Fredric saw the wounded scout and looked at William with wide eyes. “You think it’s…”
“Goblins,” William interrupted. “Has to be.”
Sibrek grunted. “You’re sure?”
William nodded. “Before we broke camp, I overheard the Commander mention a number. Eight thousand.”
“Eight thousand?” Pip’s tail puffed in disbelief. “That’s not a warband, that’s a bloody army!”
Brian swore under his breath. “We’ve got, what… two thousand left who can fight? Maybe less?”
William’s gaze swept over the trudging column ahead of them: soldiers too tired to lift their heads, farmers struggling to keep pace with the wagons, children carried in arms. “Yes. And that’s including those who can barely hold a blade.”
Fredric swallowed. “Then what do we do?”
“Same as always.” Sibrek stroked his red beard. “We ‘old the line ‘till we can’t.”
Amra shook her head. “If we fight here, we all die. The Commander’s right to keep moving.”
William agreed, though a part of him was already calculating distances, terrain, and how long they could delay a pursuit if the worst came. “If they catch us before we reach Thrymwall, we join the soldiers. Buy time for the civilians to get through. If we’re lucky, the city’s watch will meet us halfway.”
“That’s optimism talkin’.” Sibrek patted Will on the shoulder and grinned.
“Hope’s worth something,” Will replied. Surely the Commander sent word forward to Thrymwall?
The line ahead shifted as a wagon creaked to a slow crawl. A small girl climbed down from the side. She was no more than ten, her silver hair dull with dust. She waved an elderly man towards her spot on the wagon bench. He tried to refuse, but she insisted, guiding him onto the moving wagon with the aid of a couple of soldiers.
William watched the girl walk beside the wagon for a while, her little boots kicking up puffs of dust. As the hour dragged on, her steps slowed. Then she stumbled, caught herself, and trudged on again, eyes half-shut.
When the convoy hit a shallow rise, she fell behind. William slowed his pace until she was beside him. “Hey.”
She blinked up at him, too tired to speak.
“Come on.” Will crouched. “You’ve earned a lift.” He lifted her easily, setting her on one of his pauldrons.
She made a small sound—half protest, half relief—and rested her cheek against his white hair. That was when he recognised her: the little elf girl from Brindlecross, the one who’d brought him watered-down ale while training. Her silver hair was so dusty that the pink streak was all but hidden.
William smiled. “Guess we’re both still standing, eh?”
She didn’t answer. She was already asleep.
William received a notification.
[Optional Quest: Escort the Elf Child to Safety]
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
His eyes widened. Another quest? He checked his interface as they continued to walk.
[SYSTEM ERROR: Incomplete Interface]
Character: William Draven
Race: Half-Elf/Human
Class: Holy Paladin of the Fallen Gods
Level: 200
XP: ??/??
Health: 140/140
Mana: 128/140
Strength: 200
Charisma: ??
Agility: 80
Intelligence: 60
Willpower: 40
Luck: ??
Free points: ??
Stamina: 89%
[Skills] Divine Fire (6), Light’s Mercy (6), SYSTEM ERROR
[Professions] SYSTEM ERROR
[Titles] Menace to Slimes, Player Killer, Hero of Brindlecross, Champion of the Gods, SYSTEM ERROR
[Reputation] The Kingdom of Mercia Rep: 13,898, SYSTEM ERROR
[Quests] Shadows of the Goblin King, There Can Be Only One, Escort the Survivors of Brindlecross to Safety, Escort the Survivors of Dunholme to Safety, Escort the Elf Child to Safety, SYSTEM ERROR
[Oaths] SYSTEM ERROR
Will dismissed his interface. Is this going to lead to the kid being some sort of lost elven princess I have to return to her people? He resisted the urge to laugh. In previous iterations of the game, this was the type of random quest that could initiate a long questline with a nice reward at the end.
The convoy pressed on. Hours blurred into a haze of aching feet and hoarse commands. Horses stumbled from exhaustion; two collapsed, forcing their drivers to replace them with horses from the cavalry. The cavalry began dismounting, their mounts repurposed to pull the overloaded wagons or carry the exhausted survivors. Even the officers marched now.
At times, riders lifted children or light-bodied women onto their saddles, easing the wagons’ burden. A strange rhythm took hold; a grim, steady pulse of survival.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the convoy trudged through a small, forsaken hamlet. The few dozen homes, once protected by a palisade, were now blackened shells, smoke still curling from their timbers. No blood stained the ground, no bodies lay in the street, only silence prevailed. The villagers had fled long ago, leaving their homes to the goblins and the fire that followed.
William noted the smouldering remains. “This looks recent.”
“Aye, lad.” Sibrek frowned. “There could be trouble ahead.”
The others nodded as the march towards safety continued.
By the time twilight deepened into true dark, the air had turned cold. Lanterns were lit one by one, their faint glow weaving through the night like fireflies.
A horn sounded once; a long, low note that rippled through the line.
“Rest stop!” someone shouted. “One hour!” The call was repeated down the line.
The convoy slowed, but no one celebrated. There was no campfire laughter now, only the sound of soldiers unstrapping gear, feeding horses, and swallowing cold rations. The order came that they would march again under the stars, aiming to reach Thrymwall by dawn.
William set the sleeping girl down in the wagon carrying Fredric’s family. “Keep an eye on her, will you?” he said to Fredric’s mother.
The middle-aged woman smiled. “Of course, m’lord.” She bowed.
“No need for any of that. Please call me William.” He looked in the wagon at the sleeping children. “How are they holding up?”
“They’re doing well, m’lord… William,” she replied. “Bobby won’t stop talking about you. He’s going to be a knight like brave Sir William.” She shook her head, but her smile betrayed her true thoughts.
William chuckled. “Perhaps he will be.”
“Thank you for being so nice to Bobby and for looking after Fred.” She glanced towards her son, who was bringing over some dried rations. “He can be a bit reckless at times.”
“Ma!” Fredric protested. “I’m not reckless.”
Will chuckled as he accepted something to eat.
They continued to chat in hushed whispers while around them, the others busied themselves with eating food or tried to get some rest before they had to march again. Many sat in silence, their tired faces lit by the dim, wavering glow of a lantern.
William cast [Light’s Mercy] on himself and the group and looked to the horizon, where the darkness behind them seemed thicker than the night itself.
Fredric rubbed his tired eyes. “Think we’ll make it?”
“We’ll make it,” Will replied, but even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t sure if he believed them.
The rest stop had lasted little more than fifteen minutes when the horn blew. A single, drawn-out note cut through the quiet murmur of the camp like a blade through cloth. Men froze mid-bite. Horses snorted and stamped. The sound came again; it felt urgent, and in an instant, fatigue was replaced by fear.
Chapter 049 [Optional Quest: Protect the Convoy of Survivors]
