Another day passed inside Illusion Tree.
Eon spent it finishing his tests. The hypothesis had reached its limit for now. He repeated the same grind patterns he had used on goblins, but this time on other creatures around Haven Reach.
Wolves.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSgJZLY2gmj
Slimes.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMJ3yUexaug
Horned Rabbits.
There were changes.
After long periods of farming, some wolves moved more carefully. A few slimes split faster than before. Horned rabbits began reacting earlier to his movements. Small adjustments. Slight improvements.
But nothing close to the goblins.
No new variants appeared. No new enemy types formed. No archers. No casters. Just minor behavioral shifts.
The goblins were different.
Whatever system allowed bow goblins and staff goblins to appear seemed unique to them. Or perhaps goblins had a deeper structure in the code of the world. Either way, the result was clear.
His theory held weight, but it was incomplete.
That was enough for now.
It was time to move on.
Haven Reach had been his starting point. He had learned the rhythms of the town. The habits of its people. The terrain of the nearby forest.
But Illusion Tree was far larger than this coastal settlement.
His next destination would be one of the main centers of the world.
The capital of Specia.
Before leaving, he checked his status one more time.
50 Vitality107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9k5G0BCwV7
100 Strength107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcbRsFhbrtu
100 Dexterity107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLTDv95LPFj
5 Wisdom107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiXRS8xpmTx
5 Intelligence107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKGpsGd3j7P
5 Luck
The goblins had stopped giving stat increases long ago. Even the bow and staff variants never granted any from the start.
He had already reached the limit of what Haven Reach could offer.
He checked his inventory next.
Loot filled most of the space. Materials, scraps, small equipment pieces. When converted, the total value reached roughly twelve gold coins.
The most noticeable item, however, was stacked neatly in the corner.
Goblin Meat.
Three hundred pieces.
He still had no idea what it was used for.
He shrugged and closed the interface.
His last stop was Boros.
The blacksmith looked up from his work when Eon entered. The sound of hammer striking metal stopped.
“So,” Boros said, wiping his hands with a cloth. “Leaving soon.”
“Yes.”
Boros studied him for a moment, then turned and walked into the back room.
Eon waited.
A minute passed.
Then another.
Finally, Boros returned.
In his hand was an arm guard. Metal layered over hardened leather. Simple, but well made. In his other hand was a letter sealed with wax.
“For you,” Boros said.
“…Thanks.”
Eon took the arm guard first. He strapped it onto his right arm. It fit almost perfectly. The design protected the back of his hand and ran along his forearm. Flexible enough for movement, solid enough to block strikes.
He reached for the letter.
But Boros pulled it back.
Eon blinked.
The blacksmith’s expression had changed.
“This is a letter to an old comrade,” Boros said. “She can teach you unarmed combat.”
Eon froze slightly.
“But,” Boros continued, “you need to prove you’re worth her time. Otherwise she’ll nag me to death for sending useless people.”
He stepped forward.
“Put on the arm guard,” Boros said. “And prepare.”
Eon nodded slowly.
Nervousness crept into his chest.
He waited until deep into the night.
Word had already spread.
By the time he returned to the open space near the forge, a crowd had gathered. Some were players. Curious adventurers who had heard rumors of a fight.
But most were natives of Haven Reach.
Martha stood near the front of the crowd. Herman leaned against a wooden post. The baker watched with folded arms. Even Elara had closed her stall early to see what would happen.
Lanterns flickered around the square.
Boros stepped into the center.
Across from him stood Eon, arm guard strapped tight, fists wrapped, heart beating just a little faster than usual.
The crowd fell quiet.
The test was about to begin.
Boros stepped forward from the forge.
The crowd parted for him without being asked.
In his right hand was a great axe. The blade was wide and worn from years of use. At his belt rested another of the same kind, secured in a simple holster.
Eon swallowed.
The size of the weapon alone made the situation clear. This was not a friendly spar.
He stepped into the open square, adjusting the arm guard Boros had given him earlier. The metal felt reassuring around his forearm, though it did little to calm the nerves building in his chest.
Lanterns flickered around them. Shadows stretched across the dirt.
Eon raised his fists.
“…Are there rules?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Boros did not answer.
He simply moved.
