Dual Realm Exchange System

The last Dark Goblin fell, and only then did the familiar post-battle notifications begin appearing before Damian.

[Battle concluded.]

[First successful takedown against a CR 3 monster: +1 EXP.]

[Victory against a coordinated group of CR 3 monsters: +1 EXP.]

[Fourth recorded combat encounter completed without sustaining damage: +1 EXP.]

[Total Reward: +3 EXP.]

Damian stared at the number for several seconds.

Three...

After being ambushed by thirteen murderous Fey-Touched Goblins, one of whom had been a Level 5 archer trying to put Shadow-enhanced arrows through their skulls, all he got was three whole Experience Points...

Damian slowly shook his head.

"So this is what leveling naturally feels like..."

Pitiful!

Absolutely pitiful!

At his current Level, even though three Experience Points represented respectable progress, Damian had just spent the previous day swallowing hundreds of pills and watching numbers climb almost on command.

Fighting for his life in a forest only to receive three suddenly felt like being paid minimum wage after discovering insider trading.

The reactions around him though, were completely different.

Marcus was grinning at his own screen, Owen gave a satisfied nod, Lena looked downright delighted, while Clara’s face brightened enough that Damian suspected the Level 2 Cleric had received far more meaningful advancement from surviving enemies above her usual weight class.

Right.

Damian was the abnormal one here.

His Skill Upgrade System was considerably more encouraging.

Beyond the first three Dark Goblins that had given him seven Skill Points, the System recognized Damian’s meaningful participation in five additional kills scattered between Level 2 and Level 3.

[Additional Monster Souls converted.]

[Skill Points acquired: +12.]

[Current Skill Point Balance: 19.]

Now that looked better.

Nineteen Skill Points from his first serious battle.

Damian had no idea yet what various Skills cost to Learn, Advance or Limit Break, but suddenly the seven spell manuals sitting in his Bag of Holding seemed considerably more interesting.

He was still considering which ability deserved the first experiment when something heavy scraped across the forest floor.

Marcus emerged between the trees dragging the surviving Dark Goblin archer by one ankle.

The creature’s entire right hip remained covered in thawing frost, and one leg barely responded, but neither injury had reduced its enthusiasm for being obnoxious.

"You humans will all die! The Clan Leader will find out what happened and avenge us! Your men will be flayed alive, and your women used to birth hundreds of newlings! Hahahaha!" the Dark Goblin shrieked.

Marcus kicked it in the ribs.

"Gods, this thing is noisy."

The Goblin coughed, laughed and immediately began another stream of curses.

Clara grimaced. "I don’t know what it’s saying, but I don’t think I want to."

"You really don’t," Damian replied.

The others turned to regard him as Damian stepped toward the injured creature and spoke in the same rough, guttural tongue.

"We may die later, but that is a problem for the future. Right now, you are the one on the verge of death. Tell me what happened to the humans who disappeared along Blackroot Trail, and I’ll spare your life."

Silence settled in the area as four pairs of shocked eyes locked onto him.

The Dark Goblin reacted similarly, its glowing green eyes widening before narrowing with renewed hatred.

"You filthy human can speak our tongue?" It asked incredulously.

"I speak everyone’s tongue around here, apparently." Damian responded lazily.

The Goblin’s expression twisted viciously as it spat at Damian’s boots.

"Do your worst, pink-skin! As long as breath remains in my body, I will never betray the Moonveil Goblin Clan!"

Damian looked down at the saliva, then back at the Goblin.

Something about Damian’s sinister expression made Marcus stop smiling.

"Indeed, I believe you," Damian answered calmly.

"That’s why I’ll have you betray your clan in death."

For the first time, the Dark Goblin faltered. "What do you mean, filthy human?!"

Damian subtly moved two fingers, and Lena understood immediately.

TWANG!

Her arrow punched straight through the Goblin’s throat.

