Chapter 11: The Circle In The Mist (Part IV – Preparation)
December 14, 2:39 PM JST / 21:39 ES – Eldora, Northern Lunarest Outskirts, Border Road to Lunaris (Night in game)
"By the time they saw the flames, it would already be too late."
– Thrash war saying
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Cold mist hugged the hillside as Rin and the Thrash squad slipped beyond the outer palisade.
The bonfire's roar behind them sank into a low, muffled growl. Out here, sound felt padded, like someone had wrapped the whole hill in old blankets. Every step pushed his bare goblin feet into wet earth that clung and squeezed up between his toes, cold and gritty. Damp grass brushed his calves and shins, streaking his skin with icy lines. The air tasted like wet stone and iron, with a faint ash-bitter flavor from camp smoke sitting on the back of his tongue.
Nimble Feet hummed in his ankles and tendons, a tight, hot thread under all that cold.
"This is it," Rin thought. "First real test… Mom, I guess this is how you felt when you had your first volleyball match, huh…"
His hand drifted over his chest, fingers brushing the bone shard. For one heartbeat, the nerves and pressure sat right beside a stupid little thrill, game-day jitters, but the good kind.
Every small noise from his own body felt too loud: the soft swish of Shaman's Veil around his shoulders like a faint, warm draft; the quiet creak of leather where straps pulled; the light tap of the necklace against his sternum whenever he shifted.
Krok clinked and creaked in dull armor beats to his left. Tikka was almost silent, just a faint whisper of grass parting. Muzzle's breath stayed slow and controlled, measured in quiet draws and releases. Drosh's heavier steps left deeper impressions he could feel through the ground whenever the hobgoblin shifted closer.
"If this goes bad," Rin thought, "they do not come back at all. I can't allow this to fail."
The hillside dipped ahead into a shallow hollow.
Fog pooled thick at the bottom, turning everything into smeared gray shapes and floating halos. They were maybe thirty, forty meters out, far enough that voices blurred, close enough that the glow of fire and lanterns painted soft smears through the mist.
Through that fog, a single campfire burned steady and low, a dull orange coin in the dark. Heat from it didn't quite reach this far, but he could see the shimmer of warmer air trying and failing to break the chill.
One big canvas tent squatted just beyond the flames, seams yanked tight, sides bulging and flexing with movement inside. Four lanterns circled the clearing on iron stakes, their light carving a shaky ring through the mist. Where their halos hit the fog, they became ragged, broken crowns hanging in place.
The smell of wood smoke and cooked rations drifted up from the hollow, richer and greasier than the Thrash camp's war-smell. Under that floated cleaner notes: oiled metal, potion glass, stim drink sugar. Player habits. Player gear.
Farther back, barely visible through the gray, the Lunarest border road cut in a muddy curve. Water in the wagon ruts reflected dim smears of light, trembling when the wind brushed across. Beyond that, somewhere south and unseen, Lunaris waited for a goblin wave that had never hit.
Someone inside the tent laughed. The sound came up thinned and softened by canvas, but the rhythm was pure "we're safe."
Rin lifted his hand.
"Down," he whispered.
They obeyed without hesitation.
Krok dropped into a crouch, armor settling with a dull, wet clink. Tikka slid flat into the grass, damp blades slicking along her forearms as she crawled forward. Muzzle folded into a low squat, fingertips pressed into mud until they left little half-moons. Drosh went to one knee, the weight of him sinking into the slope hard enough that Rin felt a faint vibration up through his own hand.
The cold soaked deeper into Rin's fingers. He flexed them once, feeling wet grit under his nails.
"Any of you have a way to see through that cloth?" Rin whispered, eyes still on the tent. "If not, we go in blind and hope my guesswork is enough."
For a moment, only the drizzle answered, pattering soft on the canvas. Krok's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing toward the fire. Tikka's mouth pressed thin, clearly wanting to help and having nothing for this. Muzzle shook his head once, slow and certain.
Drosh shifted beside him.
"There is one art I know," Drosh murmured. "If I touch your head, you can see where my eyes reach, even through cloth and thin fog. For ten heartbeats only. While it works, my own sight turns to shadow."
Rin's stomach tightened. He nodded, throat tight.
"Alright," Rin whispered. "I will call what I see. You can trust me."
"And you can trust my blade," Drosh said quietly. "If you point it true."
Drosh's hand came up, fingers warm and rough from blade drills and old burns. Two thick fingers pressed gently against Rin's temple, right at the edge of his eye socket. The skin there prickled, heat blooming in a circle the size of a coin.
Ember-orange lines along Drosh's tattoos flared once, then settled into a steady glow.
A faint, cool pressure spread behind Rin's eyes, like someone had opened a window in the back of his skull.
