to shove Ephraim half a step sideways, but he didn’t give ground. He grabbed the hobgoblin by the chest plate and drove his forehead into its face.

  Bone cracked.

  The hobgoblin dropped like someone had unplugged it.

  The others piled in.

  Two came at him from the right. One from the left. Axes rose and fell in a blur of rust and motion. Ephraim moved through them, not fast exactly, but decisive. Every step had purpose. Every grab turned into a throw or a slam. Yellow light flashed with each impact as he used [Power Attack] in short controlled bursts, reinforcing his limbs, discharging it into whatever he hit next.

  One hobgoblin caught him across the ribs hard enough that I heard the metal ring. Ephraim grunted, then grabbed the axe haft, yanked the hobgoblin off balance, and drove him face-first into the cave wall. Stone cracked. The hobgoblin didn’t get back up.

  That left two.

  One broke off and rushed me, Ephraim’s sounds no longer affecting it.

  My brain barely had time to panic. I shouted the first thing that came to mind and [Vicious Mockery] kicked in almost on reflex.

  Riksha-thin zhul var no-tek!

  The words had no meaning to me. They were in the goblin language. The hobgoblin flinched mid-charge in understanding, snarling, just enough for its footing to slip on the uneven stone.

  Ephraim was there a heartbeat later.

  He grabbed it by the back of the neck and slammed it into the ground once, twice, until it stopped moving.

  The last hobgoblin hesitated.

  The creature looked at the bodies. Looked at Ephraim. Then at me.

  It ran at me, probably thinking it could take me out before it died.

  Bad choice. It took its attention off Ephraim.

  Ephraim stepped forward and ended it quickly, a single heavy strike that echoed through the tunnel and left the cave quiet again.

  The yellow light faded.

  Ephraim rolled his shoulders and glanced back at me. “That’s why I said be ready.”

  I stood there, heart hammering, staring at the bodies and the broken stone around them.

  I would be dead if I was here alone.

  “Good job,” Ephraim said, walking up to me like nothing had just happened. “Nice reaction. Was that [Vicious Mockery]?”

  I nodded absently, still absorbing everything.

  “Alright. Well. Now it’s time to get to work. This is what we’re here for.”

  He walked over to the cart, reached in, and pulled out what looked like a small dagger. Then he headed toward one of the bodies.

  “So here’s how it works,” he said casually, kneeling down. “Monsters spawn in dungeons like this, and they level up fast. Out in nature—forests, fields, that kind of thing—stuff like squirrels level up by killing each other.”

  I grimaced. Of course they do.

  “In dungeons,” he continued, “the rules get a little wonky. Creatures here level up just by existing here. As they hit certain thresholds, they evolve.”

  He gestured at the corpse.

  “Goblins, for whatever reason, when they hit level 30, they turn into hobgoblins. Downside is they get tougher. Upside is the dungeon starts spawning gear for them to use.”

  He sliced away part of the crude metal armor and held it up for me to see.

  “Mainly metal.”

  He tossed the piece into the cart with a clatter and kept cutting.

  “Here’s something to learn early,” he said. “Most metal in this world doesn’t come from mining. It comes from people salvaging dungeons like this.”

  Piece by piece, he stripped armor from the body and tossed it into the cart.

  “So what we do,” he went on, “is let dungeons like this sit for a while. Let monsters spawn. Let them level. Once they start getting gear, we harvest.”

  He paused, then shrugged.

  “Problem is, once they get too strong, the big ones start chasing the smaller ones out. That’s when you get surprise monsters running around where they shouldn’t be.”

  He glanced at me.

  “Like what happened to when you found me.”

  Oh, I guess that explained the goblins after seeing nothing but woodland creatures at that point.

  “They cause trouble. So they have to be dealt with.”

  He finished with the body, found its weapon, and tossed that into the cart as well.

  “That’s what we’re doing here. Picking them apart. And the main reason this is a two-person job?”

  He looked at me, then down at the dagger still clutched in my hand.

  “It’s a pain in the ass to do this alone.”

  I stared at him for a moment as the realization settled in.

  He wasn’t just being helpful by bringing me.

  He was being lazy and wanted another set of hands to loot corpses.

  I closed my eyes for a second. Opened them.

  Then trudged toward the nearest body, dagger ready, accepting my fate.