The creature’s hands flew upward, green eyes bulging as blood poured around the shaft. Its mouth worked soundlessly for several seconds before the tension finally left its body.

Dead.

Marcus stared at Lena speechlessly.

Lena shrugged. "He gave the signal."

"What was it saying?" Owen asked grimly.

Damian gave a direct translation, and the group’s expressions changed rapidly.

Marcus’s anger disappeared first, replaced by horror, Clara instinctively hugged her holy book closer, and Lena’s face became pale with fury.

If Damian had not noticed that first arrow...

If their formation had broken...

If they had lost?

These creatures had never intended merely to rob them.

"Fucking monsters," Marcus muttered.

Damian glanced toward the corpse. "Unfortunately for him, dying doesn’t end the interrogation anymore."

That earned four confused looks.

Damian retrieved several materials from his Bag of Holding.

"I need uninterrupted concentration. Keep watch around me. This is a ritual spell, and it will take a while."

The party immediately moved.

Owen and Marcus covered opposite approaches while Lena climbed onto a raised root with an arrow ready. Clara remained closest to Damian, visibly fascinated by what he was doing.

Damian mixed powdered charcoal, grave ash and several drops of alchemical binding solution into a dark green-black ink.

Then he drew a necromantic circle around the corpse, layered with several geometric structures Damian now understood instinctively from <Ritual Caster>.

Symbols representing memory, death, identity and temporary spiritual anchoring joined into one continuous formation.

This was worlds apart from simply shouting an incantation.

Damian had to control his Mental Energy manually throughout the process, feeding tiny amounts into each completed portion while preventing the unstable structure from activating prematurely.

One minute passed, then three.

By the fifth, Marcus had begun looking painfully bored.

Damian finally pressed one palm against the edge of the circle.

"Cum Mortuus in Lingua Mortua!"

The entire ritual ignited as green light flashed inward, and the dead Goblin jerked.

Clara nearly yelped as its upper body suddenly sat upright.

Its eyes remained dead and glassy, but something moved behind them.

Residual memory, and residual identity.

The creature turned toward Damian. "You! Human! How dare you drag me back! I refuse to answer anything!"

Damian felt the resistance immediately.

The corpse still possessed personality and hatred, but the residual spiritual imprint was pitifully weak compared with Damian’s SPI of 10.

"You don’t have that choice," Damian replied.

The Goblin’s jaw clenched, but it had to obey.

Five questions, huh?

Damian chose them carefully.

"First question. What happened to the missing hunters and the five-person reconnaissance squad sent along Blackroot Trail?"

The corpse trembled against the compulsion.

"The hunters were taken one by one. Some were eaten while the strong ones were carried to Blackroot Den for labor. The five human scouts found one of our forward camps, so we surrounded them. Two died in the fight, but three still live beneath the old hollow hill."

Damian’s expression hardened.

Good, at least there were survivors.

"Second question. How large is the Moonveil Clan, and where are your major forces gathered?"

"Our clan was small before the Horned One came. Now lesser Goblins join us from across Moonveil Forest. More than eighty warriors obey the Clan Leader, with hunters, assassins and younglings besides. Most gather at Blackroot Den, but camps guard the southern paths and Silverbrook crossing."

More than eighty, huh?

"Third question. Who is the Horned One?"

The dead Goblin’s features twisted.

"Ravelhorn."

That single name came out differently.

There was a thick feeling of fear, even from something already dead.

"He is Ravelhorn the Reveler, a Great Fey of the Deep Moon, Piper of Beasts, and Breaker of Oaths. He came from the western Fey paths and gave our Clan Leader power. He taught our shamans stronger curses and made the beasts kneel."

Damian immediately pulled up the Guild Bestiary with one hand.

[Name: Satyr.

Creature Type: Fey — Elite Fey.

Typical Size: 150–190 centimeters.

Challenge Rating: 8 — Severe Threat.

Known Traits: Fey Magic, Enchantment, Supernatural Mobility, Beast Influence, Illusion, Charm Resistance, Musical Spellcraft.

