The clatter of a wooden mug against the table jolted Robert's attention, slicing through the din of voices and clinking dinnerware. A month after the goblin, Robert was halfway through dinner when Kers caught his eye. Across the tables, Kers met his gaze and tapped two fingers once against the side of the mug. The signal, small and practiced, blended into the noise of a crowded meal, unless you were watching for it. Robert was.
He finished chewing and swallowed. Instead of scraping the bowl clean like usual, he set the spoon down. Someone across from him was mid-story about a patrol gone wrong, hands waving, voice rising toward a punchline. Yet, before it landed, Robert leaned back and slid his bench out.
“Heading out already?” one of the forest crew asked.
“Yeah,” Robert said, standing. “Got something to check on.”
A few nods followed. Someone clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. Another called out, “Don’t work too hard,” with just enough grin to make it friendly rather than pointed.
Robert smiled back, still faintly surprised by how easy that felt now. The dining hall, previously a place where he sat on the fringes, now welcomed him into its warmth. People made room for him these days, and he often found his usual seat at the center of convivial chatter rather than at the periphery. They pulled him into conversations, asked how his hands were holding up, and remembered things he'd said weeks earlier. Someone even remarked on his new nickname, 'The Goblin-Slayer,' a mix of admiration and jest that he still found amusing. The shift came after he proved himself with the goblin: his new stamina and earned perk made him see value in himself, and the crew had begun to see him differently, too.
Things had shifted after the goblin. He still swung an axe every day and came back sore and hungry, but he wasn’t invisible anymore. The moment with the goblin had revealed a side of him—and a perk—that others admired. Now he was trying to understand how one act had changed his standing so quickly.
He carried his bowl to the wash basin and stacked it with the others. By now, the food was better—undeniably so. Stews were thicker, and while bread was still rare, since all the grain came in wild, even the forest cat had turned out decent once the cooks figured out how to treat it. With herbs and whatever perk they’d unlocked, it tasted almost respectable.
Or maybe hunger just lowered standards faster than pride.
He left the warmth and chatter, walking around the back of the cook area, past the racks of drying herbs and stacked firewood. Here, the noise dropped away, the air thick with sap rather than smoke.
Kers was waiting, hands tucked into his apron, beard braided loosely in a way that looked halfway ceremonial and halfway accidental. He lit up when he saw Robert.
“Took you long enough,” Kers said. “I was starting to think you had found better company, ja?”
“Hard to beat stew and unsolicited praise,” Robert replied. “What’s the rush?”
Kers laughed and fell in beside him as they headed toward the treeline. "Same as always, just later. The smithy never sleeps. You loggers disappear to the woods and call it a day."
They slipped onto a narrow cut that wasn’t marked, just worn smooth by habit. The sounds of the Landing faded behind them, replaced by the buzz of insects and the soft crunch of leaves. A sudden rustle from the underbrush made Robert pause, glancing back over his shoulder. It was probably nothing, but a sliver of doubt had entered his mind. Somewhere in the distance, a faint flicker of torchlight caught his eye momentarily before it disappeared behind the trees. Robert, aware of how their secret meetings would spell trouble if discovered, glanced down at the ground. “We’ll have to change this route soon if we don't want someone following it.”
Kers walked like a man pleased with his own momentum, humming softly to himself. Depending on the day, he’d been a machinist or a metalworker back in Germany, and Robert suspected both were true. Either way, the smithy suited him.
"Hammer anything interesting today?"
Kers snorted. “Only if you count gossip.”
“Robert leaned slightly closer. “That depends entirely on the gossip.”
“Oh, it is very good,” Kers said, eyes lighting up. “The Thornwalkers were sent out to recover those rebel miners.”
Robert glanced over. “After who?”
“That group that nearly killed the mine foreman and thought they would have a better life in the mountains,” Kers said, making a decisive chopping motion. “Seems Lord Harold has decided patience is overrated.”
Robert hummed quietly, filing that away.
“And,” Kers continued, clearly enjoying himself now, “Vera came by the smithy before leaving.”
