The Twice-blessed Paladin

Silence.

Aldric stands alone in the cave, surrounded by goblin corpses. His greatsword drips with blood, the iron scent thick in the air—not that he can smell it. The battle lasted longer than expected, but for him, fatigue is a thing of the past.

His body does not tire. His breath does not quicken.

But his mind remains sharp.

He kneels beside the chieftain's body, yanking his sword free from its chest. The massive goblin had been well-fed, armored, and armed better than most. Too well-equipped for a simple raiding band.

Something isn't right.

This den was more than just a goblin nest. There was organization here—something goblins usually lack.

Aldric straightens and scans the chamber. He needs to investigate further.

Pushing deeper into the cave, he finds a secondary chamber, smaller and partially hidden behind a collapsed tunnel. Inside, piles of crude wooden crates and sacks sit stacked against the walls.

Aldric kneels and pulls open a sack—coins spill out.

Silver. Gold. Even some gems.

He frowns. Goblins don't hoard wealth like this.

A few stolen goods, yes. But this? This is too organized. Too intentional.

Merchants must have been robbed recently. Possibly adventurers.

He moves to the next crate, forcing it open. Inside, he finds dried food, stolen supplies, and… weapons.

Rusty swords, crude spears, even some iron daggers still in decent condition.

"They were stockpiling for something."

But why? Goblins aren't usually strategic.

Aldric pushes this thought aside and begins collecting what he can. He finds a leather satchel and starts gathering coins and valuables—enough to bring back to the guild for redistribution. If this belonged to merchants or fallen adventurers, it should be returned.

Then he notices the smell.

A stench of decay—strong enough that, even without a sense of smell, Aldric can feel the wrongness in the air.

He turns toward a dark passage deeper into the cave.

Something is there.

He tightens his grip on his sword and moves forward.

The tunnel leads him to a horrifying sight.

Bodies.

Scattered across the cavern floor, half-buried in filth, flies buzzing around them. Some are fresh, their wounds still raw—others have been here for weeks.

Aldric kneels beside the nearest corpse. A young man, barely past twenty, still clutching a broken sword.

His adventurer's badge hangs limply from his belt.

"A rookie. Probably thought a goblin hunt would be easy."

Aldric's hollow chest tightens.

He moves to the next body. A woman in studded leather armor, her throat slit. Another man, a merchant by the look of his robes, half-eaten by the goblins.

So many dead.

The guild never knew.

Aldric stands. I will not leave them to rot here.

Then—he hears it.

A whimper.

Faint. Almost too quiet to notice.

His head snaps toward a wooden cage wedged in the back of the cavern.

Inside—three women huddle together, their faces pale, their eyes filled with fear.

Aldric strides toward the cage. The women flinch, pressing against the bars.

"Peace," he says, voice low and controlled. "You are safe."

One woman—a young brunette with torn clothing and bruised wrists—stares at him, wide-eyed. "You… you're not a goblin."

"No," he says. "I killed them."

The second woman, older, her face streaked with dried tears, grips the bars. "Are you from the guild?"

Aldric nods. "I am." He steps back and raises his greatsword.

The women recoil.

With a single powerful swing, Aldric cleaves through the wooden bars, shattering the cage door.

The women hesitate—then bolt forward, nearly collapsing at his feet.

"Easy," Aldric says, steadying the younger one as she stumbles. He feels nothing, but he moves with the careful precision of a man who once knew the weight of human touch.

"How long have you been here?" he asks.

The oldest woman wipes her face. "A week. Maybe longer." She shudders. "They took us from a merchant caravan. The others… they killed them all."

Aldric's fingers tighten around his sword hilt.

"Too long. No one should have suffered this."

"We need to leave," he says. "Can you walk?"

They nod, unsteady but determined.

Aldric leads them from the cave, stopping only long enough to gather what valuables he can carry.

He will return for the bodies of the fallen. They deserve proper burials.

For now—he must get the survivors to safety.

The journey back to Black Hollow is slow, but uneventful. The three women remain silent, exhausted, broken—but alive.

When the town's watchmen see them approach, they rush forward in alarm.

One of the guards—a familiar face from the night before—recognizes Aldric. "You again? What happened?"

Aldric steps aside, allowing the women to speak.

The eldest woman stumbles forward. "We… we were taken. By goblins. He saved us."

The watchmen exchange dark looks.

Aldric hands them the satchel of coins. "Their cave was a den. They had taken more than lives."

The guards take it, their expressions grim. "The guild needs to hear about this."

Aldric nods and turns away, heading toward the guild hall.

Behind him, he hears one of the guards mutter—

"That knight… he doesn't even sound winded."

The guild hall quiets when Aldric enters. The rescued women had been taken elsewhere to recover, but word has already spread.

The guild clerk, who had warned him to be careful, stares at him in disbelief.

"You were supposed to clear out a few goblins," she says. "Not wipe out an entire den."

Aldric removes his satchel and sets it on the counter. "There were bodies of adventurers inside. And merchants. This was more than just a raiding band."

The guildmaster—an older, battle-scarred man named Dain—approaches, arms crossed. "And you cleared the whole thing alone?"

Aldric meets his gaze. "Yes."

A beat of silence. Then Dain lets out a low whistle. "Not bad for a rookie."

He gestures to the clerk. "Give him a higher rank. The man clearly isn't some green recruit."

The clerk nods and scribbles on the ledger.

Aldric is no longer just a nameless new adventurer.

His reputation has begun.

Elsewhere—beyond mortal sight—two divine figures watch from the ethereal plane.

The God of Life folds his arms. "He is progressing faster than I expected."

The God of Death chuckles. "He was always stubborn. That hasn't changed."

The Radiant Dawn exhales. "Do you think he realizes it yet?"

The Veiled Reaper's grin widens. "Oh, he will soon enough."

They watch as their champion stands in the guild hall, unaware of how his legend has already begun.