Threat Notes: Satyrs are intelligent Elite Fey possessing strong natural magical affinity and highly variable temperaments. Hostile individuals are exceptionally dangerous due to enchantment, illusion, mobility and their ability to manipulate beasts or lesser Fey. Veteran Satyrs may substantially exceed the standard CR 8 classification.]

Damian’s gaze lingered on the words CR 8.

Wonderful.

They had progressed from Dark Goblins to a monster that would regard their entire Copper party as an appetizer.

"Fourth question. What does Ravelhorn want with Moonveil Forest and the humans near Rosewood?"

The corpse fought harder against this one.

Its teeth cracked together.

"He wants the southern Moonveil Forest paths emptied of humans, wolves, hunters, and everyone else. The Clan Leader raids all over the south because Ravelhorn promised us the loot, the women and all prey that walks beneath the false moon. Ravelhorn searches for something beneath the forest, an old Fey crossing. He says when it opens, Moonveil Forest will belong to the Wild Court again."

Nobody nearby understood the Goblin tongue, but Damian’s expression was enough to make them nervous.

One question remained.

He considered asking exactly where Ravelhorn was, but that was too narrow.

If the Satyr moved, the answer became useless.

"What is the safest route into Blackroot Den, and what defenses would an attacking force need to know about?"

The corpse shuddered violently.

"The old creek bed from the east. Humans don’t use it because thorn-vines cover the entrance. It reaches the hollow hill behind the main watch posts. There are warning traps on the western and southern paths. Two assassins guard the prisoners. The Clan Leader keeps the Horned One’s black flute in the inner cave when Ravelhorn is away."

The green light flickered as the Goblin’s dead eyes focused on Damian one final time.

"Hate... you..."

Then the magic collapsed as its body dropped backward.

Damian remained crouched for several seconds, feeling that this had all escalated remarkably quickly.

While he did smell a plot brewing when he saw the string of quests, he was merely thinking of a growing goblin threat or some kind of beast or monster tide event.

A high level Fey trying to take over the entire forest and resurrect its evil group of similarly high level buddies was not on the calendar.

"What did it say?" Lena asked.

Damian translated everything.

By the time he finished, nobody looked eager to continue exploring.

"More than eighty?" Clara whispered.

"And a Satyr, a CR 8 Elite Fey." Owen added grimly.

Marcus looked toward the deeper forest. "So what now? We find the eastern creek and rescue the survivors?"

"No," Damian replied immediately.

Marcus frowned. "But we know where they are."

"And we also know they’re guarded by a clan large enough to wipe us out several times over, supported by an Elite Fey that could probably kill all five of us without taking us seriously."

Damian stood.

"Our quests asked us to investigate missing people, increased Goblin activity and the missing reconnaissance squad. We just learned where the survivors are, identified the responsible faction, estimated enemy numbers, discovered their camps, found their mastermind and uncovered a larger threat to Rosewood Town."

He looked around the party.

"Our job is finished. Anything beyond this is us turning useful intelligence into five additional missing-person reports."

Owen nodded immediately, Lena reluctantly lowered her bow, and Marcus looked dissatisfied, but only for a moment.

"Fine. We’ll report it." The young man conceded reluctantly.

They verified the Dark Goblin corpses with their Guild Cards, recording kills, locations and monster identities.

Nobody bothered collecting ears, weapons or anything else normally worth selling.

There were times to loot.

There were also times to leave the forest before eighty angry Goblins discovered their patrol had vanished.

This was emphatically the second kind.

............

The party emerged from Moonveil Forest much faster than they had entered.

Then Lena stopped.

"Uh... guys?"

Their carriage was still there.

Unfortunately, so were five wolves.

The animals surrounded it in a loose circle, growling and snapping while their unfortunate driver stood on top of the carriage roof clutching a wooden pole like a spear.

