Over what felt like a year of travel—or was it only a few hours?—Max had slowly begun to crawl out of the heavy shell of fear and shock that had wrapped around him since the first battle. The world still felt wrong and terrifying, but he was starting to… function. To help. To matter.

He'd found uses for Create Light that no one, not even Mr Walker, had expected.

When healers crouched beside the wounded, Max stood over them, bathing the area in steady white-blue light so they could see the torn flesh, the lodged arrows, the unnatural burns left by goblin weapons. Some healers had shaky hands or were crying from exhaustion, but the moment Max illuminated the wound, their focus sharpened.

He made himself useful.

And between fights, when the next wave of monsters came snarling out of the bush, Max learned something else: his light didn't just shine—it could mark.

If he concentrated, he could paint a glow over a target, a shimmering outline that clinged to the hobgoblin brutes like neon chalk. The ranged fighters loved it.

"Max, tag the big one!" "There—left flank, mark it!" "No, the one with the shield—yeah that's him!"

Then volleys flew, arrows slicing through air toward the glowing marks he created.

It felt good. It felt important. It felt like he wasn't useless.

With his extra system-enhanced stats, the march was easier on him than on most adults. His endurance barely dipped, and his legs didn't shake like some of the grown men stumbling near the back. He had always been naturally fit—running, climbing, playing footy with his mates—but now he felt stronger, quicker, sharper.

Yet his hunger was unbearable.

Somehow, the raw snags he was still carrying were starting to look good. Really good. He'd caught himself sniffing the box more than once. His stomach growled so loudly that one of the healers, who was not his sister thought he'd been shot.

He tried to laugh it off.

Max was standing beside her now, his light shining steady over a nasty arrow embedded deep in a man's calf. The healer clenched her jaw, bracing as she pulled.

"Ready… almost—okay, got it!"

The arrow slid free with a slick snap. The man hissed but didn't scream. Max turned his light brighter so she could heal the wound properly.

Then—

A shout split the tired silence of the march:

"I can see the paddocks! We're close!"

The cry rippled through the whole group like a spark hitting dry grass. People straightened. Some gasped. A few sobbed with relief.

Max blinked, then grinned despite everything—despite the blood, the fear, the exhaustion clawing at the edges of his mind. He lifted the box of raw snags and looked over at one of his mates—Tommy, pale-faced but still walking.

"Thank god," Max said with a tired laugh. "I really didn't want to eat these things raw."

Tommy snorted weakly. "Mate, you were gonna. I saw the way you were lookin' at 'em."

"Shut up," Max muttered, but he couldn't stop grinning as the distant paddocks came into view—a promise of safety, faint but real.

The whole group had picked up speed to a fast walk, everyone eager to get to safety

Zane was yelling, "Don't rush ahead, everyone stay together, remember we only move as fast as our slowest person."

To everybody's credit, people listened, staying in or returning to formation. As the group moved as a single unit.

_____________________________________________________

The Goblin Chief, Bulwark the Consumer, was not stupid.

Many humans assumed goblins were mindless pests, but Bulwark had risen to chief for a reason. He wanted this land—all of it. He did not know how he knew, only that the System itself whispered the promise into his mind: If his clan could make the humans leave or die, and claim the surrounding area as their territory, then after seven days, they would receive a powerful bonus so long as they remained within their claimed land.

Seven days.

Seven days of dominance, and the reward would be his. His strength, his tribe's strength—all would grow.

So he was happy enough to harass these stupid humans, driving them forward, frightening them, bleeding them. They were already doing half the job themselves by leaving the area.

But then one of his scouts came skittering back, trembling, babbling about an area the goblins could not enter.

At first, Bulwark wasn't concerned. The human herd seemed ready to pass it by anyway. They clearly knew about this "forbidden" place and were avoiding it.

But then Bulwark saw them change direction.

The moment the humans laid eyes on that zone, they began marching straight toward it with determination and desperation.

That made the Chief's gut twist.

If the humans could enter that place—and he and his own could not—then his claimed territory would fail. His reward would vanish. The promise would be lost.

He would not allow that.

Then a new plan came to him—simple, brutal, effective. Stop harassing from behind. Stop bleeding them slowly. Rush ahead. Beat them there. Block the path. Kill them all before they cross the invisible boundary.

