Chapter 10 – The Goblin Hunt That Isn’t for Padding the Arc

My second day as an invader started early. I embarked on a hunting mission—a simple quest to locate that elusive otherworlder. Of course, I had to pretend to be a beginner adventurer. Disguise is everything; if I let my true skills shine, people would be suspicious. And trust me, I’m not exactly thrilled about playing the naive rookie.

The morning air was crisp, and the forest beckoned with its dappled sunlight and whispering leaves. I adjusted my rumpled cloak—a calculated mess meant to appear less intimidating—and gripped my Soulbinder Sword at my side. Its magical hum was barely perceptible, hidden beneath my “novice” act. Today’s objective was clear: hunt goblins, gather any clues they might hold, and do it all while pretending to be as green as they come.

I muttered to myself.
“A simple goblin hunt. Nothing fancy—just a few pathetic pests scurrying about.”

Of course, some might say that I’m just doing this because the author wants to drag this arc on longer. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not lengthening the arc on purpose. If he wants to, that’s his problem. I’m only here to do my job, and if I must deal with goblins to gather clues about the otherworlder, then so be it.

Stepping lightly over dew-soaked leaves with my Wind Step ability (far too flashy for a beginner, but rules are meant to be bent), I advanced toward a small clearing. Goblins, those miserable little scamps, were known to cause mischief in these parts. Today, they were my target. Every encounter, however trivial it might seem, could hide valuable information.

I paused near the edge of the clearing, ears straining for any sound of movement.

“Come on, goblins, show yourselves. I’m not here to ruin your miserable day, but I do have a mission to complete.” My voice carried a mix of amusement and irritation. If only these creatures understood my sarcasm.

A rustle in the underbrush confirmed my suspicions. A small band of goblins emerged, their attempts at menace bordering on farce. One goblin, slightly larger than the rest, stepped forward with a crude dagger raised. His eyes held a blend of malice and sheer confusion—as if he hadn’t expected to encounter someone like me.

I rolled my eyes and said quietly,
“Really, goblin? Do you even know who you’re dealing with?”

I meant it as much to vent my own frustration as for his benefit. The goblin’s expression shifted from scorn to startled fear.

Before he could retaliate, I activated my Wind Step. In a blink, I was right behind him, my presence announced by the soft glow of my Soulbinder Sword. I gave him a light tap on the shoulder—a precise, nonlethal strike meant more to startle than to harm. “Move along, you miserable excuse for a goblin,” I quipped.

He squealed and toppled backward, tripping over a stray root. The rest of his gang, seeing their leader so thoroughly embarrassed, scattered into the underbrush, their muttered curses trailing off into the distance.

I stood there, arms folded, and couldn’t help but address the unseen hand behind my fate.
“You really think this is because you want to pad out my day, don’t you? Newsflash: I’m not doing this for your amusement. I’m doing it because I have a job to do.”

Continuing along the forest path, I kept my senses alert. Every step was measured, every rustle in the undergrowth a potential clue. Goblins were a dime a dozen in Eldoria, but sometimes their behavior hinted at something more. Perhaps one of them had seen something unusual—a movement, a whispered conversation, or even the scent of magic that wasn’t their own.

I soon heard a voice behind me. “Wait up!” It sounded like a fellow adventurer, but in these parts, trust is rarer than a sober goblin. I whirled around, sword at the ready, only to relax when I saw it was a young farmhand, clearly lost and overwhelmed.

I offered a friendly nod and said, “No need to shout, friend. Even beginner adventurers are known to be slow on the uptake.” His eyes widened, and he scurried off, likely convinced that I was too intimidating to be bothered with his pace.

Alone again, I resumed my patrol. A second rustle signaled more goblin activity. This time, a pair of goblins emerged at the far end of the clearing. They moved cautiously, clearly having learned from their earlier encounter. They exchanged nervous glances before edging closer to investigate.

I ducked behind a large oak tree, letting my adaptive counter ability lie in wait. As the goblins crept forward, I couldn’t resist thinking aloud, “Oh great, more goblins for my pleasure. Really, what’s next? More filler for your arc, author?”

Yes, I know he is out there, stretching out these moments like cheap filler material.

One goblin, bolder than the rest, sniffed the air as if trying to detect something amiss. I muttered…
“If only you could tell me what you know, you furry little nosy pest. But no—you’re too busy being a goblin.”

I followed them quietly, every step calculated and measured by my inherent skill—even if I had to pretend to be inexperienced.

The trail led to a narrow ravine where the goblins gathered. I lowered my voice as I whispered, “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.” I almost expected them to launch into a dramatic soliloquy about goblin honor, but instead, they huddled nervously together. I wasn’t here for goblin politics—I was here for clues.

