Arthur had a bad feeling he was about to become goblin snacks.
"Are you kidding me right now?"
Dozens of those nasty, olive-green runts were crawling out of every shadow and crack in the ruins. They were barely three feet tall, but their red eyes were glowing with straight-up malice in the torchlight. You could hear their leathery ears twitching and their filthy claws scraping against the stone. And those claws? Definitely coated in something that looked suspiciously like poison.
Honestly, this whole train wreck started three days ago. Arthur had finally grinded his way to Tier 3 adventurer status and, full of "main character" energy, he'd assembled his first-ever squad: The Dream Team. On paper, it sounded legit: a certified mage from the Magic Tower, an old-school trainee priest from the Church, a rookie swordsman from the Guild, and Arthur himself as the captain and tank.
Looking back, naming the squad "The Dream Team" was basically a death flag.
The actual disaster started about thirty minutes ago. The crew was hauling a cart full of ore along the forest's edge when a lone goblin popped its head out of the bushes. The poor thing was covered in mud and God-knows-what, just minding its business digging up some rotten roots.
"Ugh, gross," the mage said, wrinkling her nose like she'd just smelled a locker room. Without asking anyone, she charged up a fireball the size of a grapefruit. "Let's just… clean the area a bit."
Direct hit. The goblin didn't even have time to scream before it turned into a charcoal briquette.
The problem? The smell of burnt goblin hadn't even drifted ten feet before the ruins erupted with high-pitched shrieks.
A nest. A big one.
Suddenly, a literal wave of angry green bodies flooded out like a sewage pipe bursting. Arthur actually tried to hold up his hands and de-escalate—maybe some universal sign language for "my bad"?—but these feral little bastards weren't interested in a chat. They just hissed and lunged.
"Are you insane?!" the mage screamed at Arthur when she saw him trying to look non-threatening. "Why are you apologizing to a bunch of animals?!"
Arthur bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. If he'd known this girl was such a loose cannon, he would've made her walk in the back. The funniest part? She's the one who pulled the aggro, but she's yelling at him like it's his fault.
"Argh!"
Scritch! Snap!
Claws raked across his armor. There were only four of them against a literal zerg rush. Arthur, being the tank, got hit first. Five or six goblins piled onto him at once. They were small, but they were surprisingly buff, and their poison-tipped nails were digging into every gap in his plate.
"Crap! That hurts!"
His shout was like a dinner bell. Soon, everyone was screaming.
"Help!"
"Oh, Goddess, no!"
The "Ice Queen" mage, the old priest, and the kid who kept calling himself the "Future Hero"—they were all getting absolutely bodied. Arthur managed to cleave one goblin's shoulder, but three more took its place. They were smart, too—aiming for the ankles and joints and not letting go once they latched on.
"Get off me, you green trash!"
Arthur rolled on the ground, trying to shake off the ones clinging to his back. It was a classic "death by a thousand cuts" scenario, and Arthur was the main course.
Lessons hurt. This one hurt everywhere.
"You little shits! This armor is new!" He watched in horror as his custom-made quilted gambeson got shredded. Then came the burning sting—the poison was kicking in. "Stop biting me, you unevolved toads!"
The priest and the mage were basically useless now, mostly just contributing background noise with their screaming. Arthur caught a glimpse of the priest—his robes were in ribbons and he was bleeding. The mage was swinging her staff around like a club because she couldn't even focus long enough to cast a basic shield spell.
This team was trash. Absolute garbage-tier.
"Drop the loot! Run!" Arthur lunged, screaming at the top of his lungs.
The mission was to bring back some mystery ore, but at this point, who cares about rocks? There were dozens of them now, a black tide pouring out of the cave. If they didn't move now, they were literally lunch.
"B-but what about the quest?!" the rookie swordsman asked, kicking a goblin off his leg.
Arthur's temple started throbbing. The quest? Seriously?
"Screw the quest! Stay alive, you idiot!"
He did a combat roll, shook off a few more goblins, and booted a green runt off the mage's shoulder. "Run! Now! Go, you brainless wonders!"
"O Divine One—dispel the darkness!"
The old priest finally found his second wind. His holy symbol flared with a blinding white light—Basic Holy Art: Ward Evil. The light hit like a shockwave, sending the front-line goblins flying back into the ruins.
The goblins were stunned, just for a second.
"Now! Move!"
The priest and the kid didn't need to be told twice—they bolted. Arthur grabbed the dazed mage, threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and sprinted.
"Hey! What are you doing?! Put me down!"
"Shut up! You wanna stay? Stay!" Arthur growled, his legs pumping. She was a brat, but she was a registered mage with the Tower. If she died on his watch, he'd be blacklisted from the industry—or worse, "dealt with" by the Magic Tower's legal team.
Quest failed. Zero gold. He probably wouldn't even be able to afford dinner tonight. Arthur felt like his dark circles had reached his cheekbones.
"Haa… haa…"
"Are we… are we safe?"
They finally hit a clearing far enough from the nest. Arthur dumped the mage on the grass, and the four of them collapsed, bleeding and looking like they'd been through a blender.
The mage spent the rest of the walk back to the city glaring at Arthur and complaining about how "rude" and "barbaric" he was for carrying her. Arthur just stared straight ahead. If he punched her now, he'd never get a party again. Mages are like a cult—they protect their own.
By sunset, the city gates finally appeared on the horizon. The guards, seeing their pathetic state, just shook their heads and let them through. Arthur caught a guard looking at him with pity. That hurt way worse than the insults.
Must be nice having a government job, Arthur thought. Getting paid just to stand there.
"I am never partying with you people again!" the mage announced the second they reached the Guild doors, as if she were passing a royal decree.
Arthur had a whole dictionary of swear words ready to go, but he just forced a fake, painful smile. "My lady, it was an accident. Next time, we could—"
"Don't touch me!" she snapped, slapping his hand away and storming off.
Ungrateful. Typical mage behavior.
"Yeah… I'm out too," the rookie mumbled, rubbing his nose before disappearing into the shadows.
What a joke. The "Dream Team" was a literal nightmare. The mage was a prima donna who couldn't handle her temper; the swordsman had the DPS of a wet noodle; the priest was okay, but you can't out-heal a team that's allergic to basic strategy.
"Priest? What's the move?" Arthur looked at his last teammate, sounding more desperate than he wanted to admit.
The old man straightened his holy symbol, his face looking ancient in the twilight. "Arthur, I have to report this failure to the Temple. May the Goddess guide your path." He paused. "Try… try to take care of yourself."
Then, he turned and walked away into the darkness. Somehow, even with a bald head and ripped robes, he managed to look cool doing it.
"Dammit."
Arthur swallowed the rest of his curses. E-Rank adventurers don't get to make a scene in front of the Guild. And the worst part? He was the captain. The "I messed up" report had to come from him.
As he pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the Guild, only one thought was running through his head:
This fantasy world is a total scam.