The gates of Ashbrook came into view just as Osric's arms began to burn.
Roman was dead weight now—unconscious, slack, every step pulling at Osric's shoulders and back. His breathing was shallow but steady, each rise of his chest something Osric counted without meaning to. He adjusted his grip and kept walking.
They didn't look like victors.
George entered first, carrying Erica with grim focus, blood-soaked cloth bound tight around her shoulder. Laurent followed at the rear, silent as ever, eyes still moving as if the forest might spill after them. William walked beside Osric for a few steps, axe hanging low, his usual energy gone.
People noticed.
Voices faded as they passed. A merchant swore softly. Someone near the gate muttered a prayer.
"Doctors," George said sharply. Not shouted. Not begged. Just stated.
"Now."
Runners moved immediately.
Not mages.
Not miracles.
Men and women with clean knives, bandages, and years of hard experience came rushing from the guild and nearby buildings. Erica was taken first. George held her long enough for one of them to confirm that the bleeding was slowing—not stopped, just slowed—before he let go.
Roman was next.
Osric lowered him carefully, easing him down as if his body might crack if handled roughly. A doctor knelt, checking ribs, arm, breath, fingers pressing where pain would bloom later.
Osric stepped back without being told.
And suddenly—
There was nothing in his hands.
The strain left him all at once. His fingers curled reflexively, still shaped for carrying weight that was no longer there. His breathing felt wrong—too loud, too fast.
He waited.
The pressure.
The blue screen.
The System's judgment.
Nothing happened.
The doctor looked up.
"He needs a bed," she said. "Both of them. Now."
George nodded once.
"No arguments," he said. "Take them."
Erica was carried off first, her face pale but conscious, teeth clenched hard enough to draw blood. Roman followed on a stretcher, breathing shallow, one arm already swelling badly.
Osric stood where he was as they disappeared into the nearby clinic.
The doors closed.
And just like that, the urgency broke.
George stayed only long enough to hear the same words twice—stable, but not safe—before he turned back to the others.
"You three," he said, voice low but steady. "Guild. Wait there."
No praise.
No debrief.
No relief.
Just orders.
Laurent nodded and moved without comment. William hesitated, glanced once at the clinic doors, then followed. Osric went last.
As they walked, Osric felt it again.
The absence.
No confirmation.
No reward.
No failure.
The System was still waiting.
That meant the mission wasn't finished.
Not yet.
Franklin was already waiting when they reached the guild.
He stood just inside the entrance, hands folded behind his back, eyes taking in everything at once—the blood on their armor, the absence of Roman and Erica, the way William carried himself, the way Laurent watched the room, the way Osric stood quietly to one side.
Nothing escaped him.
"The clinic?" Franklin asked.
"Both alive," George replied immediately. "Stable, but they need care."
Franklin nodded once.
That was enough.
William stepped forward then, swallowing hard, and dropped the heavy sack at Franklin's feet. It hit the stone floor with a dull, unmistakable thud.
The hobgoblin's head rolled free.
A murmur rippled through the guild hall. Conversations died. Eyes turned.
Franklin looked down at the severed head for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
"The hobgoblin threat has been eliminated," he said, voice carrying without effort. "The mission is complete."
The words were barely finished when blue light filled Osric's vision.
[Mission Completed]
The panel formed cleanly, without flourish.
Objective:
Complete the secret D-rank mission issued by the Adventurers' Guild.
Status: Completed
Rewards Applied.
Osric's breath caught for half a heartbeat.
The screen shifted.
Combat Instinct (E) → (D)
The change wasn't explosive.
It was subtle.
Like something aligning that had been slightly off before.
The final line appeared.
Extra Objective:
Deal the killing blow to the hobgoblin.
Status: Failed
No judgment.
No explanation.
Just fact.
The screen faded.
Franklin was still speaking.
"Payment will be issued once Erica and Roman are out of danger," he said. "This mission does not end with a corpse on the floor."
His gaze moved across the group—paused briefly on Osric, just long enough to mean something.
"You did what you were sent to do," Franklin continued. "You survived. And so did they."
That, too, was enough.
The guild slowly resumed its breath. Voices returned, quieter now. Respectful.
Osric stood where he was, hands relaxed at his sides.
The System had spoken.
The mission was complete.
And for the first time since entering the forest, Osric felt the weight lift—not because he had gained power, but because he had chosen correctly when it mattered.
Whatever came next would build on that.
Not replace it.