Marc followed Silas through the forest. The midday sun had already passed, but its scorching fury felt even more intense. Sweat slightly soaked his shirt, a constant reminder that he never liked hot days, much less in this fantasy world that lacked blessed air conditioning.
To fight the heat, Marc kept a comfort spell active in the cabin: a subtle combination of Wind Magic and a fine elemental frost, which created a bubble of chilled air around him. However, Silas had forbidden him from using this magic during the walk. He also used to dampen the heat with cold beer, but his reserve was already dangerously low, and that, coupled with the weather, put him in a frankly terrible mood.
It was the month of Solstia, named for being the month of the solstice and the peak of the annual heat. Six exact months had passed since Marc began the 'Infernal Training' with Silas, and the previous evening, the old man had ordered him to prepare for a two-day trek: his first real test.
—You brought the sword, like I told you to —Silas's voice was heard from the front.
—It's the second time you've asked me, old man. You should start learning some magic to cure your dementia; you're already beginning to forget many things —Marc replied begrudgingly.
—"Old man"... there you go again. Didn't your parents teach you to respect your elders back in your world? Besides, if there were any magic to remember everything, it would be my favorite. I'm not senile, I've always been forgetful. Though maybe I forgot the magic for not forgetting —Silas let out a laugh.
He always laughs alone at his own jokes. I don't understand why he insists I use the sword more; I'm much better at magic.
—You still haven't told me where we're going, or what we're going to do there —Marc said.
—All in due time, young demon —Silas said, evading Marc's questioning once again.
—Maybe you should tell me, lest you forget on the way —Marc joked.
—Maybe you should shut up and stop questioning everything your master teaches you —Silas replied dryly.
He always holds back information. If he shared it with me from the start, everything would be easier, but he likes to complicate things for me. He thinks this teaching method, leaving me in the dark, is better, but it's not; I could advance faster if he would just explain things better.
—Fine. I won't ask you about the place we're going again, but before I shut up, I would like to express my utter discontent with your teaching methods —Marc said, trying to provoke Silas.
—As you once said yourself... Let me write that down in the things I give a shit about —Silas said, falling for Marc's provocation.
Marc occasionally enjoyed making Silas angry to vent his frustration. One of the provocations he knew always worked was criticizing his teaching style.
—As always, you kill me with your contempt, Gramps —Marc said, sketching a smile as a symbol of victory.
They continued walking the rest of the day, crossing streams now and then and taking minimal breaks, only when hunger became imperative. They ate the simple sandwiches Marc had prepared, consuming them quickly before resuming the march.
The trek ceased only when the darkness of night became impenetrable. Silas, without stopping his stride, ordered Marc to prepare the campfire and the shelter for the night. Marc was fully aware that this was a vital part of his training—he would need to know how to set up a minimalist camp when his mission began—yet, that didn't stop him from launching a scathing complaint, aiming for Silas's irritation.
Marc chose a small clearing sheltered by ancient oaks. He spread out his travel cloak as a bed and unpacked the supplies. He quickly gathered the dry branches for the fire. Instead of starting the fire by rubbing stones or using primitive methods, Marc extended a finger towards the pile of wood. From the tip, he summoned a small, controlled sphere of fire, no bigger than his thumb, and released it onto the branches.
The fire grew instantly, crackling loudly. The orange light spread through the clearing, offering a brief but welcome refuge from the oppressive darkness of the forest. Marc let himself drop heavily, feeling the fatigue accumulate in every muscle.
—Do you think starting a campfire in the middle of summer is a bad idea? It's just going to make us hotter —Marc said, continuing his complaints.
—It's not to keep us warm, you imbecile. It's because the flames ward off animals. I don't think you want to face a wolf pack again —Silas said, visibly tired of Marc's criticisms.
—I'm already prepared to face an even bigger pack right now —Marc said while, simultaneously, he summoned Water Magic to refill his canteen and chilled it with a layer of ice to quench his thirst.