That got a reaction, whether Robert wanted it to or not. “The Swedish ice queen?”
“She is not Ice queen, she is a passionate woman,” Kers said, beaming. She needed stronger javelin heads. She stood nearby, watching me work the whole time.
“Let me guess,” Robert said, chuckling. “You forgot how breathing works.”
"Completely. Ten minutes, maybe more. She asked about balance and how quickly she could throw them. She throws so hard, the heads warp. I think I answered in German at some point."
"Maybe she likes large German men," Robert said.
“Ah, who doesn’t? We are a passionate people.” Kers said brightly. “She is terrifying, but in a beautiful way. Maybe if this project goes well, she will notice me again.”
Robert tried to sound casual as he asked, “Did you see Lynn with her?”
Kers gave him a knowing look. "No. She wasn’t with her," he said, clapping Robert’s back. "Don’t worry. I'll introduce you to her."
They reached the point where the trees thickened, and the camp's boundaries faded behind them. At the path’s end, Kers veered off without slowing, pushing aside a curtain of brush that hid the narrow cut beyond.
Robert ducked after him, the forest closing around them again. The familiar sounds returned—a shift from open air to the dense quiet—and through the branches, he caught sight of the others waiting ahead: Josh and Beth at the front of the group.
When they stepped through the brush, the group was already watching for them.
Hands lifted in greeting. Someone called Robert’s name. Another tossed Kers a small ingot that he caught one-handed, laughing as if it were part of an ongoing joke. The welcome was easy and familiar, the kind that only formed after shared hours and shared secrets.
Their little cabal had grown close.
They were some of the best crafters in the Landing, drawn together less by rank and more by curiosity, driven by a shared desire to learn and improve. The group had been Josh’s idea. He’d framed it as efficiency at first—a way to compare notes and avoid duplicating mistakes—, but he had another reason: Josh had received information directly from Lord Harold that crafters could develop immense power if they pushed their perks, and he was determined to unlock that secret.
He just didn’t want Lord Harold finding out because their methods were risky. Lord Harold didn’t want to risk crafters at all, so Josh was careful to keep these experiments hidden, believing progress required taking chances that Lord Harold wouldn't want.
A small jungle cat lay tangled in a net a dozen feet away, its striped hide rising and falling as it breathed, emitting a low, thrumming growl that vibrated through the air. The smell of musk and raw fear permeated the surroundings, sharp enough to prickle the back of the throat. Its eyes, wide and wild, gleamed with a feral intensity that promised fury at the slightest provocation. The sight and sounds made it clear that tonight's work would demand the same tolerance for risk as everything else they had tried.
Robert had been pulled into the group because of the goblin he killed. Josh, eager to understand how such feats could be repeated, had heard about how Robert's axe cut cleanly through bone and muscle. At the time, Robert hadn’t thought much of it beyond his relief. Later, after Josh’s probing questions, he realized he had unconsciously used a perk—one that allowed his blows to land truer, and cut with less resistance.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
He’d done it without meaning to, guided by instinct and fear, and that accidental success piqued Josh’s curiosity. Josh wanted to learn how to make these instinctive moments deliberate, repeatable, and eventually teachable. Robert was included because he proved it was possible—a fact that motivated the group to keep pushing limits together.
Josh waited until the group had settled, greetings fading into a low murmur as people shifted into their usual places. Attention drifted back toward him, and the reason for tonight’s meeting became clear.
“Before we start, there’s something new you should all be aware of,” he said, glancing around the circle to make sure no one was distracted.
“One of the refugees from the south manifested a perk tied to flame, specifically the ability to alter its temperature and apply limited directional movement, and from the reports I’ve seen, he can do it with a level of precision that suggests it will scale well, and he helped fight off a group of centaurs.”
That earned a few quiet reactions. Kers let out a thoughtful hum, already imagining applications. He was trying to get perks related to flame and metal. He had revealed a dream of becoming a walking tank that could shoot fire.
