The forest lived its own life, full of rustles, shadows, and scents. The damp aroma of decaying leaves mixed with the sharp note of pine needles, and sunbeams, piercing through the dense canopy of ancient trees, traced whimsical, ever-changing patterns on the ground. For most of the villagers, the forest was a source of firewood and game, a place entered with caution and only out of necessity. But for the two boys, it had become a second home. A training ground, a hunting ground, and an open-air classroom.
Raine moved first. His body, now twelve years old, had already lost its childish roundness, replaced by the lean, hard muscles forged by years of training and heavy labor. He moved almost silently, his amber eyes attentively scanning the ground before him. Every broken twig, every faint print on the damp soil was, to him, a letter in a sentence that he read with ease.
A few steps behind, trying to step in his footsteps, followed Bell. He, too, had changed greatly over the years. The timid, tearful boy had given way to a determined, though still shy, youth. His snow-white hair was a little longer, and in his ruby eyes, once full of fear, now burned a spark of excitement and unshakeable trust in the one who walked ahead. Raine's influence had been like the work of a master blacksmith: he had taken the soft, pliable metal of Bell's soul and, blow by blow, day by day, had tempered it, giving it form and unbending strength. Bell had not become cruel or callous, no. His kindness and compassion remained, but they were now protected by an armor of confidence and strength.
Raine suddenly threw up a hand, signaling a halt. He knelt on one knee, pointing to a fresh track—an ugly print of a bare, three-toed foot.
"Goblin," he whispered, so quietly his words were barely audible against the rustling leaves. "One. Passed here no more than ten minutes ago. Judging by the depth of the track, it was carrying something heavy. Probably prey."
Bell nodded silently, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the short, sharp hunting knife at his belt—their only serious weapon, apart from homemade bows.
They had been tracking this goblin for about an hour. Such excursions were standard practice for them. They honed their skills, harvested magic stones which they then secretly sold to the rare visiting merchants, and, most importantly, cleansed the immediate vicinity of the village of these vile creatures. Goblins were weak monsters, but their numbers and vicious nature made them a constant threat to lone travelers or lost children.
The trail led them to a dense thicket of blackberries. Raine motioned for Bell to circle around to the left, while he himself moved to the right. Pushing through the thorny branches, he peered out from behind the trunk of a huge oak and froze. Before him, in a small ravine hidden from prying eyes, lay a camp. A wretched, filthy place, saturated with the stench of rotting meat and filth. Around a dying fire, no fewer than a dozen goblins were milling about. Some were gnawing on bones, others fought over some shiny junk, and a third group was simply asleep, curled into dirty balls. This was no longer a random foray. This was an entire nest.
He waited for Bell to appear silently beside him and gestured toward the ravine. Bell's eyes widened at the sight, but there was no panic in them—only focus.
"Too many for a frontal assault," Raine whispered, assessing their chances. "We need to act fast and quiet. We'll split up. I'll go from that side, where the ravine is deeper. You—from here, by the entrance. Your job is to clear the left flank. There are four, their backs are to you. Move fast, don't let them make a sound. I'll take the rest. Don't make noise in the center; we'll deal with them last. We meet at that big rock. Got it?"
"Got it," Bell replied firmly. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in his voice. He believed in Raine, and Raine believed in him. That was enough.
They split up.
...
His heart hammered in his chest like a caged bird. Bell pressed himself to the ground, inhaling the damp scent of moss. He saw his target—four ugly green-skinned creatures, huddled at the edge of the ravine. They were bickering over the gnawed carcass of a rabbit, poking each other with bony fingers and hissing angrily. Bell felt the familiar chill of fear run down his spine. It never disappeared completely, that fear. But now, he had learned to control it.
"Raine said fear is normal," the thought flashed through his mind. "It keeps you on edge, makes you more careful. The important thing is not to let it paralyze you."
He took a deep breath, exhaled, and pushed the fear to a far corner of his mind. Cold resolve took its place. He remembered his grandfather's stories about heroes who protected the weak. These goblins were a threat. A threat to his home, his village. And he was the one who could eliminate it. That thought gave him strength.
He drew his knife from its sheath. The blade gleamed coldly in the gloom. Bell waited for a moment when a gust of wind rustled the tree branches, creating a screen of noise. In that instant, he exploded from his spot. Not like a frightened child, but like a predator. His movements, honed by hundreds of hours of training with Raine, were fast and precise.
The first goblin didn't even realize what had happened. Bell lunged at him from behind and delivered a short, precise strike to the base of its skull. The creature collapsed to the ground without a sound. The other three spun around, their dull eyes widening in astonishment. But it was too late.
