Chapter 37: Mission accomplished unexpectedly

The priestess stared at him blankly, the acrid smell of blood still hanging in the air. Her lips parted, and she whispered, "Thank you."

Then, as though the weight of everything had finally caught up with her, she crumpled to the ground, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling with exhaustion.

Yarrow turned, glancing towards the boiler, where Owen had already dealt with the other two goblins. After untying them, most of the adventurers were relatively unscathed, though five had sustained light injuries. Two, unfortunately, had been processed into little more than meat.

"I thought I was going to die..." Charles exhaled, his chest heaving as the rush of survival drained the strength from his limbs. A smile pulled at his lips, half delirious, half relieved.

"Ha, haha, it must be the power of my protagonist halo!" he added with a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

But his bravado didn't last long. Before he could say anything else, a sharp kick to his back sent him crashing to the ground. The priestess, a fury in her eyes, was on him in an instant. Her hands were a blur as she punched and kicked him, her anger driving each strike with a raw, unrelenting force.

"I'll beat you to death, you shameless bastard!" she screamed. "You thought you could play with me like one of those goblins? Are you even human, you monster?"

Her words rang in the air, harsh and filled with rage. The group watched in stunned silence as the priestess vented her fury, tears now mixing with the sweat on her face. Charles, stunned, could barely defend himself, but it didn't matter. The world around him seemed to slow as the tension thickened in the room.

"Now there's another injured person," Yarrow muttered, eyes narrowing as he turned toward the rest of the group.

The adventurers, their faces pale and stricken with exhaustion, were beginning to look as though they couldn't bear to remain in the cursed place for another moment. Some exchanged weary glances, each of them silently wondering if they would make it out of this nightmare alive.

"Thank you for saving me. Um... where's that Dragonborn lady?" someone asked, their voice shaky.

"She was lured away. I don't know where she went," Yarrow answered, his voice low. "Owen and I tried to track her, but the passages were a mess. She's likely gone."

"Then let's head to the prison and free the village chief's family. We leave this place as soon as possible," Yarrow said, his tone decisive.

He motioned toward Owen. "This is Owen. He knows the terrain here better than anyone, and he'll be our guide."

The others exchanged looks, still unsure, but Owen's imposing figure and the aura of quiet strength around him immediately commanded respect. No one asked further questions. The survivors grabbed their gear and moved quickly, eager to leave the dark kitchen behind.

Once everyone had gone, the door creaked open, and a lone goblin waddled in. "Hey! Where's the food? You've been busy with radishes and forgotten about cooking? My brothers are starving!"

The goblin's voice echoed through the empty kitchen as it surveyed the scene: scattered ropes, goblin bodies lying lifeless on the ground. He cursed under his breath and hurried to the front hall, shouting to the others. "Damn it, grab your weapons! Lunch has been spoiled!"

A large group of goblins scrambled from the shadows, their excited howls echoing like a chorus of chaos. The ground seemed to rumble as they surged toward the dining hall, ready for a fight.

Yarrow's eyes narrowed as he glanced at the wall where a small hole barely opened, revealing the chaos outside. "It's getting too dangerous. The cave is crawling with goblins now."

He turned to Owen, who gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "I know another way," Owen said quietly, "but it's a longer route."

Yarrow looked at him, assessing the risk. "Then we take it."

"Leave it to me," Owen replied, his voice muffled under his staghorn helmet.

Once the goblins had passed, Owen led them through narrow, winding paths, his movements precise and quick. He shifted aside a heavy stone, revealing a hidden passage that sloped downward.

They crawled through it, the air thick with dampness and the faint glow of sporadic fluorite lighting the way.

"We're here. The goblin prison," Owen said, his voice low.

The air was colder, the atmosphere more oppressive. The walls were slick with moisture, and the occasional flicker of light from the glowing stones revealed prison cells on either side—small, cramped spaces that exuded a sense of abandonment.

The priestess's gaze lingered on the cells, her breath catching in her throat. "Are there really people in there?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, fear creeping into her words.

"Don't say that too loudly," Yarrow muttered, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness. "We don't want the goblins to hear us."

A sudden movement caught their attention: a gnarled hand shot out from one of the cells, grabbing the priestess's ankle.

"Ahh!" She screamed, instinctively kicking the hand away and running forward, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Quiet!" Yarrow snapped, his voice commanding as he spun to grab her by the arm. He pulled her close, his hand firmly covering her mouth to stifle her screams. Her eyes widened, filled with panic, but he held her steady.

She pointed toward the cell, her hand trembling. Yarrow's gaze followed her finger, and he saw it: a withered arm, like a dead branch, hanging limply from the bars of the prison cell.