When he saw the party, his face nearly crumpled with relief. "ADVENTURERS, SAVE ME!"

The wolves turned, and five sets of yellow eyes narrowed.

Damian raised one hand before Marcus could draw his sword.

"Wait."

He stepped forward and consumed another Level 1 Spell Slot.

"Amicus Animales!"

Mana shifted around his ears, throat and perception as <Speak With Animals> activated.

The largest of the wolves immediately bared its teeth.

"Come no closer, two-leg, or I will tear your throat out!"

Damian stopped and folded his arms. "You’re welcome to try."

The five wolves froze, and their expressions were remarkable to behold.

The largest slowly closed its mouth. "You... spoke?"

"Yes." Damian confirmed with amusement.

"You speak wolf?" It asked again in disbelief.

"At the moment." Damian responded again, wondering if these fellows were slow.

The wolves glanced at one another in complete stupefaction.

Behind Damian, Lena whispered, "Is he talking to them?"

Clara nodded slowly. "I think so."

Damian crouched. "Why are you attacking our carriage?"

The lead wolf’s aggression faded into exhaustion. "Hunger. Our hunting grounds are gone. The other packs drive us away because of Alfaro."

"Who’s Alfaro?" Damian asked.

The wolf’s ears flattened.

"Alfaro the White, leader of the White Wolf Clan and the strongest fang beneath the southern moon!"

Its growl became miserable.

"The purple small-folk captured him. Their horned master placed evil Fey magic into his mind. Now Alfaro hunts when they command. He kills cubs, beasts and two-legs alike. Other clans think we serve the purple ones, so they chase us from water and prey."

Damian’s eyes narrowed.

Ravelhorn again.

The Satyr was not merely organizing Goblins, he was weaponizing Moonveil’s wildlife!

"We discovered the Goblin plot today. Humans in Rosewood will move against them soon. I’ll also tell the Guild that Alfaro is being controlled rather than acting willingly. If possible, we’ll free him." Damian explained.

The wolf stared at Damian. "You would help White Fang?"

"If he’s a victim? Yes." Damian asserted with a nod.

The remaining hostility among the group vanished almost comically.

One wolf actually sat down, and another’s tail began moving before it apparently remembered that dignity existed.

Damian sighed and retrieved five Grain Avoidance Pills.

"Eat these."

The wolves sniffed them suspiciously, and the leader swallowed first.

Its eyes widened with shock and the others immediately followed.

Damian then removed a small pouch containing roughly a hundred more pills and placed it on the ground.

"Take these back to your pack and feed them one at a time. They’re food, not treats."

The lead wolf cautiously gripped the pouch between its teeth before placing it down again.

"My name is Moonfang. The White Wolf Clan will remember the kindness of Damian-two-leg!" it declared solemnly.

Damian blinked. "How do you know my name?"

"The loud female shouted it several times while walking." Moonfang raised a paw and pointed at the party ranger.

Lena’s face went blank as Damian burst into laughter.

"Fair enough." The young man conceded.

Moonfang picked up the pouch, and the five wolves turned and trotted toward Moonveil Forest, tails considerably higher than before.

Their terrified carriage driver remained frozen atop the roof.

Damian looked up at him. "You can come down now."

The man stared after the departing wolves, then at Damian, then back toward the wolves.

"Y-You fed them." He stuttered with shock.

"Yes, I did." Damian answered with a nod.

"You negotiated with the wolves trying to eat me." The driver pointed out accusatorily.

"They were hungry." Damian rebuffed with a shrug.

The driver slowly climbed down.

"...I don’t think I get paid enough for fancy Mage adventures."

Damian glanced back toward Moonveil Forest’s silver trees.

First, Dark Goblins, then missing adventurers, then a controlled Dire Wolf.

And somewhere deeper inside, there was a CR 8 Satyr searching for an ancient Fey crossing.

He had entered this forest hoping to get some combat practice.

Instead, he had apparently stumbled into the opening act of something much larger.

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