[PHYSICAL ART: VEIL-PIERCE GAZE]
Effect: View up to 25 meters or share your vision. Able to see outlines and gear rarity of targets within line-of-sight through light cover.
Range: Short. Duration: 10 seconds.
User's own vision dimmed while active if sharing.
The world jerked.
Canvas in front of him thinned, color washing out. The tent turned into a ghost skin. Heat and motion inside sharpened into brighter shapes.
His awareness slid down the hill, into the clearing. His ears still heard hillside cold and distant insects, but his eyes were full of tent interior, light, shadow, motion.
Four players sat around a low table.
He didn't get every detail, just silhouettes and glows. Names and classes floated above them in crisp text the way the UI always did when he actually had line-of-sight.
PARTY
[Party Leader: Rian – Human Ironbreaker – Lvl 6]
[Spellweaver_Lyn – Elf Spellforger – Lvl 6]
[Talo – Beastfolk Warden – Lvl 6]
[Joss – Dwarf Windrider – Lvl 6]
Same guild tag under each name.
[Guild: NC – New Covenant]
Their armor and weapons pulsed with color, simple, clean rarity light. Rian's chest slot glowed a steady deep purple. Lyn's staff shone the same shade, a richer halo around the focus crystal. Talo's shoulder plates and Joss's boots had that same purple edge with faint gold trimming at the seams.
Enough to see they were not running starter trash.
"I am telling you, this is scuffed," Rian said, lazy and smug. Rin could see the outline of him leaning back, arm thrown over the back of his chair. "Spawn notes said Goblin Rally hits Lunaris' north gate last week. Forums screamed that nothing showed. Meanwhile, we have a whole rally stuck out here on the outskirts feeding us XP."
Spellweaver_Lyn's outline moved, wiping her fingers, reaching for a cup. The purple staff glow pulsed softly where it leaned against the table.
"Yeah, I hear you, Mister Spawn Theory," she said, amused. "But are we really going to complain about a broken event that hands us levels before Winter Bash?"
Talo's silhouette shifted as he talked through a mouthful of food, Beastfolk ears flicking.
"Exactly," he said. "Who cares why they are here? We found it, we farm it, we hit Lunaris fat on fresh drives. Let the forums and the devs scream about a bugged goblin event."
Joss lounged with his boots crossed, bow outline within easy reach.
"Long as we do not sit down here so long some other squad smells it," he said. "Once food and pots tick back, we go up, wipe them in one wave, then bounce before anyone else finds this road. Easy."
The table shook in outline as someone's elbow hit it. Cups rattled, a fork clinked.
Rin focused on the way those purple glows sat against level six tags. His chest tightened.
"If these guys are starting out with that glow," he thought, "they probably cashed in capped characters."
Legacy Points. Old accounts. Stuff he never had because he didn't have a drive before the sale.
Drosh's fingers trembled faintly against his temple.
"They might be low level, but that purple shine means rare gear," Rin murmured.
He filed it as he spoke, same way he had seen pros do in scrims. He had never done it himself, but it felt natural.
Rian, shield, frontliner. Talo, bruiser. Joss, bow, follow-up. Lyn, staff, channel-type.
"Talk about fighting in a weight class we don't belong in," Rin thought.
The view broke.
Drosh's fingers lifted. Canvas turned solid again. Rin's awareness snapped back into his body hard enough that his head swam for a second. Cold mist hit his cheeks. The smell of wet earth and goblin camp smoke flooded his nose.
[PHYSICAL ART: VEIL-PIERCE GAZE – COOLDOWN STARTED]
Drosh blinked slowly. Color crept back into his eyes as his pupils focused.
"We will trust that eye," Drosh said.
Blue text rolled along the side of Rin's vision, the stream UI waking up around what he saw.
[STREAM: LIVE]
[USERNAME: KAISEKI]
[TITLE: WORLD QUEST GRIND]
[VIEWERS: 80]
Chat overlaid in translucent strips above the fog.
[LIVE CHAT]
[NetBreak]: is that NC tag or am I blind?
[LuneVODs]: that is NC, Wraith's group, that purple glow is LP-shop gear for sure!
[ArcLine22]: he is about to gank PK Wraith's officers with goblins, this is insane
Rin took a deep breath.
"Relax," he thought. "If I faceplant here, all of what I've worked for so far vanishes and Sevish will never trust me with his people again."
"Listen up," Rin whispered. "We do this in pieces. No hero moves."
He flicked his eyes from face to face, matching roles to tools.
"Krok," he said softly. "You sit just under the crest, uphill from their door. When I call for gas, you hit the tent wall on the left side. Big. Do not hold back. Make them feel it."
Krok's grin flashed quick and sharp, tusks catching a little fogged lantern light.
"My favorite kind of song," Krok whispered. "I have been holding it in."