Bulwark grinned, showing broken purple teeth.

With a roar that shook leaves from branches, he barked commands to his warriors. The goblins scattered like a swarm of insects, changing direction instantly. The whole mass of them pivoted through the undergrowth.

Bulwark charged with them.

His nine-foot frame smashed through the bush like a living boulder, his large, flabby body slamming into tree trunks and sending smaller ones snapping. Vines tore at his skin as he barreled forward, breath heaving, eyes burning with the promise of the reward that would soon be his.

The humans thought they were close to safety.

Bulwark the Consumer smiled.

He would get there first.

_________________________________________________________

Max was looking around at all the smiles spreading across everyone's faces as they finally turned towards the Riders' house. Everyone could see through the trees ahead of them, the open paddocks rolled out like a golden plain, and in the middle—sitting high on its stilts—was the Rider's house.

It didn't just look like safety. It felt like it. Like the System itself was humming a quiet "yes" in the back of Max's skull.

He wasn't the only one who felt it. People were laughing, crying, hugging each other. Even Liam, who'd been stone-faced the whole march, let out a huge sigh of relief.

Max tightened his grip on the box of raw snags and grinned at Kaitlyn, who was walking with a healers' group. "We actually made it," he whispered.

But before she could respond, a sound rolled out of the forest behind them—deep, bellowing, wrong.

A roar. A roar big enough to rattle Max's ribs.

Then came the crashing. Not footsteps—impacts. As if something huge was smashing through trees without slowing down. Like a herd of elephants, or maybe something worse.

Max stumbled as the entire formation jolted to a stop. Defenders on the rear flank snapped into action instantly, raising makeshift shields and scavenged weapons. The ranged fighters lifted spears, arrows, glowing palms—every spell or projectile they had ready.

Whimpers spread through the group. A few younger kids began sobbing. Even some adults sounded close.

But then Zane's voice ripped through the fear.

"Relax! Sounds like a goblin chief!" he shouted, spinning his Machete once like it weighed nothing. "We've killed one before!"

Tarni chimed in without missing a beat, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Yeah—easy peasy! This one's probably uglier but still killable!"

A ripple of nervous laughter rolled through the line. Shields straightened. Spines uncurled. Max could feel hope starting to rebuild itself.

Everyone stared into the treeline, eager to spot the monster first. Ranged DPS leaned forward, fingers twitching over spells. Warriors braced themselves, legs planted.

But then Kai, who had been checking his interface while walking with the healers, suddenly swore loud enough for half the group to hear.

"Oh shit!"

Tarni spun toward him. "What?"

Kai spun his system map, eyes wide. "A huge cluster of red dots just popped up—like an entire swarm. And…" His voice dropped. "They're not behind us anymore."

Zane's grin vanished. "What do you mean?"

Kai swallowed. "They're between us— and the house."

______________________________________________________________

Bell had been at the back of the group, helping the ranged DPS line with her bow when Zane shouted, "Bell! I think we're going to need you!"

She stayed where she was for a few breaths longer, making sure nothing was coming from the rear. When she was satisfied, she started pushing her way through the crowd. As she passed people she murmured encouragements—quiet words, steady words—the kind that stopped panic from snowballing.

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Then she reached the front.

And stopped cold.

Fifty—maybe more—Hobgoblins and goblins stood in a wide crescent across the field. But even they weren't the problem.

The problem stood in front of them.

A Goblin Chief. Nine feet tall. Wrapped in cast-iron armour that looked hammered together from stoves and car parts. And the shield—Bell could feel its weight from fifty metres away. It radiated pressure like a mountain leaning forward.

She swallowed and turned to Zane. "Can we go around them?"

Zane's face twisted, frustrated. He shook his head.

"No. Every time we try, they move to block us. It's like they can sense the edge of the safe zone, and they're making damn sure we don't get inside it."

Both sides stood their ground now. The ranged DPS—those with bows or spells—had pushed forward to stand behind the wall of Tanks and warriors. Zane, Tarni, Kai, Bell and Lily leaned together, trying to form a plan that didn't involve everyone dying.

Tarni was, of course, pitching his favourite strategy.

"I distract the big ugly bastard, you lot keep the small fry busy, and I sneak around and backstab him. Easy. Done. Lock it in."