Bell didn't give them time to react. He spun, dodging a clumsy swing of a club, and slashed the second goblin across the throat. Blood gushed. A third lunged with a spear, but Bell, ducking, slipped under it and plunged his knife into its stomach, twisting the blade. The last goblin, shrieking in terror, tried to run, but Bell threw his knife. The weapon, thrown with the perfect accuracy Raine had taught him, sank into the monster's back, right between the shoulder blades.
Four corpses lay at his feet. It had all happened in a matter of seconds. Bell was breathing heavily, adrenaline roaring in his ears. He quickly retrieved his knife, wiped it on the goblin's hide, and, wasting no time, moved toward the rendezvous point, staying in the shadows. He had done his part. Now it was Raine's turn.
...
Raine moved like a ghost. His path lay along the steeper, more overgrown slope of the ravine, but this was no problem for him. He clung to roots, slid between trees, and his dark clothing made him practically invisible against the earth and bark. He saw Bell begin his attack. "Good," he noted mentally. "Fast, clean. He's learning."
His own target was more difficult. Five goblins on the right side of the camp and three more by the fire. And among those by the fire, one was different from the rest. It was almost twice as large, its skin a darker, muddy-green hue, and a spark of primitive intelligence burned in its dull eyes. In its hands, it clutched a rusty, jagged scimitar. A Hobgoblin. The leader of this pack.
"Pawns first, then the king," Raine decided.
He dropped from the slope, landing on the soft moss behind the outermost goblin. A strike with the knife's pommel to the temple—and the first creature went limp. The neighboring goblin spun at the sound, but only saw a shadow darting toward it. Raine's blade slid under its ribs, straight into the heart. He gave them no chance to scream. Every strike was lethal. Third, fourth, fifth… He moved between them like a dancer, his knife an extension of his hand. This wasn't a battle; it was a methodical cleansing. He used their own carelessness and stupidity against them.
When the flank was dealt with, he turned his attention to the center. The hobgoblin and its two bodyguards had finally noticed something was wrong. They jumped to their feet, growling angrily and looking around.
Raine didn't hide. He stepped out of the shadows, his amber eyes gleaming coldly in the gloom.
Two goblins, shrieking, rushed at him. Raine met their attack calmly. He dodged the swing of one's club while simultaneously tripping the second. As it fell, Raine spun and plunged his knife into the first's neck. Then, without stopping, he yanked the blade free and threw it into the chest of the falling second goblin.
Silence. Now, only he and the hobgoblin remained in the camp.
The creature roared and charged, swinging its rusty scimitar. Raine dodged the first blow, which whistled through the air. He was fast, but the hobgoblin, despite its size, was not slow. Its strikes were powerful and furious. Raine was forced onto the defensive, parrying and dodging. He was like a snake against a bear—agile and fast, but one direct hit could be his last.
He circled the monster, searching for a weak spot. The scimitar's blade grazed his shoulder, leaving a shallow but painful cut. Raine jumped back, feeling warm blood flow down his arm. "Can't drag this out," he realized.
The hobgoblin charged again, raising its scimitar for a chopping blow from above. Raine didn't dodge. Instead, he stepped forward, right into the danger. The moment the scimitar began to descend, he kicked the monster's kneecap. A sickening crunch echoed. The hobgoblin howled in pain, its attack faltering. Raine seized the second. He ducked, slipping under the creature's arm, and delivered a deep slicing cut to its Achilles tendon.
The monster roared and collapsed to one knee, having lost its footing. Victory was near. But a wounded beast is doubly dangerous. The hobgoblin, ignoring the pain, spun and desperately slashed its scimitar along the ground. Raine barely managed to jump back. The creature, realizing the fight was lost, decided to flee. Leaning on its good leg and its sword, it limped away from the ravine, toward the safety of the thicket.
Raine, exhausted and wounded, was about to give chase, but suddenly a small, white-haired figure appeared in the retreating monster's path.
It was Bell.
The hobgoblin, seeing only a child before it, roared and swung its sword. But Bell was not afraid. In his ruby eyes, there was neither fear nor hesitation. He saw that Raine was wounded. He saw that the enemy was trying to escape. And he acted.
He ducked, letting the whistling blade pass over his head, and, closing the distance, plunged his knife with all his strength into the monster's thigh, into the artery. Blood gushed in a powerful stream. The hobgoblin howled, its grip on its weapon weakening. And in that moment, Bell delivered the second, decisive blow—upwards from below, under the jaw, aiming for the brain.
The monster's huge body froze for a moment, then collapsed heavily to the ground.
