Chapter 50 — The Posting
The notice had been sitting on the guild board for the better part of a week by the time Arlen finally gave it his full attention, passed over, he suspected, by adventurers wary of anything more involved than a straightforward bounty.
Subjugation — Goblin encampment, confirmed, disrupting trade route near Miller’s Bend. Estimated 12–15 individuals, Rank 2 baseline, possible Rank 3 leader. Reward: 90 Silver, plus salvage rights. Rank D preferred; Rank E parties considered with sufficient numbers
Ninty silver was more than what most of his recent quests had paid, and the location — Miller’s Bend, the same modest farmstead where he’d faced his very first real combat against the jackal den months ago — carried its own quiet symmetry that Arlen found himself drawn to more than he probably should have let influence a practical decision.
He brought the posting to Cobb and Sil that evening, turning the numbers over carefully. "Rank D preferred, but it says Rank E parties will be considered with sufficient numbers. Be worth taking seriously, but not something to attempt alone."
"Twelve to fifteen goblins is a lot more than any of us have handled together," Sil said, characteristically blunt. "Even with a full party."
"Which is why we ask the guild about backup before committing," Arlen said. "Not why we skip the posting entirely."
Cobb grinned, already warming to the idea. "You’ve gotten considerably more confident since Millbrook, you know that?"
"I’ve gotten considerably more trained since Millbrook," Arlen corrected, though he didn’t deny the underlying truth of it.
They brought the proposal to Mina the following morning, and she, in turn, consulted with Lyra before returning with an arrangement that satisfied everyone’s practical concerns — Reya’s party, now solidly established at Rank E themselves and eager for exactly this kind of test, would join Arlen, Cobb, and Sil, bringing the total response to six adventurers, enough numbers, Lyra judged, to handle the estimated goblin count safely provided they approached with proper caution.
"Reconnaissance first," Lyra told the assembled group, laying out a rough sketch of Miller’s Bend’s surrounding terrain. "I want a clear count and layout before anyone commits to an assault. Goblin camps this size sometimes hide more than the initial estimate suggests — tunnels, secondary shelters, sometimes a second leader nobody spotted on the first pass."
"Understood," Reya said, already studying the sketch with the same sharp, assessing focus Arlen remembered from the Emberroot patch, months and what felt like a lifetime ago.
They set out two days later, the full party of six moving with the same careful, deliberate pace Arlen had learned to appreciate on every expedition since the boundary crossing — Yorin’s old lesson about widening his attention to more than just the obvious threats settling naturally into how the group organized itself, Fennis and Dorn taking point alongside Cobb, while Arlen, Sil, and Reya held the rear guard and supply responsibilities.
They reached Miller’s Bend by early afternoon, and Corwin — the same farmer who’d hired him for that very first jackal quest — met them at the property’s edge with the same anxious relief Arlen remembered from months earlier.
"They’ve been raiding the trade caravans for near three weeks now," Corwin explained, gesturing toward the northeastern tree line. "Took two wagons clean, scattered the goods everywhere. Merchants are refusing to use this route until something’s done about it."
"How close is the camp?" Reya asked.
"Half a day’s walk into the forest, from what the last scouting party managed to confirm. Didn’t get close enough to count properly — lost two people wounded just from the perimeter alarms the goblins had rigged."
Arlen exchanged a glance with Reya, the same careful, methodical instinct settling over both of them. "We’ll need proper reconnaissance before committing to anything," Reya said. "We’re not walking into an unknown perimeter blind."
They made camp that evening a safe distance from Corwin’s farmstead, the group settling into the same easy, practiced rhythm Arlen remembered from the boundary expedition — gear checked, watch assigned, quiet conversation over a modest, carefully prepared meal that Arlen took charge of without anyone needing to ask.
"You’ve gotten good at this," Dorn observed, accepting a portion with evident appreciation. "Feels like every trip out here, the food’s better than the last one."
"Practice," Arlen said simply, though the comment settled into him with quiet satisfaction regardless.
Fennis, characteristically quiet through most of the meal, spoke up unexpectedly once they’d finished eating. "Twelve to fifteen, plus a possible Rank 3 leader. That’s a serious fight for six Rank E adventurers, even with proper reconnaissance."
"It is," Reya agreed, no false confidence in her tone. "Which is exactly why we’re not rushing into it tomorrow without a full scouting pass first. We confirm the numbers, the terrain, and the leader’s actual strength before anyone draws a weapon."
Arlen nodded, turning over Bram’s old advice one final time before settling in for the night — *ask questions before you charge in* — a lesson that had carried him this far, and one he intended to keep carrying, regardless of how much stronger training and Species Assimilation together had already made him.
"Whoever takes first watch," Yorin’s old advice echoed in his mind unbidden, "widen your attention. Threats don’t always come from where you’re expecting them."
He took first watch himself that night, settling in against a fallen log at the camp’s edge, sword within easy reach, senses sharpened by months of hard-won experience layered now over three quiet, hidden abilities he had every intention of keeping carefully out of sight — unless, come tomorrow, circumstances demanded otherwise.
The forest around him carried none of the unnatural, watchful quiet that had unsettled him so badly at Millbrook. Just ordinary night sounds, insects and distant rustling, the world carrying on exactly as it always had. Arlen found something reassuring in that ordinariness, even knowing what waited half a day’s walk deeper into the trees.
Tomorrow, we scout properly, he thought, watching the fire’s low embers glow steady against the darkness. And then, if the numbers hold and the plan’s sound, we finish what three weeks of raiding started.
He closed his eyes briefly, listening to the steady, unhurried breathing of his sleeping companions, and allowed himself, for just a moment, the quiet satisfaction of understanding exactly how far he’d come since his first, clumsy fight against a den of jackals in this very same stretch of forest — not fearless, never quite that, but steadier now in a way that felt, finally, properly earned.