Once the last echo of combat faded, the group didn’t linger long on the corpses. Harold crouched down, rolling one of the goblins over with the flat of his axe. “Ugly little things,” he muttered, rifling through its filthy rags. He came away with a bent copper ring, tossing it into a pouch with a grunt.

Aleia was more meticulous, crouching beside another goblin. “Sometimes they hoard scraps they steal—trinkets, cheap amulets, coins. Not worth much individually, but pile enough together and it pays for the next meal.” She tugged a leather cord from around one creature’s neck, a chipped amulet dangling from it, and slipped it into her pocket.

Selene moved briskly, checking ears and hands for piercings, but didn’t waste time. She came back with a small handful of earrings, most mismatched and dirty. “Better in our pockets than rusting here.”

Cor didn’t bother with the corpses at all. He simply tapped his staff against the ground once, waiting until the others finished.

Ludger and Viola watched in silence. To Viola, the process seemed insulting, her scowl deepening as she muttered under her breath about “scavenging.” But Ludger saw something different. It’s not greed—it’s survival. No wasted effort, no wasted coin.

When the last pouch was cinched closed, Arslan swung his sword onto his back and gestured deeper into the twisting corridor. “All right, let’s keep moving. The first zone won’t end itself.”

The group shifted formation again without needing words—Selene and Harold leading, Aleia watching the shadows with her bow, Cor in the center, Arslan trailing slightly behind. Ludger and Viola were kept between them all, sheltered but able to see every movement.

The labyrinth stretched on, damp stone walls narrowing before widening into halls large enough to swallow a house. The air grew colder, and the faint glow of torches gave way to deeper darkness ahead. The sound of dripping water echoed, punctuated now and then by faint scratches—nails or claws, dragging somewhere unseen.

Ludger flexed his fingers. His heart beat faster with each step. Sooner or later, another group will come. And this time… maybe I’ll get my chance.

The scratching sounds grew louder the deeper they went, echoing unnaturally through the winding halls. By the time the party stepped into a wide chamber, the source revealed itself.

More goblins—twice as many as before. A dozen at least, hunched and snarling, their yellow eyes glinting in the gloom. Some carried crude spears tipped with jagged stone, others waved rusted blades that looked ready to snap. A few crouched on the ledges carved into the chamber walls, tossing rocks down into the shadows.

Viola’s grip tightened on her sword, her breath sharp with anticipation. Ludger tensed as well, heart quickening. So this is what a real swarm looks like.

Arslan’s grin widened, but his voice carried a commanding edge. “Formation! Keep it clean.”

The goblins shrieked and charged.

Selene darted forward first, fists slamming into the lead goblin’s chest and throat in a blur of motion. She weaved between blades and spears, each strike landing with bone-cracking force, dropping enemies before they could press too close.

Harold bellowed a laugh as he swung his axe in broad, controlled arcs. Each strike cleaved through two goblins at once, blood splattering the stone floor. When one spear jabbed toward his side, he twisted, letting it glance off his armor before driving his axe straight down into the wielder’s skull.

Aleia loosed arrows without pause, each shot precise, each goblin dropping before it could leap from the ledges above. Her hands moved so quickly that it seemed as though she had more than one bowstring pulled at a time.

Cor lifted his book, voice resonating as a shield of shimmering force flared before the group. A shower of stones bounced harmlessly off it, and with a second chant, a bolt of raw energy blasted through the chest of a goblin trying to circle behind Harold.

Arslan himself waded in only when needed, his blade flashing once, twice, cutting down stragglers that slipped through the front line. His grin never faltered, but his eyes were sharp, watching every angle of the fight.

It was over in minutes.

The goblins lay scattered, broken and bloodied, none having landed more than glancing blows. The party emerged unscathed, breathing steady, their formation still tight.

Ludger watched, his chest tightening. A dozen goblins, gone like nothing. They make it look so easy… but that’s because they don’t waste movement, don’t leave openings.

Beside him, Viola trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer frustration of standing idle. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she muttered, “I could’ve fought them.”

Ludger exhaled through his nose, not bothering to answer. And probably gotten us all killed.

Ludger kept his eyes on the battlefield long after the goblins had fallen. He replayed the movements in his mind, step by step.

Selene’s strikes weren’t just powerful—they were angled to cripple, each blow targeting weak points like throats, knees, and ribs. Harold’s swings were wide but measured, always keeping space clear for Aleia to shoot. And Cor, despite standing back, directed the flow of battle with shields and bursts of magic, sealing gaps before they even opened.

It wasn’t just strength—it was rhythm. Efficiency. They fought like a single machine, every piece turning exactly where it needed to.