—And that's thanks to the training you complain about so much —Silas said, snatching the canteen from Marc to take a long drink.
—I simply have some disagreements with your explanations, or to be more precise, the lack of them —Marc said, grabbing the canteen back from Silas and finishing the water in one gulp.
—Everything will explain itself when the time comes. You know well and are aware that everything I teach you will serve you in the future, with or without explanations. But alright, I'll give you a preview for tomorrow. We are heading to the far west edge of the forest; there is a small camp of certain creatures that you must eliminate. That is the purpose of this trip —Silas concluded, and without further ado, he lay down on the bed Marc had prepared for him.
A creature camp? Now that I think about it, so far I haven't seen any creature that is truly different from the animals in my world. The wolves were bigger, yes, but they had the same shape. That wouldn't qualify as anything truly "new."
Marc felt the urge to know more about the creatures, but seeing Silas's back, he understood he wouldn't get any more information. Resigned, he settled for that small clue and, imitating the old man, lay down on his own travel bed, in the dim light of the campfire.
That night he became lost in his own thoughts, forcing himself to recall the scarce information he had absorbed from the books about the different creatures of this world. He mentally reviewed the Goblins and their social structure, the weaknesses of Trolls, or the legends of Wyverns. Fatigue, finally, dragged him into sleep.
The following morning, Marc was woken up by a sharp, blunt strike from Silas with his staff, right to the stomach. The pain cut off his breath and unleashed his anger instantly, but he soon replaced it with resignation as he got up and packed up the camp. Starting the day on the right foot, as is always the case with Silas, he thought with a grunt.
They proceeded on their way to the far west, maintaining the same exhausting marching pace as the day before. Silas still hadn't revealed the mystery of the creatures to Marc, but he now maintained a constant "exam on the move": he occasionally asked what Marc remembered about the creatures he had supposedly read about.
—Your lack of knowledge always surprises me. You've been reading about this world for months and know almost nothing; you read, but you retain nothing —Silas said, scolding Marc.
—It's too much information to remember everything. I just read it once and move on to the next reading; it's not like I'm studying for an exam. Besides, not everything can be learned from reading, Gramps. You know too much, but that's from your own experience... and perhaps a lot of experience, if I'm honest —Marc said, letting the last phrase drop as a direct jab at Silas's advanced age.
—It should be like you're studying for an exam! I've told you countless times: you have to take notes on everything important as you read —Silas was constantly emphasizing to Marc the crucial importance of knowing the history and the different races and creatures of the world.
—I can't keep up with your training, reading, and, apart from that, taking notes to study them; it wouldn't be possible to finish in a year —Marc said, excusing himself. The truth was that, being lazy, he didn't want to take notes because he knew it would steal precious hours of sleep.
—Those notes will serve you for moments like this, and for when you leave. Some things you read will stick in your mind, but many others will be forgotten, and you'll need help remembering them; hence the importance of notes. I tell you this because of my "lot of experience," as you mentioned. Seriously, sometimes it seems like I'm dealing with a teenager —Silas said, letting out a small grunt of disapproval.
He's right about that, the notes would help me, I've always been forgetful too.
—Alright, I'll start taking notes from now on, "Mr. Experience" —Marc said, trying to lighten the mood and appease the old Silas.
Silas did not reply. Suddenly, he raised a hand in a quick, authoritative gesture, stopping Marc dead in his tracks. Immediately, he made another signal with his palm, indicating that they should hide behind a line of nearby bushes. Marc, understanding the urgency, obeyed instantly and in silence.
The two crouched behind the bushes, parallel to a visibly used dirt path. Silas, with his finger, pointed to the left: about a hundred meters away, in the middle of the path, two small, greenish figures were standing guard, one on each side, observing the entrance to the forest. Marc had found his first "creatures."
—Goblins? —Marc whispered, the word almost an echo. He couldn't look away, genuinely surprised by the creatures' appearance.
—Your test —Silas answered, his voice barely audible.