"Muzzle," Rin continued. "You mirror him on the right side. Thin first, then thicker. We are not trying to kill them in the tent, we are trying to make the tent the last place they want to be. Once you both start, you keep cycling until I say stop. If they stay inside, they die in there. If they come out, they walk into us."
Muzzle dipped his head once. The old burn scar at his mouth tugged when he smiled.
"A curtain of breath, not a storm," Muzzle murmured. "Layers. I hear you."
"Tikka," Rin said. "You circle left. Stay low. Use the rocks, the tall grass. Get to the fire and the lanterns. Kill the coals and the lights. Quiet as you can, but if you kick a stone, you keep going. If anything feels wrong, you turn and you do not stop until your forehead hits Sevish's sword. No arguing."
Tikka's eyes gleamed, bright even in the dark. Mud smeared along her cheek where she'd brushed hair back.
"Smother fire, break their eyes," Tikka whispered. "Then run before they remember I exist. Got it."
"Drosh," Rin said. "You are the anchor. If someone lives through the circle, you are the wall they hit. I need you to hold one physical art in your pocket. Any one you trust."
Drosh's ember tattoos pulsed once with his breath.
"I have something in mind," Drosh said, voice low. "He will not take a single step."
Rin nodded. Good. He didn't need to know the name; he just needed to know someone on his side had a real finisher.
"And me," he thought. "I lay the teeth."
"Move on my signal," he whispered. "If the hill turns against us, we move on Drosh's call, not mine. No stupid deaths."
Their eyes met his one by one. No one flinched. They weren't just script puppets waiting for prompts. They were reading him and the field and each other.
NPCs were not supposed to feel this sharp three years into launch. AI updates were supposed to hit with the expansion. But world quests got patched first.
"For once," Rin thought, "I am not the only brain in the room. Good."
"Go," he whispered.
[SKILL: NIMBLE FEET – ACTIVE]
The buff clicked into his joints like a subtle gear engaging. His steps grew lighter, roll-toe instead of heel-thud. Grass brushed his ankles with less resistance. Every footfall smeared sound thinner.
The drizzle picked up, light drops tapping against his hat and ears. The cold of it made his skin twitch.
They split.
Tikka peeled off left, melting into the taller grass and rocks that sheared off the hillside in uneven chunks. Muzzle slid right, keeping low, using a broken wagon rut as a shallow trench. Krok angled slightly higher along the slope, keeping a clear line down to where the tent flap faced the fire. Drosh stayed near Rin, just far enough back to move without bumping him.
Rin cut a diagonal path down the hill, staying outside the lanterns' harsh circles. As he neared, camp sound shifted, bonfire noise fading further, tent noise growing clearer. Utensil clinks.
From here, the setup looked even more like a dare.
One tent planted like a claim flag. One fire. Four lanterns. No trip-lines glinting in the grass, no bored scout kicking rocks, no wards humming around the perimeter, just carelessness.
"You are so sure nothing on this hill can touch you," Rin thought. "Perfect."
He dropped to one knee just above the outer lantern ring. Mud sucked under his shin, cold and sticky. He pressed his palm into the ground, fingers spread, letting the sensation of packed dirt and root threads anchor him.
Spirit fire surged.
[CASTING: ANCIENT BONEFLAME BARRAGE]
Cold shot down his arm, digging under muscle and into bone. His fingertips numbed, then prickled. Shaman's Veil stirred around him, a faint pressure of spirit energy brushing along his shoulders and spine, sharpening the rune shape that rose in his mind.
Light crawled along the inside of the Veil's hood, thin bone-white lines sketching a circle around his feet. For a second, he could feel Krok and Drosh watching him, like the air itself had gone tight.
"That is no normal goblin trick," Krok whispered somewhere behind him.
In his mind's eye, a wide circle traced over the clearing, big enough to swallow tent, fire, lanterns, and the path they would have to use to get out.
[MODE: STANDARD – Wild Convergence]
[MODE: RUNE-BOUND – Controlled Kill Zone]
He could almost feel the "wild" option tug at him, power, chaos, no leash.
"Not tonight," Rin thought.
"Rune- mode," he breathed.
The wide circle snapped into three narrow anchor points along the front of the tent.
[ANCIENT BONEFLAME BARRAGE – RUNE MODE SELECTED]
Anchor runes required: 3
Channel must be maintained during placement.
The cold in his arm deepened, heavy and hollow. His cast bar ticked in the corner of his vision, a faint chime marking each half-second.
"Three points," he thought. "East, west, south. Turn their front door into a mouth."
He slid left, hugging the shadow where lantern light broke and diffused against the fog. One side of his face felt the faint warmth from the nearest lantern; the other side stayed slick with mist.
