The Twice-blessed Paladin

The next morning, Aldric steps back into the Adventurer's Guild, now clad in his new iron-plated armor and carrying the guild-issued greatsword across his back. It lacks the divine craftsmanship of his old blade, but it is functional, and that is enough.

The guild is already bustling—adventurers crowd around the quest board, bartering over contracts and rewards. Some take notice of Aldric as he approaches the front desk, but most dismiss him as just another armored knight.

Good. That's how he needs it to be.

The same young clerk from the night before barely glances up as he reaches the counter. "You're officially registered, so now you can take jobs. Any preferences?"

"Something straightforward," Aldric replies.

She flips through a stack of papers and slides one forward. "Goblin extermination. A group has been harassing the road between Black Hollow and the farms to the east. Travelers have reported missing goods, and a merchant's cart was found overturned yesterday."

Aldric takes the paper and scans the details. A simple task. Track them. Kill them. Report back.

"Where were they last seen?" he asks.

"The forest east of town." The clerk leans forward slightly, lowering her voice. "Listen… I know goblins sound easy, but they're not. They're sneaky little bastards. If you're not careful, one of them will stab you in the back while you're fighting another. Take them seriously."

Aldric nods. Wise words.

He takes the contract and heads toward the door, his first mission beginning.

The eastern forest is dense and shadowed, the morning light barely breaking through the thick canopy. Aldric moves with silent precision, tracking the signs of goblin activity—broken twigs, small footprints, a half-eaten deer carcass left to rot.

Eventually, he finds his target—a small hunting party of five goblins, crouched around the remains of a stolen sack of grain. Their crude bone-tipped spears and rusted knives gleam dully in the faint light.

They are laughing, completely unaware of him.

Aldric does not hesitate.

He lunges from the shadows, bringing his greatsword down in a clean, brutal arc. The first goblin's head is severed before the others even register what is happening.

The second screeches in alarm, but Aldric is already moving. No wasted motion. No hesitation. He pivots, slamming the flat of his blade into another goblin's chest, sending it crashing into a tree with a sickening crunch.

The remaining three panic—one tries to flee. Aldric throws his sword like a spear, the blade impaling the goblin through the spine before it can take two steps.

The last two snarl and charge.

One slashes at his leg—a mistake. Aldric doesn't flinch. He grabs the goblin's face with his gauntleted hand and crushes its skull against a rock.

The final goblin stumbles back, terrified. It turns, scrambling to flee into the undergrowth.

Aldric retrieves his sword and follows.

He does not stop it.

He follows.

It runs deeper into the forest, yelping in its foul tongue as it disappears into the underbrush.

Exactly what Aldric wanted.

"Take me to your den."

The goblin leads him to a cave nestled beneath an old, dead tree, its roots twisted around the stone like skeletal fingers.

Aldric crouches behind the brush, scanning the entrance. Tracks indicate at least two dozen goblins use this cave. Far more than expected.

"This is not a hunting party. This is a nest."

The guild should have been notified of this—leaving a den this size unchecked is dangerous. Goblins breed quickly. If left alone, this could become a true infestation.

He could return to the guild and report this.

Or he could end it now.

He grips his sword. "No half-measures."

He moves toward the entrance.

Aldric steps into the cave, staying close to the walls, his armor barely making a sound. The tunnel is narrow at first, then opens into a wide chamber lit by torches and scattered embers.

A goblin sentry spots him immediately.

It lets out a shriek—then an arrow slams into his shoulder.

Aldric whirls as two more goblins emerge from the shadows, weapons drawn.

The ambush begins.

He snaps off the arrow lodged in his armor—it barely penetrated the iron. Then he surges forward.

The first goblin tries to sidestep—too slow. Aldric's blade cleaves through its chest, splitting it in half.

The second goblin lunges, dagger aimed for his neck—a foolish mistake. Aldric catches its wrist, twisting sharply until bones snap. He lets it fall, screaming, before finishing it with a downward strike.

But the damage is done.

The cave erupts with noise.

From deeper inside, more goblins pour forth—yelling, armed, angry.

Aldric exhales, rolling his shoulders.

"Good."

The first wave reaches him—six goblins, attacking all at once.

He meets them head-on.

One tries to flank him—he pivots, slamming his elbow into its face, shattering bone.

Another leaps—he intercepts it mid-air, swinging his sword like a club, sending it crashing against the wall.

A spear thrusts at his gut—he sidesteps and grabs the wielder, snapping its neck with a twist.

More keep coming.

Ten. Twelve. Fifteen.

Aldric fights without stopping.

And then—the chieftain appears.

A hulking goblin, taller than the rest, wearing scavenged armor and wielding a jagged cleaver. It snarls, pointing its blade.

The goblins hesitate, then regroup—more coordinated now, fighting smarter.

Aldric grips his greatsword.

The chieftain roars, charging.

Aldric meets it head-on.

The chieftain swings its cleaver down in a brutal, two-handed chop.

Aldric raises his blade just in time, the force driving him back a step.

Another goblin stabs at his side.

Another swings from behind.

Aldric twists, his blade a blur—he decapitates the first, then drives his boot into the second's chest, sending it flying.

The chieftain attacks again, its strikes heavy and relentless.

Aldric grins beneath his helmet.

This is where he thrives.

He doesn't tire. He doesn't falter. His body feels nothing but the endless rhythm of combat.

The chieftain overextends on its next swing.

Aldric sees his opening.

He steps in, parrying the cleaver aside, then drives his sword straight through the chieftain's chest.

The massive goblin shudders, gurgling—then collapses.

The remaining goblins panic.

Aldric does not stop.

He cuts them down one by one, relentless, methodical, unyielding.

Until the cave falls silent.

Not a single goblin remains standing.

Aldric finally lowers his sword, surrounded by corpses.

He does not breathe heavily. He does not sweat.

He is undead.

And for the first time, he is grateful.