The road back to the chapel took two days because Nyxara insisted on avoiding the main roads. She knew the area better than Zarvon or Lysara, having mapped escape routes from the capital years ago, and she led them through narrow forest paths where the trees grew thick enough to block the sun.
"If anyone followed us from the capital, they'd expect us to take the eastern route," Nyxara said, pushing a low branch aside. "This way we're invisible."
Lysara walked behind Zarvon, her feet sore from the uneven ground. "How do you know all these paths?"
"I spent three years learning how to disappear." Nyxara glanced back at them. "It's useful when your family puts a bounty on your head."
Zarvon ducked under a branch and kept walking. "Your family put a bounty on you?"
"My father's new wife wanted me gone. A bounty was cheaper than a wedding." Nyxara's voice was casual, like she was discussing the weather. "I made sure the bounty hunters who found me didn't make it back."
Lysara went quiet after that, and Zarvon noticed her grip on her staff tighten. He reached back and took her hand, squeezing once. She squeezed back.
On the second afternoon, they reached the edge of the forest near the old chapel. Zarvon stopped when he heard voices ahead, rough voices speaking in a language he didn't recognize. He held up a hand to signal the others to stop.
Through the trees, he saw three goblins sitting on a fallen log. One had a wounded leg wrapped in dirty cloth, another was sharpening a knife against a stone, and the third was staring at the chapel in the distance with hollow eyes. They were smaller than he expected, their green skin cracked and dry, their clothes little more than rags.
"Goblins," Nyxara whispered. "Probably runaways from the demon hunters."
The system lit up with a new notification.
[Potential Recruits: 3 Goblins – Weak, Injured. Recruiting them will add to the population and labor force. Recommendation: Offer protection in exchange for loyalty.]
Zarvon stepped out from the trees, his hands raised. The goblins froze, the one with the knife scrambling to his feet, the injured one hissing in pain.
"Easy," Zarvon said. "I'm not here to hurt you."
The goblin with the knife held it up, his hand shaking. "Demon hunter? You come to finish us?"
"I'm a demon. Like you." Zarvon pulled back his hood, letting them see his horns. The goblins stared, their eyes wide.
"A demon lord?" the injured one whispered. "Here?"
"Just a demon," Zarvon said. "I have a chapel nearby. Shelter, food, protection. You're hurt. You look like you haven't eaten in days."
The goblins exchanged glances. The one with the knife slowly lowered it.
"Why?" he asked. "Why help us?"
Zarvon shrugged. "Because I need people, and you need a place to stay. That's how it works."
Lysara stepped up beside him, her healing staff in hand. "I can fix your leg," she said to the injured goblin. "Let me see it."
The goblin hesitated, then nodded. Lysara knelt beside him, her hands glowing with soft light as she unwrapped the dirty cloth. The wound was deep, maybe from a sword or a trap, but the flesh began to close under her touch. The goblin let out a shaky breath.
"Priestess," he muttered. "Healing a goblin. Never seen that before."
"I'm not a priestess anymore," Lysara said, focusing on the wound. "Just someone who helps."
By the time she finished, the goblin could stand without wincing. The other two watched with growing hope. The one with the knife put it away.
"We follow you," he said. "If you give us shelter, we work. Build, hunt, fight. Whatever you need."
The system chimed.
[3 Goblins recruited. Population: 6. New resources: Labor force available. Base camp established at the chapel when you return.]
Zarvon nodded toward the chapel. "Then let's go home."
---
The chapel looked exactly as they had left it, small and worn but standing. Zarvon led the goblins inside, showing them the back room where they could sleep, and Lysara found blankets and dried food in the storage closet. The goblins ate quickly, tearing into the bread like they hadn't seen food in weeks.
Nyxara stood by the window, watching the tree line. "This place won't hold against an attack. One demon hunter squad, and we're done."
"I know," Zarvon said. "That's why we need to build. Walls, maybe a watchtower. The goblins can help."