—You want me to kill those goblins? —Marc was still stunned; it took him a few seconds to process the order.
—Those goblins are just the vanguard; they're guarding a large settlement of their kind, but that's all the information I'll give you. From here on, you'll have to figure it out yourself —Silas said, dropping to the ground as a sign that he would patiently wait for him there.
—"Large settlement"... Exactly how big are we talking about? —Marc asked, his voice tense with nervousness.
Silas merely shrugged, unperturbed.
—Alright, you wait here, sitting, Gramps. I don't want you to strain yourself too much and spike your sugar —Marc said, sarcasm being his only way to cope with the anxiety.
—Just one more thing I almost forgot —Silas added, without another word—: I want you to use the sword as your main method of attack. Only use magic if it is strictly necessary and you have no other option.
Use magic only if I have no other option? It would probably be very easy with just magic. He loves to complicate things for me.
Marc did not reply, and he proceeded with extreme care, crouched low along the bushes, heading toward those two small greenish figures.
I've improved a lot with the sword, considering I've only trained for a few months, but I fall far short against someone with years of training or true combat experience.
Upon reaching a few meters from where the two creatures were, Marc raised his gaze over the bushes, clearly spotting the goblins. They were short, with rough, greenish skin. They wore old, worn clothes and were precariously armed: one with a crude stone club and the other with a rusty sword. Both had small, horn-shaped trumpets made of bones hanging around their necks.
Do I really have to kill these creatures? I know it's part of the training, but they seem to be minding their own business without bothering anyone. I'm the invader in this case.But I know if I chickened out, Silas would send me flying to the other end of the continent in a second.Though I don't know whether I should go head-on or take precautions and kill these two silently.
In that moment of doubt, Marc accidentally stepped on some dry branches. The crunch, loud in the silence of the forest, alerted the creatures. One of the goblins decided to investigate the source of the sound, moving dangerously close to where Marc was.
Maybe I should take the opportunity to attack right now, the one nearby first and then march against the other. But the problem is those trumpets hanging from their necks; they surely use them to alert their village to intruders. I'd better wait for it to return to its spot: if I attack both when they're together, it will be easier to silence them before they can alert the others.
The goblin approached, sniffing the ground and searching near the line of bushes, but not the one where Marc was. He remained absolutely motionless, trying to hold his breath, his right hand tightly gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to act immediately if discovered.
—It was most likely a rabbit, don't give it so much importance —the voice, raspy and guttural, was heard from the other goblin.
They talk? Marc thought, completely surprised and disconcerted by this discovery.
—Last time, that wolf pack attacked us by surprise because of you. If it happens again, I'll blame the boss for everything —replied the goblin near Marc, ceasing his search with a grunt and returning to his position.
Don't let the fact that they can communicate affect you, Marc. Your objective hasn't changed. Focus.
Marc approached the goblins inch by inch, keeping his body low to the ground behind the line of bushes, until he was level with the goblin who had gone to investigate. The smell of dampness and wet earth enveloped him. Slowly, with the utmost stealth, he drew his sword from its sheath.
This would be much easier and faster if I summoned the ice spikes, or that other magic Silas taught me that summons pieces of earth and rock from the ground that pierce enemies like stakes... One spell and it's over. But no, I must use the damn sword because of that old man's whim.
Marc composed himself for a few moments and sought to calm the wave of anxiety washing over him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. His mind was blank, focused solely on the moment.
He opened his eyes, and with great determination, he lunged from behind the bush. He aimed to decapitate his prey, but in the critical instant, the hilt of his sword snagged lightly on a branch. The swing was slow and off-center, giving the goblin just enough time to react and duck its head. The blade whistled right over him. Marc had just failed his surprise attack.
The goblin in front of him was just starting to draw its sword, but Marc gave it no time: he launched a full-force kick with his leg, impacting its chest. The goblin was sent flying several meters with a dry grunt, crashing abruptly into the ground. The brutal impact stunned both Marc and the other goblin for an instant.
