3.- The Forest

The Veridian Forest did not live up to its name, at least not to the idyllic image it conjured in Sebastian's mind. There were no sunny glades or crystalline streams, nor magical creatures flitting among the trees. Instead, a perpetual twilight reigned under the dense canopy of leaves, where the sun's rays, if they managed to filter through, did so as weak golden threads, soon swallowed by the darkness. The air, thick and humid, clung to the skin like a second skin, laden with the sweet and pungent smell of wet earth, the acrid aroma of mushrooms growing in profusion on fallen trunks, and a musky, unpleasant stench that Sebastian preferred not to identify.

They hadn't advanced more than two hundred yards from the edge of the forest when a chorus of sharp, guttural shrieks, like the cawing of crows mixed with the grunt of wild boars, broke the oppressive silence. Goblins. The word echoed in Sebastian's mind, accompanied by a chill that ran down his spine.

"Ambush!" Roland shouted, drawing his sword with a metallic shing that seemed amplified in the stillness of the forest. "Formation!"

Sebastian, who was walking a few steps behind, felt his heart rise to his throat. This is real, he thought. This is not a drill, nor a tavern tale. This is a fight for survival.

The goblins emerged from the undergrowth like a nightmare come to life. They were not the small, ridiculous creatures he had imagined. They were, yes, shorter than a man, but their bodies, twisted and muscular, were covered in a greenish, leathery skin, dotted with warts and pustules. Their eyes, small and sunken, glowed with a red and malevolent light, and their mouths, disproportionately large, displayed rows of yellowish, sharp teeth, stained with dried blood.

But what disturbed Sebastian the most was their smell. A nauseating stench, a mixture of rancid sweat, dirt, and something else... something animal, that turned his stomach.

These goblins were not mere fairytale monsters. They were predators, savage and cruel, and they were hungry.

He counted at least fifteen, perhaps more, emerging from among the trees and bushes. They wore no armor, only dirty leather loincloths and some adornments made of bones and feathers. But their weapons, though primitive, were lethal: gnarled wooden clubs, reinforced with sharp stones and bones; flint and obsidian knives, roughly carved but capable of tearing flesh; and, in the hands of two of them, short bows and arrows with blackened tips, clearly poisoned.

"Markus, front!" Roland ordered, his voice firm and authoritative. "Liam, right flank! Sebastian, with me, protect the rear!"

Markus, without a word, placed himself in front of Sebastian, forming a human shield with his hulking body. His war hammer, a formidable weapon that seemed more suited to knocking down walls than fighting goblins, whistled through the air as he prepared for impact. A mountain, Sebastian thought, I wish I had that confidence.

Liam, with feline agility, moved to the right, drawing his two daggers, which gleamed briefly in the dim forest light. A cruel smile curled his lips. "Let the party begin," he murmured, more to himself than to the others.

The horde of goblins rushed at them, shrieking and growling, with blind fury. The first clash was brutal.

Markus, with a roar that drowned out the goblins' screams, brought his hammer down on the first one who approached him. The impact was devastating. A sickening crunch, a mix of bone and wood, was heard, and the goblin was thrown through the air, like a rag doll, to crash against a tree with a dull thud.

But the goblins were numerous, and they didn't falter easily. They surrounded Markus, attacking him from all angles, like a pack of rabid dogs.

One of them, more daring or more stupid than the others, jumped onto Markus's back, trying to plunge a knife into his neck. Markus, with a grunt of pain and fury, shook himself violently, trying to throw him off.

"Markus!" Sebastian shouted, but his voice was lost in the din of battle.

Liam, who was closer, reacted instantly. With a quick and precise movement, he threw one of his daggers, which sank into the goblin's neck with a wet and sickening sound. The creature let out an agonized shriek and fell to the ground, writhing in a brief and violent agony.

"Thanks, Liam!" Markus shouted, still brandishing his hammer.

Liam gave him a crooked smile. "You're welcome, big guy," he replied. "But now, take care of the others!"

Meanwhile, Roland, sword raised, faced two goblins at once. His fighting style was different from Markus's and Liam's. It was not as brutal as the warrior's, nor as elegant as the rogue's. It was, simply, efficient.

He parried blows with his shield, dodged attacks with precise movements, and counterattacked with quick, accurate thrusts. He wasted no energy on unnecessary movements. Every blow, every parry, every thrust, had a purpose.