Beside him, Viola trembled with frustration, gripping her sword so tightly her knuckles went white. “I could’ve fought them,” she muttered again, louder this time.

Ludger turned to her, his tone calm but cutting. “Did you forget what your grandfather said to my father?”

Viola blinked, scowling. “What?”

“That if you got so much as a scratch, Father would lose his head,” Ludger replied flatly. He let the words hang, watching as her expression shifted from anger to irritation, then to reluctant silence.

She looked away, lips pressed thin, her pride stung more than she cared to admit.

Ludger adjusted his forearm guard, smirking faintly. She’s strong-willed, but she still doesn’t understand what it means to fight with something on the line.

The chamber reeked of blood, the stench lingering even after Harold and Aleia finished pulling valuables from the corpses. With the spoils secured, Arslan waved the group onward. Their footsteps echoed through the damp corridors as the torches flickered and hissed against the stone walls.

Viola still sulked, dragging her hand across the wall with every step, her scowl aimed at the floor. The faint scrape of her sword against her belt filled the silence she refused to break.

Ludger glanced at her once, then shook his head. “You know,” he said, voice low but steady, “you’d be more persuasive if you could beat me fair and square. Until then, acting like a kid will only make everyone treat you like one.”

Her head snapped up, eyes blazing, but before she could fire back, Ludger looked forward again, calm as ever.

“You want to be taken seriously?” he continued. “Then prove it. Don’t whine. Win.”

Viola’s jaw tightened, her pride screaming against the truth of his words. She muttered something under her breath, but for once, she didn’t argue out loud.

The party pressed deeper, the corridor narrowing into a long stretch of darkness. The further they went, the heavier the air became, and the scratches on the stone floor grew deeper and more frequent. The goblins weren’t the only things lurking here.

Ludger showed faintest smile tugging at his lips. If she wants to challenge me again, I’ll be ready. But for now, I’ll focus on what’s ahead.

They pressed deeper into the labyrinth, the goblins coming in waves of four or five at a time. To the veterans, it was routine—Selene’s fists cracked ribs, Harold’s axe split skulls, Aleia’s arrows pinned throats, Cor’s wards and blasts kept the rhythm steady. Arslan cut down stragglers, grinning all the while.

Ludger and Viola remained at the back, watching every move.

At first, the repetition felt monotonous, but Ludger forced himself to pay attention. Each clash, each block, each kill added to a picture he hadn’t seen before. By the time the group cleared their twentieth fight, his mind was already cataloging the lessons.

First, he thought, formations aren’t just for show. They keep everyone alive. Selene and Harold take the front because they can hold the line. Aleia and Cor follow behind, because distance and support matter. Father floats where he’s needed, filling the gaps. It’s not about strength—it’s about roles.

Second, speed is meaningless without control. Selene doesn’t waste a strike. Harold doesn’t swing unless it hits two or three at once. Aleia never fires unless the arrow ends a life. Cor doesn’t cast unless it shifts the entire fight. Every movement counts.

Third… Ludger’s gaze flicked toward Viola, who scowled every time another goblin fell. …patience matters more than fire. If you fight like a fool, you won’t fight long.

By the time the group stepped into a larger chamber, Ludger’s pulse had steadied. His new gear felt natural, his stance sharper. He hadn’t thrown a single strike, yet he already felt stronger.

That was when the heavy footsteps echoed from the shadows.

A hulking goblin brute lumbered into view—taller than a man, its green skin stretched over corded muscle, its tusked mouth twisted into a snarl. In its hands, it carried a jagged slab of iron shaped crudely into a club. Its roar shook the chamber walls, and even Viola froze at the sound.

Ludger narrowed his eyes, his heart pounding with anticipation. Perfect. Let’s see how they deal with this one.

The goblin brute’s roar echoed through the chamber, its jagged club scraping across the stone as it raised the weapon high. The stench of sweat and blood rolled off its hulking frame, its yellow eyes glowing with primal hunger.

Before anyone else could move, Arslan strode forward with a grin stretched across his face. His sword hung loosely at his side, the tip dragging sparks from the ground.

“Stand back,” he said over his shoulder. “This one’s mine.”

Selene exhaled sharply through her nose, rolling her eyes. “Show-off.”

Harold chuckled, leaning on his axe as if settling in for a performance. “Let him have his moment. He’ll pout all week if we rob him of it.”

Aleia smirked, stringing an arrow but not raising her bow. “If he trips and dies, I’m taking his boots.”

Cor only sighed, muttering something under his breath about wasted energy, though even he made no move to stop Arslan.

Ludger raised an eyebrow. Of course. He wants to show off. To me. To Viola. To all of us.

