By the time Max trudged back to his cave, the jungle was bathed in the deep oranges and purples of sunset. Every muscle in his body ached from the day’s relentless cycle of ambushes and skirmishes. He ducked past the curtain of brush he’d woven across the entrance and dropped his pack with a grunt, the smell of sweat and goblin blood still clinging to him.

  First things first.

  He pulled up the Tutorial Store interface and began offloading the day’s spoils. Reinforced leather vests, common-grade weapons, assorted bracers and boots — one by one, they converted into neat stacks of credits. The uncommon vest fetched a particularly satisfying sum, enough that Max found himself grinning despite his exhaustion. When he was done, the inventory felt lighter, and his credit balance looked far healthier than it had that morning.

  “Not a bad haul,” he muttered, leaning back against the cool stone wall.

  The night air carried a gentle hum of insects outside. His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, but after the day he’d had, the idea of a good, deep sleep felt almost foreign. He stripped down to his undershirt, slid his sword close at hand, and stretched out on his bedroll.

  Sleep claimed him faster than he realized.

  Something heavy slammed into him. His eyes snapped halfway open, heart lurching — but his body was slow to respond, heavy from fatigue. Dark shapes loomed over him, the gleam of crude blades catching the moonlight filtering through the brush at the cave’s mouth.

  A guttural snarl was the only warning before the first goblin lunged. Max rolled, snatching his sword and bringing it up in a desperate upward slash. Steel met flesh, and the goblin shrieked as the blade tore through its side.

  But more poured in — three, maybe four shapes — crowding the narrow space of the cave. A club smashed against his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. He swung again, catching another goblin’s arm, but a second blow clipped his temple. White-hot light exploded in his vision.

  Another hit, this time across the back of his head, and the world went black.

  Max woke to the sound of dripping water.

  The stone under him was damp and cold, the air thick with the stench of mildew and unwashed bodies. His head throbbed with each heartbeat. When he tried to move, a harsh clink answered him. Looking down, his stomach dropped.

  Thick iron shackles bit into his wrists and ankles, chains rattling with every twitch. The links were thick, blackened with rust, but still solid enough to make the point — he wasn’t going anywhere without help.

  He forced himself to take in the rest of the cell: a barred gate with crude ironwork, a single torch flickering in a wall sconce down the corridor, and the shadowy outlines of other cells beyond.

  The realization hit like a hammer. They caught me.

  Panic bubbled up fast and hot. His weapons — gone. His satchel, the potions he’d brewed, every scrap of gear he’d fought to earn — gone. He clenched his fists, the iron biting into his skin.

  Then a spark of hope flickered.

  He glanced down at his hand. The storage ring was still there, its smooth surface cool against his skin. The goblins must not have recognized what it was.

  And if it was still there… so was the staff he’d tucked away after the last battle.

  Max took a deep, steadying breath. The panic didn’t vanish, but it dulled enough for a grim thought to take root.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “They should’ve taken everything.”

  Max sat slumped against the cold wall, still trying to plan his way out. The clinking of his shackles filled the silence — until another sound joined it.

  Light, almost hesitant footsteps approached. He looked up to see a goblin, but not like the hulking brutes he’d fought all day. This one was slimmer, wiry rather than muscular, and wearing a rough tunic instead of armor. The goblin stopped just outside the bars, clutching something in his hands.

  “Hungry?” the goblin asked in clear, unmistakable English.

  Max froze. The words landed in his ears, but his brain stalled trying to process them. Did that goblin just… speak English?

  The goblin tilted his head, repeating, “Are you hungry?” He lifted the bundle in his hands — a rough slab of bread, unevenly baked and dusted with ash.

  Max blinked hard, forcing himself out of his stunned haze. “How—how can you speak English?”

  The goblin’s mouth quirked in a small, almost smug smile. “I spent my savings on a translation skill… before my clan was brought here. Best purchase I ever made.”

  The weight of that sentence hit Max. Brought here. Not born here. There was a story in that — a big one — but before he could ask, a guttural snarl cut through the corridor.

  Two armored goblins stomped into view, their rough voices a harsh contrast to the slim goblin’s clarity. They barked something in their native tongue, and the slim one flinched, glancing back at Max before hurrying away under their watchful eyes.

  Max’s jaw tightened. Whoever that goblin was, he’d been risking something just being here.

  The guards lingered, one leaning lazily against the bars while the other checked a ring of crude iron keys hanging from his belt. The temptation burned in Max’s chest.

  When the lazier guard made the mistake of stepping too close, Max moved.

  He surged forward, chains rattling, and yanked his staff from his storage ring in one smooth motion. The staff’s butt end cracked into the goblin’s knee with a sickening pop, sending him down screaming. The second guard spun, fumbling for a weapon, but Max’s staff lashed out again, catching him in the throat.

  Both were on the ground before they’d had a chance to yell. Max didn’t hesitate — he stomped down on the one with the keys, yanked them free, and wrestled the awkward locks on his shackles until they clicked open.

  The instant the last shackle fell, Max’s movements sharpened. His limbs still ached from the day before, but adrenaline made him fast. He scooped up a spear from one of the guards for backup, then slipped into the dimly lit corridor, keeping low.

  His plan was simple: find his gear, get out.

  It didn’t take long before he spotted it — laid out on a table in a large tent at the edge of the camp. And standing over it, pawing through his things, was a massive goblin, taller and broader than any he’d seen yet. Thick cords of muscle bunched under its armor, and crude scars lined its arms and face.

  Rage surged hot in Max’s chest. Everything that had happened tonight — the ambush, the cell, the chains — had started with these creatures.

  He raised his staff and began channeling. Mana flooded into the spell, coalescing into a massive Fireball, its heat distorting the air around him. He hurled it with all the fury in his body—

  And it didn’t hit.

  A blinding flare of gold erupted around the goblin leader, forming a domed, radiant shield. The Fireball slammed against it, exploding in a bloom of heat and light, but the shield held.

  The leader dropped Max’s gear with a growl and hefted a jagged axe, stepping into the open. The shield faded, leaving only the smirk of someone who thought they’d already won.

  “Fine,” Max muttered, gripping his staff. “Let’s do this.”

  The leader came in heavy, axe swinging in a brutal arc. Max ducked under it, countering with a burst of mana through his staff that sent a concussive shockwave into the goblin’s chest. The brute staggered, but didn’t fall.

  Blow for blow, they traded strikes — the leader’s raw strength against Max’s speed and magic. A sweep of the axe nearly took Max’s legs out, but a quick Blink put him behind the goblin, where he unleashed a point-blank Fireball into its back. The smell of burning leather and flesh filled the tent.

  The leader roared, spinning, but Max didn’t give him the chance to recover. Mana crackled down his staff as he brought it overhead in a final, crushing strike, the impact shattering the goblin’s knee. The brute collapsed, and Max’s follow-up blast ended the fight in a burst of heat and force.

  [XP Awarded]

  [Loot Acquired: All confiscated gear recovered]

  Credits earned: 150

  Max grabbed his things, slinging his satchel over his shoulder and strapped his weapons in place with practiced speed.

  Then he ran.

  He didn’t care about stealth now — every step was a full sprint, every breath burning his lungs. The camp blurred past him, tents and torches whipping by as shouts rose in alarm.

  He pushed himself harder, drawing on every ounce of his enhanced stamina, not stopping until the shouts faded and only the night and the pounding of his own heart remained.

  Only then did he slow, leaning against a tree, breath coming in harsh gasps. He was free. For now.