"We need more than walls," Nyxara said. "We need information. If the church knows there's a demon base here, they'll send hunters. We need to know when they're coming before they arrive."
Zarvon looked at her. "You have a plan."
She smiled, the first real smile he'd seen from her. "I always have a plan."
---
Three days passed. The goblins worked hard, cutting wood and clearing brush, building a simple palisade around the chapel. Lysara set up a small garden behind the building, planting herbs and vegetables she'd found in the forest. Nyxara sent messages to her contacts in the capital through a network of street kids and traveling merchants, and by the third day, she had reports coming in about church movements and noble gossip.
Zarvon spent his time learning his new abilities. Shadow of Night let him merge with darkness, becoming invisible in low light, and Aroma of Seduction worked constantly, whether he wanted it to or not. The goblins kept their distance when he walked past, not out of fear but out of something closer to awe, and Lysara made jokes about him being a distraction.
On the fourth night, a goblin named Rik spotted movement in the forest. He ran back to the chapel, his face pale.
"Torches," he said, gasping. "Five, maybe six. Coming fast."
Zarvon moved to the window. Through the trees, he saw orange light flickering between the trunks, getting closer. The system flashed a warning.
[Alert: Demon Hunters detected. Estimated arrival: 10 minutes. Recommendation: Defend the camp. Victory will increase reputation and unlock new construction options.]
"Demon hunters," Zarvon said. "Six of them."
Nyxara pulled a knife from her belt. "I counted seven last week. Maybe they lost one."
Lysara's hands shook, but she grabbed her staff. "I can heal. I can't fight."
"You stay behind me," Zarvon said. "All of you. I'll handle the front."
The goblins grabbed whatever weapons they had—knives, a broken sword, a piece of wood with nails driven through it. They positioned themselves behind the palisade, their small bodies tense and ready.
The hunters arrived five minutes later. They wore the white and gold uniforms of the Luminous Church, their faces hidden behind helmets, their swords glowing with holy light. The leader stopped at the edge of the clearing, raising his hand.
"By order of the Luminous Church," he called out, "any demons harbored here will be cleansed. Surrender the demon lord, and your deaths will be quick."
Zarvon stepped out from behind the palisade, his hands empty. "That's a generous offer, but I'll pass."
The leader studied him. "You're the one who took the priestess from the village. Word travels fast. The church doesn't tolerate corruption."
"Funny," Zarvon said. "Because your church seems to tolerate plenty of corruption when it comes to nobles and gold. Just not when a demon does it."
The leader's sword flared brighter. "Enough words. Kill him."
The hunters charged. Zarvon activated Shadow of Night, his body dissolving into the clearing's darkness, and the hunters stumbled when their target vanished. The leader swung wildly, his sword cutting through empty air.
Zarvon reappeared behind the slowest hunter, grabbed the man's helmet, and slammed his head into a tree trunk. The hunter dropped without a sound. The others spun around, their formation broken, their confidence shaken.
The goblins attacked from the sides, small and fast, their knives finding gaps in the hunters' armor. One hunter fell with a goblin's blade in his thigh. Another screamed when Rik's nailed plank connected with his knee.
The leader recovered quickly, his sword swinging in wide arcs. Zarvon ducked under one swing, came up inside the man's guard, and drove his fist into the hunter's ribs. The armor cracked. The hunter gasped and staggered back.
"You're strong," the leader said, blood running from his mouth. "But holy light burns demons."
He raised his sword, and the blade blazed with white fire. Zarvon felt the heat on his skin, a burning sensation that made his muscles seize. He stumbled, and the hunter lunged.
Lysara stepped between them, her staff raised. A barrier of white light flared around her, deflecting the sword. The hunter's eyes went wide.
"Priestess magic," he snarled. "You've truly fallen."
"I've risen," Lysara said, and she shoved her staff forward. A wave of force threw the hunter back, his sword clattering to the ground.
Zarvon didn't waste the opening. He grabbed the hunter by the throat, lifted him off the ground, and held him there. The man's face turned red, then purple.
