The first goblins were only a few paces away when Josh let out a guttural roar that tore from his chest and charged forward. The sound startled even him, a mix of fear, fury, and something primal but something that felt right in this moment.

  He slammed into the first goblin with the full force of his shield, the impact sending a dull thud through his arm. The creature was lighter than he expected; it flew back, snapping a small tree branch before crumpling to the dirt with a choking gasp. A faint chime echoed in his skull, the system acknowledging the kill but he barely heard it through the rush of blood in his ears.

  The next goblin was already there, snarling, its crooked teeth glinting in the firelight. Josh caught its rusted blade on the rim of his shield, twisted, and brought his sword down in a brutal, clumsy arc that split its collarbone. Hot blood splattered across his arm. He yanked the blade free, stepped back, and another goblin filled the gap, screeching and stabbing for his belly.

  Josh blocked, feeling the jolt up his arm. His shoulder throbbed where the arrow had struck earlier, the joint already stiff, but adrenaline kept him moving. He slammed his shield forward, crunching the goblin’s nose flat, and then rammed his sword through its chest. The creature’s eyes went wide before it went limp, sliding off the blade.

  There was no pause. No breath.

  Three more goblins surged at him together, one with a crude spear, another with a jagged cleaver, and a third with a bow drawn from behind its companions. He ducked under the spear that was aimed for his eye, grabbed the shaft, and wrenched it forward, pulling the goblin into range. His short sword punched through its throat, cutting off its screech mid-yell. The cleaver goblin swung wildly, catching Josh’s greave with a clang that jarred his leg. Josh responded with a savage shield bash that sent teeth flying.

  An arrow whipped past his cheek, too close.

  “Bloody hell!” he growled, ducking behind his shield as two more shafts thudded into the wood. The fourth buried itself in the edge of the cart beside him.

  He could feel the goblins closing in, the smell of them thick – sweat, rot, and smoke. His lungs burned, his arm ached, and his heartbeat thundered in his skull. Still, he kept his ground. Part of his brain knew he should start retreating to the cart, but his pride pricked at him, not wanting to be pushed back by goblins.

  “Come on then,” he spat through clenched teeth. “Come and bloody try it.”

  They did.

  Another goblin hurled itself at him, shrieking, dagger flashing. Josh met it with his shield, shoved it aside, and stomped down hard, crushing its foot before finishing it with a downward strike. The blade bit deep into its skull, sticking for a moment. He had to wrench it free, nearly losing his grip as the next attacker closed in.

  His arms were starting to tire now. Every swing felt heavier, his shield slower to rise. But the goblins kept coming, relentless, snarling things that didn’t seem to fear death anymore.

  Then, through the noise, he heard Bheldur’s rough voice behind him. “I thought I was the reckless one!”

  Josh didn’t dare glance back, but he felt the shift as Bheldur’s heavy steps thudded beside him. The dwarf crashed into the next wave with his axe, the blade cleaving through two goblins in a single swing. Without speaking a word, the pair started a fighting retreat until they stood shoulder to shoulder, the cart bracing one side, their weapons a wall of death on the other.

  A goblin tried to dart around the cart, only for Bheldur to step sideways and catch it with a backhanded blow that nearly tore it in half. Another climbed up onto the wreckage, shrieking and swinging down. Josh’s shield caught it mid-leap; the creature bounced off, hit the dirt, and didn’t rise again.

  For a moment, the tide slowed. The fires from Brett’s spells cast long, flickering shadows over the clearing. The screams of dying goblins mingled with the sound of crackling flame and the distant whistle of arrows. Josh’s chest heaved. His arms trembled. His sword dripped black blood.

  —

  Perberos crouched low as he moved through the undergrowth, boots silent against the mossy soil. The shouts and screams from the camp were growing louder, goblins shrieking in pain, steel clashing against crude iron, the sound of Josh’s shield hammering into bodies. He pressed further to the right, far enough that the rest of the party were just shadows flickering in the firelight behind him.

