The ruined village of Rixdorf was eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the wind whistling through the skeletons of collapsed homes. Daemon arrived two hours after dark, his initial analysis confirming the obvious: this was less a settlement and more a desperate outpost on the fringe of the Kingdom, and its loss was negligible to Berlin's ruling class.
The few remaining locals—a handful of terrified farmers clutching antique, rusted farm tools—spoke in panicked, breathless whispers when Daemon showed his Academy mission slip. They confirmed the location: a deep cave system nestled in the forested ridge half a mile from the ruins. Their desperation was palpable. The Goblins weren't just taking livestock—they were taking cattle, sheep, and, most horrifyingly, young women. The latter detail solidified the cold, amoral nature of the Spawns. To Daemon, this wasn't moral outrage; it was simply a confirmation of the Goblins' high value as test subjects: they were numerous, malicious, and their complete extermination would be universally applauded, eliminating any potential political fallout.
Following the faint, metallic scent and tracks of small, three-toed feet, Daemon found the lair—a gaping, black maw in the side of a rocky outcrop, partially obscured by thick, thorny bushes. The entrance was a natural bottleneck, guarded only by a crude watchtower built from snapped branches.
Daemon crouched behind a cluster of ancient pines, assessing the situation. He felt a sharp, cold spike of regret—not sadness, but frustration at his current limitations. If his core capacity were three times its current size, he could channel a continuous, devastating stream of Elemental Fire into that narrow entrance, cooking every single Goblin inside into ash without ever having to draw his spear. It would be efficient, clean, and fast. But the energy expenditure required for such a blast would drain his core in seconds, leaving him vulnerable to the survivors. He was forced to rely on the brutal, messy arithmetic of cold steel and physical exertion.
He decided to wait. The Goblins' movements, Daemon knew from his study of battlefield ecology, were predictable: lazy vigilance, punctuated by bursts of chaotic activity. He waited until the single, slouching guard in the tower had fallen into a deep, slack-jawed sleep. The time for the experiment had arrived.
The assault was initiated with precise stealth. Daemon used his augmented strength to scale the rock face away from the main entrance, securing a perch directly above the watchtower. He dispatched the sleeping guard silently, his spear finding the Goblin's vitals before it could even twitch. He then descended, moving to the cave mouth.
He channeled the Water affinity first, focusing the energy into the area immediately inside the entrance, creating a slick, narrow sheet of polished ice hidden in the shadows. Next, he channeled a continuous, high-heat Fire blast, holding it for just three seconds, directed not deep into the cave, but only a few feet inside the entrance. The sudden spike of heat and the resulting cloud of steam and acrid smoke served as a forced evacuation notice.
The result was immediate chaos. Goblins began pouring out of the cave, shrieking and scrambling away from the heat and smoke, their numbers easily exceeding the locals' estimates. They hit the ice sheet and tumbled into a panicked, confused pile in the narrow corridor. Daemon counted them as they fell: fifty, sixty, maybe more. He estimated the total number inside was close to two hundred—a perfect, sustained challenge.
He met the resulting wave of panicked aggression with the cold, scientific fury of his entire being. This was the moment of maximum core strain. He channeled the Healing affinity into a continuous, low-grade flow, maintaining the integrity of his muscles, forcing his dynamic strength multiplier to stay engaged and increase. He was fighting with a power that grew with every successful parry.
The battle became a relentless, claustrophobic slaughter. Daemon stood at the mouth of the cave, a single, unyielding pivot point. His shield was a blur of constant motion, the rim smashing jaws and collapsing shoulders. The short spear was a linear engine of death, its thrusts too fast for the Goblins' reflexes, too precise for their disorganized defenses.
Initial Strain Check (5 minutes): Core is heavily taxed. Physical strength feels immense, easily pushing back three Goblins simultaneously. Strength multiplier has jumped—perhaps to 7.5x. The adrenaline of the fight is not emotional; it's a controlled chemical response to the core's energy debt, forcing him to fight harder and faster to maintain the required equilibrium.
He began to cycle his Tria magic into the melee. He would momentarily switch the shield's passive augmentation from Healing to Water, launching a concentrated, heavy jet of sapphire liquid at the feet of a charging group, turning their momentum into a painful skid. He would follow this with a concentrated burst of Fire across his shield arm, using the thermal shock to create a momentary defensive barrier, buying a split second of reprieve to thrust the spear ten times in rapid succession.
The Goblins were dying by the dozens, their blood mixing with the melting ice and the scorch marks on the rock. They were crude, predictable fighters, but their sheer numbers meant constant, unavoidable impact. A rusted dagger grazed his left arm; the Healing affinity immediately surged, the cut closing before it could bleed heavily, a silent, internal process that confirmed the efficacy of his self-repair mechanism.
He noticed the Goblins attempting to utilize their own chaotic magic—crude, greenish sparks of energy directed at his shield. Daemon countered this not with a spell, but with an optimized physical response. He focused the Healing energy into the shield itself, creating a localized damping field that absorbed the low-grade magical interference, rendering the Goblins' attacks irrelevant.
The slaughter continued for what felt like an eternity. Daemon's breath came in ragged, deep gasps, but his movements never faltered. He was driven past the point of human exhaustion by the relentless, growing power of his augmented body. He was no longer thinking about tactics; he was operating on pure, cold efficiency—spear, shield, fire, water, healing, repeat.
Final Strain Check (15 minutes): Core exhaustion is critical—nearly 90% depleted. The physical augmentation, though still active, is flickering at its new peak. The energy debt is now maximal. He has pushed his core harder than he ever thought possible.
With a final, desperate surge, the remaining Goblins—perhaps thirty of them—turned and fled back into the deeper, darker recesses of the cave. Daemon did not pursue. The energy expenditure required for a cave hunt would be too high, and the mission objective was already complete.
He lowered his weapons, the heavy spear feeling light as a feather in his hand, and allowed his Healing affinity to switch fully to recovery mode. He was utterly drained, but profoundly satisfied. The exhaustion was not weakness; it was growth.
He spent the next hour inside the immediate cave entrance, completing the mission requirements. The sheer volume of Goblins confirmed the initial number—he counted over two hundred sets of ears, collecting them in a rough, canvas sack. Beyond the proof, he scoured the staging area. He found numerous shattered bones—the grisly remains of livestock and, tragically, human women—confirming the locals' grim story. He also collected several stacks of crude, rusted steel weapons—chipped shortswords and daggers. They were worthless to a noble, but to a Runic Enchantment student, they were base iron—a crucial, cost-free material resource for his future work in the Forge.
Daemon secured the loot and the proof. He walked out of the cave as the first hint of pre-dawn light began to touch the eastern horizon. His uniform was stained with grime and blood, but his mind was crystal clear. The mission was a resounding success. He had his 150 Credits, a stockpile of raw materials, and the exhilarating certainty that his core had undergone a massive expansion. He was significantly, permanently stronger than when he had arrived.