“He’s traveling north with Centurion Raul’s training century,” Josh continued, “and if the pace holds, he should arrive in roughly a week.”
Josh folded his arms loosely as he went on. “When I get some time with Lord Harold, I intend to find out exactly how he plans to use the man. While he is eager for more people who can manipulate materials, he is careful not to risk crafters, but I believe that caution may be misplaced. Gravesend has shown that risk, when coupled with results, is often rewarded. I want to give him proof that our methods are more than theory—that cautious progress can hold us back.”
Beth stepped forward before anyone could respond, her voice calm and practiced in a way that made it clear she had already thought through the details.
“I have a pouch of healing potions here in case anyone gets hurt,” she said, holding it up briefly before letting it settle back at her side. “The tools we’ll be using are laid out over there, and we have three jungle cats that were captured earlier by Robert’s adventurer friends.”
She pointed toward the shallow pit they had prepared nearby. “We’ll take volunteers, lower one cat into the pit, and have a single person stand at the entrance to either kill it or prevent it from escaping. The rest of us will be positioned with nets so we can restrain it again if it breaks free, and I’ll stay close enough to intervene if someone takes a hit.”
Beth looked around the group, expression steady and expectant. “If anyone has questions, now would be the time to ask them.”
The quiet that followed Beth’s explanation didn’t last long.
Someone cleared their throat and asked about timing, another asked whether the pit walls were tall enough, and a third wanted to know how close the nets needed to be. The questions overlapped slightly, voices carrying a mix of excitement and nerves, but no one suggested stopping. If anything, the tone leaned forward, as though the idea itself had already taken root.
Kers was the first to break from the group.
He moved toward the pile of tools with purpose, humming softly under his breath, and selected a heavy hammer with a practiced eye. The weight pleased him, and he gave it a small test swing before nodding to himself. Without waiting for instruction, he crossed to where the braziers had been staged and dragged two of them closer to the pit’s entrance, settling them into the shallow alcoves carved into the stone for that exact purpose.
“Closer is better,” he said to no one in particular, adjusting their position so the heat would wash across the opening evenly. “If we are doing this, we do it properly, ja? I want to be able to feel the warmth from the fires.”
Robert watched him for a moment, then followed.
His steps felt lighter than they should have, nerves buzzing just under his skin, but excitement threaded through it all in a way he didn’t bother denying. A month ago, he would have stayed back, found a reason to be useful at a distance, but that version of him felt farther away every day.
He joined Kers near the pit, glancing down into it before looking back at the group gathering behind them. Fear was there, undeniable, but it shared space with something else now, something sharper and more focused.
He knew he couldn’t remain a lumberjack forever if he wanted to become someone worth noticing. The Landing had room for people who took risks and learned from them, and Robert had a growing realization: "Waiting is just another form of hiding." That understanding fueled his resolve to take steps forward.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, quieter but persistent, was the thought of Lynn, and the certainty that he wanted to be more than a familiar face when their paths crossed again.
Kers noticed him watching and flashed him a wide grin. “Good,” he said, hefting the hammer again. “You are learning when to step forward.”
Robert didn’t answer right away, but he nodded, eyes on the pit as Kers moved to take up a position in the exit of the large pit.
Beth and Josh began to move at the same time, each falling into a role they had clearly settled into over the past few weeks.
Beth walked the perimeter first, adjusting positions with brief gestures and quiet instructions, placing nets where hands could reach them quickly and making sure no one stood where panic might trap them against stone. She checked the potion pouch once more, then nodded to herself and shifted closer to the pit.
Josh drifted toward Kers, eyeing the hammer with open interest.
“You know,” he said casually, “I had actually intended to take the first position.”
Kers glanced at him, then back at the pit, and adjusted his stance by half a step so he was fully blocking the exit. “Ja,” he said pleasantly. “I imagined that.”
Josh waited a moment, clearly expecting more, and when none came, he sighed. “You could at least pretend to consider it.”
“I am considering it,” Kers replied, testing the hammer’s grip. “I am simply deciding no.”