Inside the tent, someone shifted. Chair legs scraped the surface of the ground, giving off an eerie sound.
He reached the tent's left front corner and dropped to a knee again. The canvas wall loomed over him, smelling of old smoke and damp cloth. The fabric rustled faintly with the breath of whoever sat inches away on the other side.
He pressed his palm to the ground.
Bone-cold bit into the dirt. A jagged sigil flared in his vision, sharp strokes hooked inward.
[ANCHOR RUNE 1 PLACED – EAST]
His fingers ached when he lifted them. The cast bar dipped, then steadied.
"Come on," Rin thought. "Hold together."
He crossed the front of the clearing, threading gaps between lantern halos, using fog as cover. Every time he came too close to one lantern's beam, his neck prickled, waiting for a shout that never came.
The fire behind him crackled, weak, starved for fuel.
He knelt at the opposite corner. Canvas again. A soft exhale from inside. He could smell someone's boots, oiled leather, wet around the soles.
Second palm. Second spike of cold.
[ANCHOR RUNE 2 PLACED – WEST]
Sweat beaded along his hairline despite the chill. His right arm felt heavier, like each finger had picked up its own small weight.
"Last one," he thought. "Front door."
He slid downslope to the spot in front of the tent flap where the first panicked step would land, where most people looked at dirt, not sky.
The ground there was a mix of packed dirt and mashed grass, flattened by boots. It crunched faintly under his toes.
He set his hand.
[ANCHOR RUNE 3 PLACED – SOUTH]
[RUNE TRIANGLE COMPLETE]
Barrage circle bound. Combustion zone fixed
Invisile lines snapped between the three sigils, forming a wide triangle that framed flap and fire. Everything inside that shape felt underlined.
The cast bar at the bottom of his vision steadied, then held. A soft tone chimed downward.
[ANCIENT BONEFLAME BARRAGE – DORMANT]
Awaiting ignition conditions.
Rin eased back, into thicker fog, right arm buzzing with cold.
The aura around him hadn't faded. Pale runes still crawled along his forearms and the edge of Shaman's Veil, little bone-white motes lifting from his skin and hanging in the mist.
Chat flickered.
[LIVE CHAT]
[PatchNoteNerd]: goblins don't get any magic tree that looks like THAT
[TheoryCrafter]: that circle isn't on the public skill list, what is his class
[AnonSpec]: is he even a goblin or some test race
He raised two fingers toward the left flank.
"Tikka," he whispered. "Your turn. Slow breath. Clean."
Across the clearing, a shadow slid loose from rock and grass. Tikka padded toward the campfire, body low, the mist hiding most of her until she crossed a lantern edge.
Heat from the dying fire hit her face. Rin saw her flinch slightly, then lean in.
She cupped her hands around the last glowing coals like she was warming them. Then she grabbed mud from the ring around the pit and slapped it over the embers. Wet earth hit hot coal with a sharp hiss, steam puffing up in a thin, surprised breath.
For half a heartbeat, her foot skidded on a slick patch of ash and stone. A pebble rattled down into the pit.
Inside the tent, a chair scraped.
"Someone out there?" a muffled voice said.
Tikka froze. Even from here, Rin could see the tremble in her shoulders.
"Wind," another voice muttered. "It's foggy as hell."
Rin's fingers dug into his own knee. He waited.
Tikka pressed, blew once, quick and hard.
The embers died.
Warmth vanished. Cold rushed in, biting at Rin's fingers and nose.
She moved before anyone down there finished their second confused breath.
She slid to the nearest iron stake, scooped another handful of mud, and slapped it across the lantern glass and open vents. Flame smothered with a dull pop. She was already moving to the second before the glass finished cracking from the shock.
Third, then fourth, mud, breath, quick fingers killing each wick in turn. Halos shrank, sputtered, and went out, one after another, until only thin afterimages floated in Rin's eyes.
The clearing dropped into real dark, the only light now the faint bone-glow up the hill and the smear of fire trapped inside the tent canvas.
Inside, voices hiccuped.
"Oi," Rian said, irritation bleeding in. "Who messed with the fire?"
"Probably the wind," someone muttered again. "We are drowning in mist."
"Yeah, well, relight it," Rian snapped. "Last thing we need is a random spawn in the dark."
Tikka was already sliding away, elbows and knees pushing through wet ground, mud smearing her forearms. She cut back upslope instead of diving deeper into the hollow, using the rocks and fog to mask her path. Rin caught the faint ripple of grass as she angled behind his position, the soft brush of her shoulder nearly touching his heel before she tucked in just behind him on the slope, breath low and ready.
"Phase one complete,"
END OF CHAPTER 11 PART 1
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Chapter 11.5 : The Circle in the Mist Part IV [Cont}
"By the time they saw the flames, it would already be too late."