When all the goblins were finished, Raine leaned wearily against a tree, clutching the wound on his shoulder. He watched as Bell, humming a cheerful tune under his breath, efficiently carved the cloudy, dimly glowing magic stones from the goblins' bodies. He did it with an ease as if he were picking mushrooms.
This scene—a peacefully humming boy, gutting monster corpses—was so surreal that Raine involuntarily sank into his memories. He remembered that day, two years ago, when everything had been completely different.
...
"Are you ready?" Raine had asked.
Bell was ten years old. And he was terrified. He stood at the edge of the same training ground, but now it seemed alien and hostile. Raine had just told him that today, their training would be different. Today, they were going on a real hunt.
"I... I don't know," Bell had stammered, crumpling the hem of his shirt.
"You do know," Raine had replied calmly, and his amber eyes seemed to look right into his soul. "You are stronger than you think, Bell. But until you believe it yourself, you won't move an inch. Let's go."
And Bell went. He couldn't disobey Raine. He trusted him more than he trusted himself.
They walked through the forest for about an hour. Raine taught him to read tracks. Finally, they found what they were looking for—the trail of a lone goblin, apparently old or wounded. Bell's heart hammered so hard it seemed the entire forest could hear it. His palms grew sweaty.
They tracked it to a small stream. The goblin was squatting by the water, trying to catch fish with its clawed hands. It was just as Raine had described: thin, mangy, with dull skin. It looked pathetic. But when it turned, and Bell saw its vicious, bloodshot little eyes and sharp yellow teeth, the pity vanished instantly, replaced by icy terror.
"Now you," Raine whispered in his ear. "Sneak up quietly and do what I taught you."
"I... I can't," Bell whispered back, his body refusing to move.
"You can. Heroes aren't born heroes, Bell. They become them when they step over their fear."
The goblin spotted them. It jumped up, let out a vicious hiss, and, picking up a heavy stone from the ground, charged at them.
Time slowed down for Bell. He saw the ugly creature rushing right at him. He saw its snarling maw. He smelled its stench. He looked at Raine, searching for help, but he stood motionless, his face calm and unyielding. He wouldn't help.
"I have to do this myself."
The thought pierced him like a lightning bolt. Panic and fear retreated for a moment, giving way to the pure survival instinct drilled into his body. When the goblin raised the stone to strike, Bell didn't jump back. He did what he had been taught hundreds of times: he stepped forward, inside the attack. The stone whistled over his head. Finding himself in close, Bell whipped out his knife and, shutting his eyes tightly, stabbed forward with all his might.
He felt the blade meet resistance as it entered something soft. A gurgling, hoarse sound followed. When he opened his eyes, the goblin was standing right in front of him, staring at him in surprise. The hilt of Bell's knife protruded from its chest. Then the monster's eyes rolled back, and it collapsed to the ground.
Bell stared at the corpse. At his hands, smeared with dark, thick blood. His stomach clenched in a spasm. He turned away and was sick. Shudders wracked his entire body. He had killed. He, Bell Cranel, had just taken a life. Even if it was a monster, it was a living creature. Tears streamed from his eyes, mixing with the dirt and sweat.
He felt Raine's firm hand land on his shoulder.
"Look," he said, forcing him to turn back to the corpse. "That is a monster, Bell. If it wasn't you, it would have killed you. And then it would have gone to the village and, possibly, killed someone else. Someone weak, who couldn't defend themselves. You are not a murderer. You are a protector. You did what a hero had to do."
The words Raine spoke slowly penetrated his consciousness, fighting through the shock and disgust.
"Now, the last part." Raine crouched beside the corpse and held out Bell's bloodied knife to him. "You have to take its magic stone. It's proof of your victory. And it's what adventurers fight for. This is your duty."
Bell's hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the knife. But, looking into Raine's calm eyes, he forced himself to do it. It was repulsive. But as he, following his friend's instructions, extracted the small, dimly glowing stone from the monster's chest, he felt something inside him change. The horror was replaced by a strange, grim satisfaction. He had crossed a line. And survived.
...
The memory faded. Raine looked at the twelve-year-old Bell, who had already collected all the stones and was now walking toward him with a smile, holding out the largest one—the one he had cut from the hobgoblin.
"This one is yours, Raine. You're the one who defeated it!"
Raine smirked, accepting the stone. Yes, Bell had changed. That day two years ago had broken the old him, but from the fragments, a new Bell was born—one who could face danger without hesitation. Raine was proud of him. But at the same time, somewhere in the depths of his soul, he felt a pang of guilt for the innocence he had been forced to take from his friend.