"You came to my camp," Zarvon said, his voice low. "You attacked my people. And you brought holy fire to burn us."
The hunter clawed at Zarvon's arm, but his grip didn't loosen.
"I'm going to let you go," Zarvon said. "You're going to take your wounded and leave. And you're going to tell whoever sent you that this camp isn't worth the bodies."
He dropped the hunter. The man hit the ground gasping, crawling backward until he found his sword. He looked at Zarvon, then at the goblins, then at Lysara standing with her staff raised.
"This isn't over," he said, his voice hoarse.
"It is for tonight," Zarvon said.
The hunters retreated, dragging their wounded with them. The torches disappeared into the forest, and the clearing fell silent.
---
The system chimed as the last light faded.
[Victory: Demon Hunters repelled. Reputation increased. Camp defense rating upgraded.]
[New construction options: Watchtower (200 wood, 2 days), Reinforced Palisade (100 wood, 1 day).]
[Current population: 6. Resources: Wood – 50, Food – 12 days, Gold – 45.]
Zarvon let out a long breath and leaned against the palisade. His arms were shaking, his body still burning from the holy light. Lysara rushed to him, her hands already glowing with healing energy.
"You're hurt," she said.
"I'm fine." He let her heal him anyway, the warmth of her magic easing the burn in his muscles.
Nyxara walked over, cleaning her knife on her sleeve. "Seven hunters, you said. We counted six."
Zarvon looked up. "What?"
"One of them stayed back." Nyxara pointed toward the treeline. "I saw him watching from the ridge. He left when the others retreated."
"Scout," Zarvon said. "He'll report back to the church. They'll know exactly where we are."
Nyxara nodded. "Which means we have maybe a week before they send a real force. Five hunters were on a probe. Next time, it'll be twenty."
Zarvon looked at the chapel, at the goblins tending their wounds, at Lysara's tired face and Nyxara's calculating eyes. They had a small camp, barely any defenses, and a church that wanted them dead.
"Then we build faster," he said. "And we find allies before they find us."
The system displayed a new mission.
[Main Mission: Expand territory. Current objective – Establish a permanent base with walls, a watchtower, and a minimum of 50 population.]
[Reward: New construction options, skill upgrade, reputation boost.]
Zarvon pushed off from the palisade. "We have work to do."
---
The next morning, the goblins started cutting more wood. Lysara expanded her garden, planting seeds from the chapel's stores. Nyxara sat at the chapel altar, using it as a desk to write letters to all her contacts.
Zarvon walked the perimeter of the camp, checking the palisade, counting their supplies, and planning the watchtower. The goblins worked faster when they saw him watching, their movements efficient and focused.
Rik approached him at midday, a crude map drawn on a piece of bark. "There's a cave two miles north," he said. "More goblins there. Maybe ten, twelve. Hiding from hunters. If you give them shelter, they come."
Zarvon studied the map. "Can you reach them?"
"I know the way." Rik stood straighter. "I bring them. Two days."
"Go." Zarvon handed him a loaf of bread and a knife. "Be careful."
Rik nodded and disappeared into the forest.
By sunset, the camp felt different. Still small, still vulnerable, but alive. The goblins sat around a fire, eating stew Lysara had made, their voices low and content. Nyxara joined them after finishing her letters, sitting close to Zarvon without saying anything.
Lysara sat on his other side, her head resting on his shoulder. "We survived."
"This time," Zarvon said.
"Next time too." Lysara's voice was tired but certain. "Because we're not running anymore."
Nyxara glanced at her, then at Zarvon. "She's right. Running gets you killed eventually. Building something worth defending—that's the only way."
Zarvon looked at the fire, at the small circle of people who had chosen to follow him, and felt something he hadn't expected. Not power, not ambition. Just a simple, steady purpose.
"Then we build," he said.
[Nymphaearoot the Author]: Hope you enjoy reading! If you like it, please add it to your library and let me know your favorite moments in the comments