  From here, he could see the flow of the fight clearly. The goblins were swarming toward Josh’s position, forming a loose crescent as they tried to press in from the side. There were dozens, maybe more, flooding out of the camp, their ragged banners whipping in the heat of the flames Brett had conjured earlier.

  Perberos drew an arrow, the motion smooth and practiced. The bow creaked as he pulled back, the string biting into the leather of his glove. He exhaled a long, controlled breath and loosed.

  The arrow took the nearest goblin through the neck, sending it tumbling into the dirt. Another shot followed, and another, until it became rhythm.

  Draw.

  Aim.

  Release.

  His targets blurred together, the sound of his bowstring blending into the battle’s roar.

  He shifted position, stepping over a fallen log, finding a clearer line of sight through the smoke. His arrows flew like angry hornets, finding chests, shoulders, and throats. The goblins were so tightly packed that even a miss was a hit, if he didn’t strike one, the shaft buried itself in the next.

  It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Grim satisfaction settled over him with each shot.

  One of the goblins raised a crude bow, and before it could even notch the arrow, Perberos dropped it with a shaft straight through the eye. He didn’t smile. There was no joy in it, just the steady focus of a man doing what needed to be done.

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  A flicker of movement caught his attention. Josh, near the cart, was fighting hard, his shield arm covered in grime and blood, his armour dented and streaked with black ichor. Goblins were piling up around him, their bodies forming a rough barricade. Still, they came, crawling over their dead to reach him.

  Perberos drew again, taking aim at one that had climbed onto the cart, a knife raised above Josh’s head. He loosed. The arrow hit home, dropping the creature mid-leap, bouncing off his friend, dead before it could land an attack.

  He ducked as a stray arrow zipped past, embedding itself into a nearby tree. His sharp eyes followed its trajectory back, another goblin archer, half-hidden by a burning tent. Perberos sent one arrow, then another. The first missed, skimming the creature’s shoulder, but the second pinned it to the ground.

  “Stay down, you bastard,” he muttered, reaching for another arrow.

  —

  Behind him, further in the treeline, Carcan knelt beside Brett, her focus split between him and the chaos ahead. Brett’s hands were glowing faintly as he channelled mana, eyes flicking between the pages of a scorched scroll and the camp below. His breathing was ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.

  Carcan placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Careful. Don’t burn yourself out,” she murmured.

  “I’m fine,” Brett said through gritted teeth, though his voice trembled. “Just— need— focus.”

  Carcan didn’t argue. She looked back toward the fight, scanning for Josh. He was still standing, though the number of goblins pressing him was thickening. She could see blood, not all of it goblin. He was slowing, his movements growing heavier.

  Carcan’s pulse quickened, but she stayed where she was. She knew better than to waste her mana now. Healing a cut arm was nothing if later she had to knit together a lung. Still, she could help.

  She raised her staff slightly and whispered a quick incantation. A soft shimmer rippled through the air, a translucent barrier forming briefly in front of Josh. A goblin jabbed forward with its spear and the weapon bounced harmlessly off the light. Josh didn’t even seem to notice, too lost in the fight.

  Carcan lowered her staff, the faint glow fading from her fingers. “That should hold for a few strikes,” she muttered to herself.

  She could feel her mana reserves ticking down, the inner pulse of energy thrumming weaker in her chest. She’d need to pace herself. The battle was only just beginning, and already the field stank of blood and smoke.

  Another gargled scream echoed from the far side of the camp, a high, panicked sound, followed by the crash of steel. Somewhere, another party was in trouble.

  Carcan clenched her jaw and looked to Brett, who was drawing in power for another fireball. The heat around his hands shimmered, casting flickering orange light across his face.

  “Make it count,” she whispered.

  —

  Further out, Perberos drew another arrow, his keen eyes narrowing. There were more goblins flooding from the dark mouth of the cave, sprinting to reinforce their kin.

  He loosed another shaft, and another after that, his bow singing in the night.

  The goblin horde didn’t falter.

  They just kept coming.