Josh stared at him, then turned away with a huff that was more theatrical than sincere. He took three steps, slowed, and folded his arms, shoulders slumping just enough to make his disappointment obvious.
Beth watched the exchange with a long-suffering look before snapping her fingers. “If you’re done sulking, come help me with the cat.”
Josh glanced back. “I am not sulking.”
“You absolutely are,” Beth said. “Grab the net and help me drag one over here before it realizes what we’re doing.”
Josh muttered something under his breath, but he moved, reaching for the bundled net where one of the jungle cats lay restrained and growling softly.
Robert prepared the net as Beth and Josh hauled the animal toward the pit, the low, dangerous energy of the moment finally settling in around them as everyone took their places.
“Wait,” Kers said, raising one hand before the net was tipped.
Beth paused immediately, and Josh froze mid-step, the bundled weight of the jungle cat straining faintly in his grip.
Kers stepped closer to the braziers and drew a slow breath, shoulders rising and settling as he centered himself. He reached into the nearest flame without hesitation, fingers passing through the heat as if he were testing the air rather than touching fire, and he moved his hand gently, guiding the flames aside and back again until their warmth wrapped evenly around him.
With his other hand, he grasped the hammer by the head instead of the handle, closing his fingers around the metal and holding it there. His brow furrowed slightly as he focused, not on the weight, but on the feel of it, the density, the quiet tension locked inside the forged iron. He stood like that for several heartbeats, eyes unfocused, attention turned inward, never leaving the moment.
Robert felt the shift before he saw it. He knew Kers had a few perks related to forging, but as far as he knew, they were all related to his finished projects. And Robert had a hard time imagining how that would help him fight.
Kers straightened, the loose energy in his posture tightening into something deliberate, and he nodded once as if confirming an answer only he could hear. As he slid his grip down to the handle, settling his hands into place with care, a subtle warmth seemed to emanate from the hammer. He braced his feet at the pit's entrance, feeling the reassuring heft settle just right in his grasp. The weight adjusted slightly, almost as if the hammer itself was aligning with his intent, grounding him in the moment before he moved forward.
“Now,” he said calmly, lifting the hammer into a ready position and gesturing with his chin.
Josh and Beth tipped the net, and the jungle cat dropped into the pit as the group collectively leaned forward to see what would happen next.
The smallest of the jungle cats went over the edge first, net and all, and it hit the bottom of the pit with a dull, heavy thud that echoed up the stone walls.
The animal rolled once as it landed, tangled in rope and mesh, then began to thrash with sharp, efficient movements that spoke to long familiarity with traps. The net tightened, slipped, and finally gave way as claws found purchase and tore free. Kers did not move while it struggled, and he did not raise the hammer yet, choosing instead to watch and let the moment settle.
Once free, the cat sprang at the walls, scrabbling for height, claws ringing briefly against stone before gravity pulled it back down. It circled the pit instead, muscles bunching and releasing as it tested the space, and then its head lifted as it fixed on Kers standing at the exit.
Kers tilted his head slightly and crooked two fingers toward himself. “Komm,” he said, voice light and inviting. “Komm schon, K?tzchen.”
The jungle cat did not hesitate.
It launched itself forward in a blur of motion, jaws open and claws extended, and Kers stepped back at the same time, shifting his weight so the animal sailed past where his chest had been. The hammer came down in the same motion, his swing a fraction clumsy but committed, and the head of the hammer struck just behind the cat’s skull with a deep, solid sound.
He brought the hammer down. The first blow landed with a heavy thud. Then again. The rhythm held steady, matching his breath. Each swing had purpose and intent. He did not rush. Metal struck flesh. The animal staggered, resistance weakening. One more swing. Then another. The pattern did not break. Each strike came in tempo, a relentless beat that carried him forward.
When the jungle cat finally went still, Kers stood over it, chest heaving, and lifted the hammer high with a bark of laughter that broke the tension. He shouted something triumphant in German that Robert didn’t understand, but felt all the same, and the sound echoed out of the pit as the group let out a collective breath they hadn’t realized they were holding.