But the second goblin was the quickest to react. It grabbed its stone club and swung it furiously at Marc. Instinctively, and breaking Silas's rule, Marc raised a magic barrier. The blow stopped halfway, and the force of the impact caused the goblin to lose balance and fall backward. Only a few seconds had passed, and Marc had already resorted to the power of magic.
But Marc seized the brief moment of disorientation. With determination, he gripped the sword with both hands and plunged it into the chest of the fallen goblin. The creature made guttural sounds of pain, a choked scream, until the light of life escaped its eyes.
I killed a creature... I did it. It's the first time I've killed. Marc froze, in a state of icy shock, unable to look away from the first body.
Faint, desperate noises a few meters away abruptly pulled him out of his trance. It was the goblin he had kicked, desperately trying to bring the bone trumpet to its lips.
Marc reacted immediately, abandoning the shock and sprinting toward the creature. He was ready to plunge the sword, but he stopped abruptly upon reaching its feet. The goblin's face was contorted with desperation and pain, uselessly struggling: its chest was visibly crushed. Blue blood oozed from its mouth, and after a few seconds, the effort ceased. It stopped moving. Marc's kick had killed it before the sword could touch it.
Did I do that with my kick? I'm much stronger than I thought.Shit. I think I feel a little dizzy and nauseous.
The shock hit him suddenly. Marc crouched, gasping and leaning heavily on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His body failed, and he ended up kneeling on the dirt to avoid falling face-first.
Calm down. Remember your training. You were already mentally prepared, you knew you would kill... God, I'm sweating. With one hand, he gave himself a hard slap across the cheek, trying to force a reaction. It only worked halfway, but it was enough to force himself to stand up and sheathe the sword.
He looked up. At the end of the path, only a few hundred meters away, was a small, rustic village. It was protected by a wall of irregular stakes and pieces of wood as a palisade, with the main entrance marked by two rudimentary doors that were, dangerously, open. Marc could make out several huts and what looked like a large bonfire burning in the center.
Marc forced the march before the shock could invade him again. He left the dirt path, plunging into the dense foliage to approach the village through the forest.
Upon reaching the treeline bordering the palisade, he hid behind a thick oak, watching the rudimentary huts and the movements of the inhabitants. Marc counted approximately twenty goblins engaged in various tasks.
His gaze focused on the central bonfire: it was burning with a strange and intense glow, a fire much larger than normal firewood would allow, but he couldn't make out what was giving the flames such power.
I'll have to infiltrate through the main entrance.There is no other viable point in the palisade to enter without having to resort to magic.I'll wait for the moment when no one is paying attention to stealthily slip inside.
After a few minutes, the goblins gathered on the opposite side of the main entrance, giving Marc that crucial window of opportunity. He ran, hunched over, trying to make as little noise as possible, and agilely slipped behind the first hut on the right of the entrance.
He made sure he was out of sight before moving into the heart of the village, creeping stealthily in the shadow of the huts. The air was thick, laden with the stench of rot and filth, a stench Marc tried to ignore so as not to be distracted. He stopped behind a hut, his attention caught by a conversation coming from inside:
—I got out of guard duty today; I was supposed to be on this week, but that idiot Mug made the boss angry again. I don't know how he's still alive —a raspy, drawn-out voice was heard saying from inside.
Lucky. You have no idea how much, Marc thought.
—Well, I like guard duty more than having to go to the forest for food, it tires me out much more —replied the other voice, even raspier than the first.
That's something I would think too. I think he's one of my kind.
Nearby footsteps abruptly interrupted his concentration. He turned to find a goblin carrying a pile of wood. The two stared at each other in astonishment for a few seconds: the silence was broken when the goblin dropped the wood and began to shout:
—A demon! There's an intruder here!
The goblin's shouts were muffled by Marc's sword. He drew it quickly, but instead of a clean slice, he made a deep, tearing cut across its stomach. The goblin let out a cry of pain, and its viscera spilled onto the ground. Marc had not planned such carnage, and the scene provoked icy terror in him.