Deciding to shake things up, I produced a small, shimmering crystal from my belt—a gadget I’m convinced the author insists on including for “cool factor”—and tossed it gently toward a clump of bushes. The crystal burst into a brief flash of light, startling the goblins without causing any serious harm.

In the ensuing chaos, a scrap of parchment tumbled from one of their ragged satchels. I quickly crouched and picked it up. Squinting at the faded, crude handwriting, I realized it was a map—a rough guide pointing somewhere deeper into the forest.

“Now we’re talking, this could be a lead on that elusive otherworlder. Or maybe it’s just goblin nonsense. Not that I’m here to judge your cartography, author.”

Pocketing the parchment, I continued my patrol, ever vigilant. Every sound—the babble of a distant brook, the rustling of leaves—might hide a clue. Yet, as the day wore on, the hunt for significant evidence seemed as elusive as a goblin with manners. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but think this mission was nothing more than a distraction—a wild goose chase concocted to fill yet another chapter of my misadventures.

I paused by a small stream to refill my water skin. The cool liquid was a welcome relief, and as I leaned against a rock, I allowed myself a moment of weary reflection.

“Another mundane moment in my illustrious career, thanks, author, for serving up such riveting filler material. Next time, try a plot twist—something more exciting than chasing goblins and scraps of paper.”

No sooner had I taken a sip than the forest erupted in movement again. More goblins, no doubt alerted by my previous disturbance, darted from their hiding spots. I tightened my grip on my sword and prepared for yet another encounter.

A particularly bold goblin leaped out from behind a tree. I parried his clumsy attack with a swift swing of my sword, sending him sprawling into a bed of leaves.

“Really, was that the best you had?” I remarked, half-amused and half-disappointed.

Not long after, another goblin charged from the side. I sidestepped with a graceful Wind Step, delivering a quick jab that left him reeling. “Come on, goblin,” I quipped with a smirk, “you’re embarrassing your entire species.”

If only these creatures knew that my abilities were far beyond what a beginner should display—but then again, I wasn’t doing this for the author’s amusement, no matter what he’d like to think.

After several brief skirmishes, the goblins finally retreated into the dense underbrush, leaving me alone amid the scattered leaves and echoing silence. I stood for a moment, catching my breath, and surveyed the clearing. There was no sign of any substantial clue pointing to the otherworlder—only a series of petty goblin squabbles and a few scraps of crude paper.

I shook my head slowly.
“Well, that was anticlimactic, really, author—if you wanted to make this mission memorable, you could have thrown in a bit more excitement. Instead, I’m left with nothing but goblin leftovers and a useless map fragment.”

With a resigned sigh, I began retracing my steps along the forest path. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and the shadows between the trees grew shorter—a silent reminder that time was slipping away. My second day as an invader was supposed to yield valuable information, yet here I was, with nothing but goblin encounters and a scrap of parchment that might as well have been doodles.

Finally, I reached the modest clearing where I’d set up camp—a secluded spot that provided just enough privacy to sleep and plan my next move. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was mine for the night. I sank onto a rough-hewn log, removed my cloak, and allowed the exhaustion of the day to seep into my bones.

I pulled out the crude map fragment once more and studied its faded lines and symbols. Nothing in it clearly pointed to the otherworlder’s whereabouts. It was, at best, a vague hint—hardly the breakthrough I had hoped for.

“Figures,” I grumbled to myself.
“Even the goblins are as incompetent as the rest of this messed-up realm.”

I leaned back and gazed up at the sky, the fading light casting long, melancholy shadows across the clearing.
“Really, author, is this all you could muster for my second day? If you try to stretch this arc any further, I’m going to start charging you for my time. I’m not here to be your endless source of filler—I have a reputation to uphold, dammit.”

The forest was quiet now, the day’s chaos giving way to a heavy silence. I wrapped my cloak tightly around me and lay down on my makeshift bedroll, feeling the sting of disappointment. Not a single clue to the missing otherworlder had emerged from my goblin hunt—just a series of minor skirmishes, a useless scrap of paper, and the overwhelming sense that today’s mission had been a colossal waste of time.

As I closed my eyes and listened to the soft murmur of the night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe—no, the meddlesome author—found endless amusement in padding out my journey with trivial pursuits.

“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” I whispered into the darkness, a wry smile tugging at my lips despite my frustration.
“Maybe I’ll finally catch a break, or at least something more than goblin leftovers.”

For now, though, all I had was the quiet of the forest, the cool night air, and a burning inner resolve to keep searching. The hunt for the missing otherworlder would continue, even if it meant enduring more absurd filler and more of the author’s relentless attempts at arc lengthening.

And so I drifted into a fitful sleep, the night echoing with the promise of another day—another day when, perhaps, something truly worth my time would finally come my way.