Viola’s eyes widened with awe, “He’s going to fight it alone?”

Arslan planted his feet as the brute roared and charged, the ground trembling beneath its weight. His grin never faltered. If anything, it widened.

Ludger crossed his arms, expression unreadable. So this is the man everyone calls reckless. Let’s see if he can actually back it up.

The brute roared again, swinging its massive iron club in a wide arc that howled through the air. Arslan ducked beneath it, the wind of the strike ruffling his hair as the weapon smashed into the stone wall with a deafening crash. Chunks of rock tumbled to the floor.

He didn’t counter immediately. His grin widened as his eyes locked on the creature’s shoulders, its feet, the twitch of its elbows. He was reading it, studying every movement as though the goblin were already defeated.

The beast pulled the club free and swung down in a crushing overhead strike. Arslan slid a step to the left, the weapon grazing his shoulder plate close enough to spark. He chuckled under his breath, blade flashing upward in a quick slice that opened the monster’s arm.

The goblin howled, spinning to catch him with a backhand. Arslan bent at the waist, the strike missing by inches, then lashed out again—this time cutting a shallow line across its thigh.

Step by step, strike by strike, he danced around the creature’s rage. Each attack was avoided by a hair’s breadth, each counter carving into flesh without slowing him down. He didn’t rush. He didn’t force it. He simply kept moving, cutting away at the brute little by little, wearing it down.

The goblin grew sloppier with every wound, its club smashing into walls, floor, and air while Arslan slipped just beyond reach. His blade flickered silver in the torchlight, slashing across ribs, belly, and legs, until the brute staggered, bleeding heavily, its growls weakening into ragged gasps.

Finally, when the monster dropped to one knee, its strength spent, Arslan raised his sword high and drove it cleanly through its chest. The brute shuddered once, then fell still, its club slipping from lifeless fingers.

Arslan yanked his sword free and gave it a quick flourish, grinning ear to ear as he turned back toward the others. “And that,” he said, wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, “is how it’s done.”

Arslan planted his sword on his shoulder, chest puffed out like a rooster, waiting for the praise to roll in. Viola’s eyes sparkled as she leaned forward, practically bouncing with excitement.

But before she could say a word, Selene’s voice cut through the chamber, sharp as steel.

“You’re reckless,” she said flatly, sheathing her blade. “One mistake and that thing would’ve caved your skull in.”

Harold barked out a laugh, not even trying to hide it. “Reckless? He’s been reckless since the day I met him. If stupidity were a weapon, he’d be unstoppable.”

Aleia plucked one of her arrows from a fallen goblin and twirled it between her fingers. “I was two seconds away from putting one through the brute’s eye, just in case you slipped. Would’ve saved your kids the trouble of carrying your corpse home.”

Even Cor, who rarely wasted words, spoke up as he traced his staff along the blood-slick floor. “Theatrics make for poor habits. Skill isn’t measured by how close you come to death, but how far you stay from it.”

Arslan’s grin faltered just a little under the barrage of unimpressed remarks. He scratched his cheek, chuckling awkwardly. “Tch… you lot don’t know how to appreciate style.”

Selene rolled her eyes. “We appreciate survival.”

Ludger crossed his arms, lips twitching as he held back a smirk. So they see through him too. He’s not showing strength. He’s showing off.

Viola scowled at the others, her voice rising. “He beat it, didn’t he? Alone! Isn’t that worth something?”

Selene gave her a long, hard look. “It’s worth a lecture, not applause.”

Viola stepped forward, fists clenched at her sides, her sword rattling against her belt. “You’re all being unfair! He fought that monster alone and won! None of you even had to lift a finger. If that’s not strength, then what is?”

Selene didn’t flinch, her gaze as sharp as ever. “Strength is walking away without gambling your life. Recklessness isn’t something to admire.”

But Arslan’s grin stretched even wider. He crouched slightly to meet Viola’s eyes, resting his bloody sword across his shoulder. “Finally, someone who gets it.” He winked. “Knew I could count on you, Vi!”

Viola’s scowl softened just a little as she crossed her arms with a huff, as though she had claimed some small victory for him.

Ludger, watching the whole exchange, couldn’t stop the sigh that slipped from his lips. Being spoiled by one of his own kids… pathetic. He’s so starved for validation he’ll take it from anywhere. Truly lame.

Harold muttered something about “raising another troublemaker,” Aleia rolled her eyes, and Cor simply shook his head, staff tapping once against the stone floor. Selene, however, muttered just loud enough for Ludger to hear:

“She’s going to inherit his stupidity if someone doesn’t fix it.”

Ludger smirked faintly. Not my problem.