He kept arguing for it right up until Lily activated her Rapid Appraisal skill, stared, and then shared the result to everyone.

Goblin Chief Bulwark the Consumer Your Skill Level Is Not High Enough To Display Any Further Details

Kai frowned first. "Doesn't Rapid Appraisal Level 2 show stats for anything up to five levels above you?"

Lily nodded. "Yeah. And I'm level 11 now. So… that makes him at least level 17."

Tarni stared at the Chief, then muttered, "Holy elf tits… I don't think backstabbing a monster called Bulwark the Consumer who's six levels higher than me is the best idea I've ever had."

Bell stepped in quickly. "I might be able to help—if I can get within ten metres." She flicked open her Titles tab, sharing it with the group.

Title: Um, Remind Me To Never Knock On Your Door! • 25% extra damage when using a fully powered Charge Shot on a target within 10 meters. • Splashback damage increased by 25%.

Zane and Lily both started nodding—but before they could speak, a roar ripped out of the Goblin Chief so loud Bell felt her ribs shake.

Then the sky went dark.

Goblins and Hobgoblins with bows—or anything they could throw—let loose a stream of arrows and crude weapons. They came down like a metal rainstorm.

Shields shot up. People ducked. Screams cut the air as arrows found flesh.

But less than a second after the first arrow hit, the human archers fired back.

All except Bell.

She didn't shoot. She planted her feet, whispered, "Basic Power Shot," and her Boomstick Bow hummed and glowed—charging, swelling with mana until it vibrated in her hands.

Zane barely had time to get his shield up as three arrows aimed straight at Bell. He blocked all of them, metal ringing.

The moment the first human arrow hit the goblin line, the entire monster force surged forward—one unified charge, their Chief leading the way, shield raised.

Zane met Bell's gaze. She nodded once.

They ran.

Zane bellowed, "GET BEHIND ME!" The skill triggered instantly—his armour and attack doubling for twelve seconds—as he sprinted ahead.

They reached the midpoint between the two armies first, far faster than the goblins expected. Zane dropped to one knee, planting his shield in front of him, bracing for impact.

Bell skidded to a stop behind him, bow shaking with pent-up power.

She waited. Ten metres. Just ten metres—

1.5 seconds later, the Goblin Chief crossed that threshold.

Bell released.

The arrow screamed through the air. Half her mana and stamina ripped out of her with it. She collapsed to her knees, panting.

———————————————

Bulwark, the Chief, noticed the two humans rushing forwards—the tall male with the shield and the small female with the glowing bow. He'd fought humans before. He and dealt with their tricks before.

He didn't slow. He didn't flinch.

With a wicked grin, he simply angled his colossal shield to the left, ready to deflect the incoming blast.

The arrow hit the shield with an earth-shaking explosion. For the first time since he became Chief, Bulwark had to take a full step backward.

A single step.

He grunted, planted his feet, lifted his shield again—and roared to intimidate the humans with their failure.

———————————————

Bell stared as the smoke cleared.

The Chief still stood. Barely dented. Barely scratched. Still roaring.

Panic surged up her throat. She grabbed Zane's shoulder, ready to drag him back—ready to call for a retreat, a last stand, anything—

But Zane shook his head and pointed.

Bell followed his finger.

And her breath caught.

To the left of the Goblin Chief… there was nothing.

Just scorched earth. Blackened ground. The smoking remains of half the Hobgoblins and goblins that had been standing behind him moments earlier.

Bell's eyes widened. Her pulse steadied.

"Oh," she whispered. "…okay. That's better."

Ding!

Bell blinked as a system window snapped open—then immediately glitched, flickering between messages like the system itself couldn't decide what reality was supposed to be.

For a heartbeat, she caught the first version:

Congratulations You have killed over twenty beings that are within 5 levels of you with one shot

Skill Upgrade: Basic Power Shot → Power Shot Your projectiles will cause 2× explosive damage

Then it warped, text blurring, collapsing, and reforming into something far more excited:

Congratulations You have killed thirty beings that are within 5 levels of you with one Epic shot

Your Title Um, reminded me to never knock on your door! has evolved to

Get Off My Grass! • 40% extra Damage when using a fully powered charge shot on a target 30 meters or less away • Splashback damage increased by 12.5% (now that's bettera!)