Sebastian, watching the scene from the rear, felt a mix of admiration and terror. He had never seen such a real, such a brutal fight. The smell of blood, the sound of breaking bones, the screams of pain and fury... everything was too intense, too close.

A goblin, taking advantage of Roland's distraction, slipped behind him and lunged at him, with a club raised.

"Roland, watch out!" Sebastian shouted, instinctively.

Roland, alerted by the shout, turned just in time. But the goblin was fast, and the club struck his left arm with a dull blow.

Roland let out a cry of pain and staggered back, reeling. His sword fell to the ground, and his left arm hung limp at his side.

"Damn it!" Roland cursed, gritting his teeth, his face contorted in pain.

The goblin, seeing his opportunity, prepared to deliver the final blow.

Sebastian, reacting purely on instinct, pulled a handful of dried ghost nettle leaves, a plant he had collected the day before, from his pouch and threw them into the goblin's face.

The leaves, upon contact with the skin, released an irritant that caused intense itching and temporary blindness.

The goblin, screaming in pain and rubbing his eyes, staggered back blindly, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground.

Roland, taking advantage of the distraction, bent down and picked up his sword. With a quick and brutal movement, he cut off the goblin's head.

"Thanks, Sebastian," Roland said, his breathing ragged. "You saved my life."

Sebastian, trembling from head to toe, nodded. He couldn't speak. The image of the decapitated goblin, with blood spurting from his neck, was seared into his mind.

The battle continued, but the goblins' initial momentum had been broken. Markus, despite being wounded, remained an unstoppable force. Liam, with his agility and daggers, harassed the goblins, inflicting quick and lethal wounds. And Roland, despite his wounded arm, continued to fight with determination, directing his companions and protecting Sebastian.

Little by little, the goblins fell. One by one, they were felled by steel, hammer, or Sebastian's ingenious, but still inexperienced, stratagems.

Finally, the last goblin fell, and a tense silence took over the forest.

The three adventurers, exhausted and covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, looked at each other.

"Are... are they all dead?" Sebastian asked, his voice trembling.

Roland nodded. "I think so," he said. "But we can't let our guard down. There might be more."

He approached Sebastian and put a hand on his shoulder. "You did well, boy," he said. "You were brave."

Sebastian, despite feeling relieved to have survived, didn't feel brave. He felt sick.

"We need to treat those wounds," he said, trying to focus on something other than the image of the dead goblins.

He knelt next to Roland and examined his arm. The wound was deep, but it didn't seem to have affected the bone.

"I need to clean and bandage it," he said. "And I also need something to relieve the pain."

He pulled a flask of clean water, a linen cloth, and an ointment made with comfrey and arnica, two plants known for their anti-inflammatory and analgesic properties, from his pouch.

Carefully, he cleaned Roland's wound, removing the dirt and fabric scraps. Then, he applied the ointment, spreading it gently over the skin.

"This will relieve you a little," he said. "But it's not a miracle cure. You'll need to rest and avoid using your arm."

Markus, who had approached, made a movement with his hand, like a nervous tic, clenching and unclenching his fist.

"We should go back to town," Markus suggested in his usual tone.

Roland shook his head. "No," he said. "We're already here. And we're not going back empty-handed. Besides," He turned to Sebastian. "This may be a good opportunity for you to find what you're looking for."

Meanwhile, Liam, who had been examining the goblins' corpses, approached them with a grimace of disgust.

"These critters stink" he said "And they carry nothing of value. Just bones, stones, and... what's this?"

He crouched down and picked something up from the ground. It was a small leather pouch, dirty and worn, but with a strange symbol etched on it.

"It looks like an amulet," Sebastian said, moving closer to examine it. "But I don't recognize the symbol. It's not of any plant I know."

Roland shrugged. "Maybe it's something from the goblins," he said. "Or maybe it's something they stole. Either way, it's useless to us."

He was about to toss the pouch away when Liam stopped him.

"Wait," he said. "Maybe we should keep it. It could be useful for the investigation. Or maybe we can sell it to a collector."

Roland thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright," he said. "You keep it, Liam. You're the one with the luck for these things."

Liam grinned and tucked the pouch into his pocket. "You never know," he said. "Maybe this is our ticket to riches."