The entire village was instantly alerted. Like soldiers ready for war, the goblins quickly grabbed their weapons—clubs, notched axes, and rusty swords—and frantically ran toward the area of the scream. By the time the enraged mass arrived, Marc had already slipped to the next hut, moving with a speed invisible to their eyes.
They clustered around the bleeding body. A chaotic, furious clamor rose among the goblins, who couldn't stop uttering cries of astonishment and insults at the intruder.
I can't attack them while they're all together; I wouldn't be able to stop all their attacks coming from all directions.This damned limitation of not using magic is becoming increasingly absurd.But I can still kill some of them before I have to resort to my trump card.
The goblins scattered in all directions, leaving the center of the settlement exposed. Marc patiently waited for a solitary target to approach. His plan was clear: take advantage of their dispersion to kill each goblin with the sword, and only when surrounded or greatly outnumbered would he summon magic to clear the area and end the test.
Three figures headed towards his hiding spot. Marc crouched behind some stacked wood next to the hut and waited, turned into a silent shadow, for them to get close enough.
He let the first two pass, and just as the third one walked by, he emerged like an exhalation. He swung his sword with lethal precision and decapitated the goblin. As the head rolled, the other two screamed in terror, but Marc was faster: he spun the sword, slitting the throat of the second and, in a final movement, plunged the blade into the head of the third, splitting it in half.
Another nearby group of four goblins heard the short, brutal skirmish and immediately approached the scene. Marc emerged from behind the hut, and his sword cut across the chest of the first goblin to arrive.
The next two managed to swing their weapons, but Marc dodged them with the speed of lightning, taking a step back. Using that momentum, Marc seized the opportunity and lunged forward, plunging the sword into the chest of one of the goblins. He quickly pulled out the blade and cut the other in half.
The fourth goblin froze, petrified by the sight, but Marc couldn't hesitate; he would soon be surrounded by more enemies. Without losing an instant, he cut the goblin diagonally, from its stomach to its face.
I'm doing well. I cannot afford to lose this intensity. I must take advantage of this brief moment of disorganization in the village.
Suddenly, a potent, harsh horn sound resonated through the air with great intensity. It came from the largest, most robust hut at the back of the village, cutting through the chaotic clamor of the remaining goblins.
Standing in front of it, there was a goblin visibly larger and more imposing and fierce than the others. He wore rudimentary armor made of tough leather and stitched bones, and in his hand, he wielded a thick war axe, unlike the notched weapons of his minions. His face was marked by scars from old battles, and his gaze was pure hostility.
In unison with the sound, all the remaining goblins ran toward the leader, responding to the call with unexpected speed and discipline.
I guess that must be the boss. He definitely looks like he's going to give me more trouble than the others.
—So it was you they sent to liquidate us, demon. It's curious, I never thought my eyes would see a demon seeking vengeance on behalf of humans —the boss said. His voice was not the raspy grunt of the other goblins, but a deep, grave tone that resonated with authority and defiance throughout the village.
Vengeance? What is he talking about?
—I think you are mistaken. I am not here seeking vengeance for any human —Marc said, maintaining authority in his voice so as not to concede ground to the leader.
A look of confusion, a fleeting glimmer of disbelief, appeared on the boss's face. —Then, what is the real purpose for which you decided to slaughter my people?
The purpose is that it's the test the old man Silas gave me. But I think that explanation sounds ridiculous. There really is no purpose to this, beyond being part of my stupid training.
—Well, how do I explain it? I guess you could say it's some kind of... test of courage —Marc said, unconvinced even by his own words.
—A test of courage!? You come to our village with the intention of slaughtering us for a test of courage? —The boss's face was contorted with fury, and he let out a deafening roar— You son of a bitch! I will make you suffer before granting you death! And then I will cut out your entrails and wear them as a necklace while you are still alive!