He stepped forward, kneeling beside the cell, the glow of the fluorite illuminating the figure within.

An old face stared back at him, its eyes hollow and empty, but with a flicker of recognition. "Are you the village chief?" Yarrow asked, his voice soft but firm.

"Yes, it's me..." The voice was weak, rasping, as though it had not been used in years. "Finally... humans have come."

The lock on the iron door was rusty but strong. Yarrow looked around, his gaze falling on the adventurers. "Anyone know how to break this?"

A trembling goblin stepped forward, a nervous hand raised. "I... I know a little."

Yarrow nodded. "Go ahead. Try."

The goblin approached, staff in hand, his small form dwarfed by the enormity of the task ahead.

"Village chief, please lean back a little," the goblin instructed, standing in front of the prison cell. His voice was nervous but determined. He raised his hands and began to chant in a low, trembling voice.

With a sharp, muffled bang, the prison door contorted violently, the metal groaning as it bent outward, just wide enough for a single person to crawl through. The goblin hurried forward and, with the help of the others, they pulled Old Mike out of the cell.

"Where is your family?" Yarrow asked, his voice calm but insistent, trying to make sense of their next move.

Old Mike shook his head weakly, his eyes empty and haunted. "I don't know. They locked me up separately," he muttered, his voice raw and hoarse from years of imprisonment.

"Then they must be in another cell," Owen speculated, his tone thoughtful.

"Village chief, you've suffered enough," one of the adventurers said softly, their voice filled with sympathy.

Old Mike nodded slowly, his shoulders trembling. For a moment, he said nothing, but then the tears began to fall, silent at first, then more steadily as he covered his face with his hands.

"I... I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I just... I just can't stop crying. It's been so long..."

A somber silence hung in the air as the group watched the once-proud village chief crumble under the weight of his ordeal. "It seems he's truly been through something unimaginable," Yarrow muttered, his voice full of quiet understanding.

With Old Mike now in tow, the mission had reached its first milestone. Though their objective had only been partially met, there was no time to dwell. Owen led them forward with purpose, his presence commanding the group's attention.

"By the way," Yarrow asked the goblin who had just used his demolition skills, "your abilities are impressive. Why didn't you use them when we were dealing with the goblins?"

The goblin's eyes shifted nervously, and he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Well... it's just that... when I face enemies, I... I get nervous. And when I get nervous, I can't focus enough to chant the spell."

"So, your skills only work when you're not facing danger?" Yarrow raised an eyebrow, surprised at the revelation.

"Yeah," the goblin muttered, looking down in embarrassment.

Yarrow's lips twitched, but he didn't press the matter. Instead, the group continued, making their way up a winding path that began to slope upward. The path grew wider, and the mood lightened as the team felt they were finally nearing the end of their ordeal.

"We can leave this place by going up," Owen said, his voice steady.

Everyone began to relax, the tension easing from their shoulders. For the first time, the adventurers felt a sense of relief.

"I didn't think it would go this smoothly. Not a single goblin in sight," one adventurer remarked, his voice full of surprise.

"After this mission, I'll never take a goblin quest again," another chimed in with a weary chuckle.

Just as the mood seemed to lift, Owen abruptly stopped. His eyes narrowed, and a grim expression crossed his face.

"Wait. Something's wrong," Owen muttered.

"What's wrong?" Yarrow asked, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper.

"This road... it shouldn't be this long." Owen's gaze lingered on the endless slope ahead, his brow furrowing in confusion. "We've been walking for too long. We should have reached the exit by now, but..."

A ripple of unease ran through the group. The air seemed to grow heavier, thick with tension. An icy chill crept up from their feet, and a sense of dread filled the cavern.

"Hee hee..." A chilling, high-pitched laugh echoed from the shadows, sending a shiver down their spines.

Suddenly, the cave walls around them seemed to warp and stretch, their solid surfaces distorting as though reality itself was breaking apart. The scenery shattered in an instant, and before they could react, they found themselves standing not in a narrow passage but in a vast, cavernous space. The walls stretched far in every direction, the shadows deep and foreboding.

"It's... it's illusion magic!" someone shouted in panic, their voice tinged with fear.

The adventurers turned as one, their eyes drawn to the center of the cavern. Atop a high platform made of bleached white bones, a grotesque sight lay before them: a bloated, repulsive goblin, sprawled lazily, its green skin hanging in folds of fat. A twisted smile curled across its face, its eyes gleaming with malice as it watched them, the laughter still echoing in the air.

"Owen," the goblin sneered, its voice dripping with contempt. "You little bastard. You're not dead yet?"

... patreon Seasay