Bell barely had time to register the new numbers—let alone brag to Zane—before a second notification chimed in.

Ding!

Congratulations You have levelled up!

Her head snapped up, dizzy from mana drain and the rush of upgrades—but she didn't get a chance to steady herself.

Zane already had his hand clamped around her forearm, hauling her backward with far more urgency than she liked.

"Up, Bell! Move!"

She staggered, still half on her knees, as he dragged her toward the others. Only then did she see the chief was now bellowing at them, Bell felt she could understand him, "HUMAN. DIE."

As the chief inspected the blackened crater where half the goblin force had stood moments earlier—all gone, erased by her shot.

Zane's shield arm was shaking from the recoil of blocking the splashback; scorch marks curled across its surface.

He glanced at her, eyes wide with equal parts disbelief and awe. "Whatever you just did," he panted, "remind me to never stand in front of it again."

But his gaze shifted past her, back toward the towering, smoking silhouette of Bulwark the Consumer— still alive, still standing, his armor cracked but unbroken.

Zane swallowed.

"Too bad about the chief," he muttered. "Looks like we're taking him down the hard way."

Bulwark's roar faltered.

For the first time in years, something like confusion crossed his heavy, iron-plated features. He had braced for the sting of human trickery, perhaps even a cracked plate or a bruised arm. But when the smoke cleared and he turned his head—slow, disbelieving—there was simply nothing where his left flank should have been.

No goblins scrambling to regroup.

No hobgoblins barking orders.

No bodies.

Just a vast, blackened gouge in the earth, still hissing with heat.

The massive chief blinked. Once. Twice. The ground under his feet vibrated as his grip tightened on his shield, the metal groaning with the pressure.

A strange, low rumble built in his chest—not anger, not fear, but something darker: the realisation that he had underestimated prey.

His remaining goblins hesitated behind him, their charge faltering as they watched their indomitable leader actually… process.

Bulwark's tusked jaw clenched.

Then, with a roar so deep it shook leaves loose from trees, he slammed his shield forward and bellowed a command that made every remaining goblin flinch:

"HUMAN. DIE."

But even then, there was a flicker—tiny, barely perceptible—in the chief's eyes.

For the first time since claiming his title, Bulwark the Consumer felt doubt.

____________________________________________________

Tarni couldn't stop grinning.

Not a polite grin. Not a nervous grin. A wide, feral, stupidly proud smile that stretched ear to ear and made him look like he'd just been handed a birthday cake instead of dropped into the middle of a battlefield.

Because Bell—quiet, polite, sweet Bell—had just deleted half a goblin army.

He didn't have time to celebrate properly. The remaining hobgoblins surged past their chief, howling with bloodlust, sprinting straight toward Zane and Bell.

Tarni twirled his sword once, winked at Zane as he raced past, and shouted:

"Don't worry, Captain! I'll keep the big ugly one busy!"

Zane groaned. "For the love of—JUST DON'T DIE!"

"No promises!"

With that, Tarni flung himself straight at the nine-foot monster roaring in the centre of the field.

The moment Zane dragged Bell back toward the healers, the rest of the human line surged forward.

Shields slammed into charging goblins. Arrows hissed overhead. Mages shouted incantations that flashed bright against the sky.

The goblin horde smashed into the humans like a tidal wave.

Screams, snarls, metal on bone—the world exploded into chaos.

A pair of hobgoblins barreled into the front line, raising crude cleavers. One warrior parried the first, while a second tank body-checked the other aside. Behind them, a mage unleashed Spark Burst, frying a goblin trying to climb over a shield bearer's back.

"KEEP THE LINE!" Zane yelled, pushing forward again after leaving Bell with the healers.

A defender cried out as a goblin arrow pierced her thigh—but Max was right there, a glowing orb in his palm.

"I've got you—hang on!"

Create Light (Focus Mode) flared, illuminating the wound, helping the healer beside him extract the arrow quickly and cleanly.

Max's stomach growled so loudly the healer jumped.

"Mate—eat after we survive," she hissed.

"Ok—those raw snags are calling to me!"

Then he lifted his glowing hand again, sweeping it toward the archers.

"Red dots incoming—LEFT FLANK!"

