CHAPTER 20: THIS IS INDEED A HIGH LEVEL WORLD

Lin watched, frozen. The scale of the violence—spells tearing the sky, guards moving like ghosts, the estate collapsing—was beyond anything he’d imagined. Who wants him dead this badly? All he wanted was to save a harmless goat. Why do you have to be so lustful? You were just a child.

The farm owner crawled beneath a table, sobbing as his estate was torn apart. Servants scattered, some fleeing for the gardens, one maid pausing to whisper a prayer for a missing friend before dashing on, others huddled in corners, praying for it all to end.

Lin’s mind raced. Should I use the chaos to find Bojo? Or should I run while I still can? His legs trembled, torn between fear and determination.

[SYSTEM ALERT: DANGER LEVEL: CATASTROPHIC]

A chunk of stone crumbled nearby, sending dust swirling through the air. Lin coughed, blinking to clear the haze. His eyes darted toward the hidden door—the very one the farm owner had opened moments ago. It remained slightly ajar, revealing only a narrow sliver of darkness beyond the main chair.

Now or never, he thought, heart pounding.

He darted from behind the pillar, keeping his body low, weaving carefully between toppled chairs and shattered glass. Above him, the sounds of battle raged, but down here—in the midst of chaos and confusion—no one noticed a lone goat slipping silently through the shadows.

Lin reached the door, heart hammering in his chest. He glanced back once at the sky ablaze with magic, and then slipped into the darkness beyond.

Lin slipped through the hidden door, the heavy wood groaning shut behind him. The passage was narrow and winding, carved from stone and packed earth. The air was thick with the smell of straw, animal musk, and something sour, fear, maybe, or the residue of old magic.

His hooves clicked on the stone floor as he crept forward, heart hammering. Every shadow twitched in the lantern glow; every distant crash from above sent a jolt through his nerves. Focus—even if you get caught now, you’re finished. Focus.

The chamber reeked of blood and chemicals. Lanterns flickered over jars packed with floating organs, blood-crusted tools, and puddles of strange, glimmering liquid. Along one wall, metal boxes with tiny air holes sat in a row. Goat skulls, dozens, were stacked on shelves, hollow eyes staring. Maybe it’s because I’m a goat now, but this is worse than any horror movie.

Cages filled the room, bars glinting in the low light. Inside, dozens of goats, maybe more, lay still, unmoving. Lin’s gaze darted from one cage to another, frantic. In the far corner, half-hidden behind hay bales, he spotted him. Bojo. Curled up, sides barely rising and falling. Alive, but just. There were many blood stains on Bojo’s body. When he forced carefully, he noticed Bojo missing a horn!

Lin hurried to the cage, pressing his nose against the bars. "Bojo! Hey, Bojo, wake up!" he whispered, panic choking his throat. Bojo didn’t move. Lin called louder, now desperate: "Bojo!"

He examined the lock—solid iron, dense and complex. Hooves offered no leverage. Driven by desperation, he sank his teeth into the bar, but the metal didn’t even tremble.

Lin looked around. Tired eyes watched him from every cage. No hope flickered in their eyes—only dull curiosity, as if asking, What are you doing? What should I do?

He glanced at Bojo—twenty EXP and a pile of rewards just sitting there. He shifted his gaze and stared at the lock for several seconds, then exhaled, voice no louder than a breath. "Damit, like this I can’t save him."

Above him, the noise grew louder. Something huge crashed into the roof; the ground shook beneath his hooves. Time is running out; if he stays here any longer, he’ll be caught—and only God knows what will happen to him after that.

With a heavy heart, he pulled away from the cages and moved back toward the passage. The ache he felt wasn’t just for the lost EXP; it was something deeper, a hurt he couldn’t name yet. Weak, painfully weak, every moment of this night confirmed it.

He reached the exit and looked out, greeted by the sudden brightness. The fight has intensified. Above the shattered roof, spells streaked through the night—crimson fireballs, arcs of blue lightning, emerald wind gusts. Attackers moved like shadows between beams of light.

Caelum Draven’s guards responded swiftly. Shimmering shields snapped into place, deflecting blasts that could have leveled a barn. One guard spun midair, hurling an ice lance that shattered with a sound like breaking glass. Another unleashed a torrent of flame; Lin felt the heat even from his hiding spot.

Caelum Draven hovered above the estate, barking orders and gesturing with a jeweled staff. Each movement sent ripples of energy through the air, warping the chaos of battle around him.

On the ground, the farm owner cowered behind a toppled statue, hands raised over his head. Servants scattered in every direction, some screaming, others too stunned to move. The gardens were ruined, hedges scorched, and fountains shattered by stray spells.

Even though the assassins pressed their advantage, weaving through the chaos and unleashing powerful magic, they couldn’t break Caelum Draven’s core. The defenders, backed into corners and battered by spectral wolves and razor leaves, held their ground, their overlapping shields glowing with the force of their chants. For a heartbeat, it looked like the tide might turn against Caelum Draven.

Above, Caelum Draven hovered, his staff glowing with white light. "You thought this was enough?" His voice echoed across the battlefield. "You underestimated me."

Suddenly, four new figures appeared on the scene. One wielded a twin-bladed spear, spinning through enemy ranks; another, a robed mage, unleashed a hail of ice that froze assassins in place. The third, a nimble archer, fired arrows that pinned cloaked attackers to the walls, while the fourth, a shield-bearer, slammed down a barrier that blocked the assassins’ escape route.

Old Wen, dressed in white robes, drove his staff into the ground; chains of light held assassins mid-leap. The swordsman’s greatsword sliced through summoned wolves. The veiled woman flickered between shadows, her dagger flashing—each strike precise and final.

Panic rippled through the attackers. Their formation broke, discipline crumbling as they realized they were outmatched even with the additional reinforcement they had received.

"Retreat!" someone shouted, voices cracking with fear.

But Caelum Draven’s elite remained relentless. The veiled woman and the swordsman pushed their advantage, guiding the assassins toward the only open exit. The Old Wen’s chains snaked after the fleeing figures, pulling them back. The new reinforcements blocked every path.