I think I really did make him angry. I understand why.But it doesn't matter. I'm already in this mess and can't get out. I'll have to kill to survive.
—Attack! All at once! —the Boss ordered, lifting his war axe into the air. The metal struck against the leather of his armor, a dry, jarring sound that echoed through the clearing. —And the one who brings me that demon's head will be promoted to my right hand! He will enjoy a feast on that imbecile's flesh! —His voice broke into a final, raging scream, which ignited the goblins' bloodlust.
I think this is when I use my secret weapon. I won't be able to take on all the goblins at once using just the sword.
The goblins did not march; instead, they charged at Marc with surprising discipline and firmness. Guttural war cries and the rumbling of dozens of footsteps on the earth sounded in the air, quickly closing the space.
They all came in a compact formation, not tripping over each other. Their faces were completely disfigured by blind rage, raising their precarious weapons in the air, turning the village into a green tide of fury.
It's over. I feel sorry for them, but this will be their end.
Marc crouched slowly, with a chilling, unsettling certainty. He already knew the outcome of that battle. With deliberation, he placed both hands on the ground, and the subtle green glow, the signature of Earth Magic, emanated from his palms.
The magic taught by Silas made its presence known: the ground trembled violently beneath the horde of goblins. Immediately, dozens of thick stakes of sharp earth and rock emerged from the ground like a monster's teeth.
The stakes pierced the bodies of the goblins who charged at Marc, skewering them cleanly. War cries and the rumbling of their footsteps were replaced by a horrible chorus of impalement. Only a few sounds of pain were heard before sepulchral silence fell over the village.
Marc slowly stood up, his eyes surveying the horrific landscape of stakes and impaled bodies. He observed the consequence of his magic. The magnitude of his power hit him: he had truly become a monster, capable of wiping out almost an entire village of goblins in an instant.
If there was ever any doubt within him, it dissipated in that instant, replaced by a cold, absolute certainty. He was a demon.
Beyond that massacre, Marc spotted the village boss. Now, the face that was once pure hostility was distorted by dread. The boss dropped the war axe, whose echo resonated in the sepulchral silence, and fell to his knees. The defeat had been brutal and absolute. His eyes, filled with terror, met Marc's.
—You are a monster —the boss articulated with a trembling voice, the last spark of defiance extinguished.
—I know —Marc replied, with a dispassionate coldness.
Marc raised his right hand. A sharp ice projectile formed from his palm and was launched with shattering speed, striking the boss's face. The leader's life was extinguished in an instant.
The future Demon King. A true monster of this world. That is what I am.
As he headed for the exit, the central bonfire caught his attention. Its flames, now dying down, no longer burned with that intense glow, revealing its horrific secret. As he got closer, Marc could distinguish what was slowly being consumed: several bodies, four of them clearly human, two the size of adults and two the size of small children. Next to them, several whitish goblin skeletons were piled up, serving as fuel.
—A human family that had the misfortune of crossing paths with these goblins —Silas's voice sounded to his left. Marc barely flinched; the old man had entered the sepulchral silence of the village.
—They just burned them, why? Didn't they kill them to eat them? —Marc asked, his voice tense.
—No. They only killed them because that is their nature, their sport —Silas replied dryly.
—And the skeletons, they look like they belong to other goblins? —Marc questioned, pointing to the pile.
—Yes, they do. The boss was responsible for killing all those he considered weak or unfit. That often included many of their females and children, as you could notice: there were none in this village. They may seem rational since they can communicate, but they are not, they are still savage creatures —Silas explained.
My internal moral conflict was misplaced.I did well to kill these creatures. If I had run into them in the forest, they would have simply wanted to kill me without even giving me a chance to converse. And if they remained alive, they would have simply killed more innocent people.Even so, seeing this... all of this makes me sick.
On the journey back to the cabin, Marc barely uttered a word. His characteristic humor and his biting jokes against Silas vanished completely. During those days, the weight of the carnage and his new certainty was reflected in a somber silence that the old man did not dare to break.