The ranged fighters adjusted instantly, arrows flying over the shields to intercept a squad of goblin archers trying to flank them.

The humans held. Barely. But they held.

And the only reason they could hold was because Tarni—stupid, brave, brilliant Tarni—was keeping Bulwark the Consumer from tearing the entire front line apart.

Bulwark the Consumer did not roar like a normal creature.

He shook the air.

Every time he bellowed, Tarni felt something in his ribcage vibrate.

And still he grinned.

"C'mon, big boy! Over here! Try and eat me!"

Bulwark slammed his shield down, sending a shockwave that shattered the earth. Tarni sprinted sideways, barely keeping his feet.

Skill: Back Stab He darted behind Bulwark's ankle and swung his Sword.

Thunk.

It bounced off.

"Okay, okay, so you've been doing leg day," Tarni muttered, hopping back as a massive cleaver-like weapon swept toward him. "Respect."

Bulwark turned, eyes glowing a hateful red.

He swung again. Tarni ducked the weapon, moving so fast his hair got trimmed.

Tarni called out, "No Need to worry, Mate, we are all friends here."

Making the chief pause for half a second, allowing Tarni to lash out with his sword hilt, tapping a pressure point near Bulwark's hip.

It didn't hurt the chief—but it made him stumble, forcing him to adjust his stance.

And that was all Tarni needed.

"HA! Bet you didn't see that coming! Big lad with tiny reflexes!"

Bulwark snarled and kicked.

Tarni went flying ten meters, hit the ground, rolled, popped back up, spat blood, and shouted:

"Is that it!? My grandma kicks harder! And she's dead!"

The chief roared again, charging.

Tarni sprinted.

Not away from Bulwark.

TOWARD him.

At the last second he slid under Bulwark's legs, dragging his sword along the monster's hamstring—not enough to cut, but enough to make the giant twist.

He came up behind him, panting.

Tarni could swear he had a better provoke then the tanks with the way the chief was going at him.

"HEY! You want someone to consume? COME GET ME!"

Bulwark's entire focus snapped to Tarni like a puppet on a string.

The two began a deadly dance across the battlefield—Tarni darting through roots, sliding under swings, bouncing off boulders, doing everything in his power to keep Bulwark spinning and stomping but never reaching the human lines.

The chief's frustration was becoming volcanic.

Every time he tried to disengage, Tarni appeared somewhere stupid.

On a tree branch. On a rock. On Bulwark's own shield.

Once, even directly on top of the chief's head, yelling "SURPRISE!" before flipping off again.

Each distraction bought the humans precious seconds.

Seconds they desperately needed.

Back at the front, the tide was turning—but not cleanly.

A tank's shield shattered under a hobgoblin brute's hammer. Zane caught the follow-up swing, blades squealing against each other as he forced the enemy back with a shield slam.

Lily was pushing her rain-forged grace to the limit, dancing around the battlefield deflecting a blow here, stabbing a goblin there and almost being everywhere, sweat streaming down her face.

Kai barked healing spell orders like a drill sergeant.

A warrior screamed as a goblin leapt onto his back— only for Bell, still dizzy, still exhausted, to line up a trembling shot.

Thunk.

The goblin fell off him cleanly.

The warrior gasped. "I thought you were resting!"

Bell wiped her forehead. "Resting is overrated."

She tried to stand—

—and almost collapsed again.

A healer caught her. "SIT."

Zane spared them a glance, then looked back toward the battlefield.

"We're holding," he muttered. "For now."

Tarni ducked another blow, slid down a slope, then used the incline to vault forward and plant both boots into Bulwark's chest.

It didn't hurt the chief.

But it annoyed him.

A lot.

Bulwark's roar blasted Tarni off his feet.

The chief's eyes burned brighter—turning from red to searing molten orange.

"Oh… that's probably bad," Tarni muttered.

Bulwark stomped, the ground cracking.

Then—

The chief's body doubled in size.

Tarni froze.

"Okay. Yep. That's bad."

Bulwark, now towering over the treeline, raised his weapon—

—The remaining goblin on the field screamed in unison, rallying at their chief's transformation.

The humans felt the shift.

Zane's face went pale.

Max whispered, "Oh no…"

Bell grabbed her bow harder.

Tarni grinned again, blood dripping down his chin.

"Alright then," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Round two."

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