  —

  For Josh, the world had narrowed to the clash of steel and the stink of blood. He braced his shield as another goblin slammed against it, the impact ringing through his arm. The constant rattle of blows against the metal was relentless, like a thunderstorm breaking over him, the hammering never-ending. Every few seconds there was the thud of a club, the scrape of a jagged blade, or the dull smack of a stone striking his shield face.

  He gritted his teeth and shoved forward. The edge of the shield caught a goblin in the chest and sent it sprawling, and before the creature could recover, Josh stepped in and drove his short sword down through its throat. He twisted, yanked the blade free, stepping back behind the cart and reset his stance as blood sprayed into the air in front of him.

  His breath came in short, harsh bursts. The air was thick with smoke and the reek of singed flesh.

  They were everywhere, snarling faces, flashing blades, the press of bodies that seemed to multiply with every heartbeat. The firelight caught in their yellow eyes, turning them into feral sparks in the gloom.

  A blow struck his leg, the impact jarring through him. For a second he thought it had broken skin, but the greaves he’d bought from the armourer took the hit with only a dull crack. He risked a glance down and saw the dent from a solid hit, one that would have taken his leg clean out had he not worn them.

  Worth every coin, he thought grimly.

  He went back to his rhythm, the same motions he’d drilled into himself during training.

  Left foot forward, push with the shield, feel the crunch of impact. Right foot planted, twist of the hips, short sword stabbing in tight arcs through ribs, throats, and faces. Then back again, reset, breathe, repeat.

  Each movement was measured, deliberate. He couldn’t afford wild swings or wasted energy. The short sword wasn’t glamorous, but it was made for this kind of fight — tight, messy, and up close. The longer blade on his hip itched at him, the promise of broader cuts and reach, but he knew better. A wide swing would leave him open, even for a heartbeat, and a heartbeat was all it would take for one of these filthy things to gut him.

  His arm ached from the weight of the shield. His fingers were slick inside his gloves, the grip starting to slip with sweat and blood. A goblin darted in low, trying to stab at his shin again. He caught it with the rim of his shield, the crunch of bone echoing as he smashed the creature backward. Another lunged from his left; he pivoted and met it with a bash to the jaw, feeling the satisfying crack of teeth breaking.

  They just kept coming.

  Every time one fell, two more seemed to take its place. The ground was becoming treacherous, slick with blood and the half-crushed bodies of the fallen. The smell of iron and smoke was thick in his nose, burning his throat.

  He heard shouting from somewhere to his right. Perberos calling out, the twang of his bow cutting through the chaos. A goblin cried out and dropped from above Josh, bouncing off his shoulder, an arrow sprouting from its heart. Josh didn’t have time to look, he simply nodded to himself and pressed forward, blocking another blow, driving his shield edge into another face.

  The fight had turned into a blur of motion. He wasn’t thinking anymore, not really. His mind had emptied, replaced by instinct and repetition. Shield, stab, step. Shield, stab, step. Each impact was another beat in the rhythm of survival.

  Somewhere behind him, he heard Carcan’s voice, a spell being murmured, a faint shimmer of light flickering across the edge of his vision. A spear jabbed toward his ribs, but the tip sparked against an invisible barrier and skittered away harmlessly.

  Josh didn’t question it. He just kept fighting.

  A goblin leapt at him, claws scrabbling over his shield, snarling into his face. He drove his sword up into its gut and heaved it off, panting as it collapsed at his feet. Another replaced it immediately, screaming as it swung a rusted cleaver. Josh turned the blow aside, smashed his shield into the goblin’s arm, and then rammed his sword through its sternum.

  The cleaver clattered to the dirt.

  He blinked sweat from his eyes and risked a glance over his shoulder. Bhel was there, holding the line at his left, axe rising and falling with methodical precision. Each swing split skulls or sent goblins flying, the dwarf’s beard and armour caked in grime.

  They were still standing. That was what mattered.

  Josh reset his stance again and slammed his shield forward. Another goblin fell. Another took its place.

  The rain of blows didn’t stop. The rhythm went on.

  And still, Josh held the line.

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