The charge was sudden.
Heavy boots crushed the dirt as the blacksmith closed the distance with terrifying speed for a man of his size. The axe came down in a clean vertical arc.
Eon reacted on instinct.
He stepped to the side and raised his arm. The new arm guard caught the edge of the swing with a loud metallic crack. The impact numbed his entire arm and sent him sliding backward across the ground.
The difference in strength was immediate.
Eon recovered his stance and moved in. His fists struck toward Boros’s ribs, quick and controlled, the way he had trained himself over the past weeks.
Boros barely moved.
The punches landed.
They might as well have been taps.
The blacksmith’s elbow shifted slightly. The handle of the axe swept sideways and struck Eon in the stomach.
Air exploded from his lungs.
Eon staggered back, coughing, but forced himself upright.
Again he moved in.
Quick jabs. A step to the side. Another strike aimed for the jaw.
Boros leaned away just enough for the punch to miss. The flat of the axe slammed against Eon’s shoulder.
Pain shot down his arm.
He lost balance.
The follow-up kick from Boros’s boot knocked him onto his back.
Dust rose from the ground.
The crowd remained silent.
Eon forced himself to stand again. His breathing had become rough. His arms felt heavier already.
He circled.
Boros watched him calmly, axe resting across his shoulder.
Eon lunged forward again, throwing a combination. Left. Right. Another right aimed low.
Boros stepped inside the attack.
The axe shaft struck across Eon’s chest.
He felt the blow more than saw it.
The world spun.
He hit the ground again, this time harder.
When he tried to rise, Boros’s boot pressed against his chest, holding him down.
The cold edge of the axe hovered inches from his face.
The fight was over.
Complete defeat.
Boros removed his boot and stepped back.
Eon rolled onto his side, coughing as he forced air back into his lungs.
“You fight like a mage,” Boros said.
Eon blinked up at him.
The blacksmith rested the axe on his shoulder again.
“Your feet move too carefully. Your distance is wrong. Your hands strike like you expect something else to follow.”
Eon slowly pushed himself upright.
“You’re not fighting like a brawler,” Boros continued. “You’re fighting like someone who spent years casting spells from the back.”
The words landed harder than the blows.
And Boros was right.
In Arcane Odyssey, Eon had been an Arch Mage.
For years he fought from distance. Position first. Casting second. Let the spells do the damage while his body stayed safe.
Habits built over thousands of battles did not disappear in a few weeks.
Old habits died hard.
Boros looked down at him for a moment.
Then he nodded once.
“Good,” he said.
“Means you can learn. Same time again, tomorrow.”
Boros said it plainly, as if scheduling ordinary work.
He looked down at Eon, who was still catching his breath.
“That is, if you still want the letter,” Boros continued. “You can leave Haven Reach whenever you want. No one will stop you.”
He lifted the sealed letter slightly.
“But it would not be good for you.”
Then he turned and walked back toward the forge as if the matter were already settled.
Eon stayed where he was for a moment, still feeling the dull ache spreading through his ribs and shoulders.
Of course he accepted.
Up until now, he had only fought beasts. Rabbits, slimes, wolves, goblins. Creatures that moved by instinct and simple patterns.
This was different.
This was a human opponent.
PvP.
And he had lost completely.
The difference in experience had been overwhelming. Boros read his movements before they finished. Every mistake was punished instantly.
Eon slowly stood up, dusting the dirt from his clothes.
His mind was already racing.
Distance control. Timing. Strength difference. Weapon range. Boros did not even use the second axe.
How do you defeat someone like that?
Around him, the crowd began to disperse. Some players talked quietly about the fight before returning to their own routines. The townspeople drifted away in small groups.
A few familiar faces remained.
Martha approached first, concern clear on her face. Herman followed behind her, arms crossed. Elara arrived last, though her expression carried more curiosity than worry.
“You’re still standing,” Herman said.
“Barely,” Eon replied.
Martha handed him a cloth to wipe the dust and sweat from his face.
Elara, however, looked toward the forge where Boros had disappeared.
“You know who that man was before he came here, right?” she asked.
Eon shook his head.
Elara’s eyes brightened slightly, the way they always did when talking about history.
“Long ago, before Haven Reach was this peaceful, there was a war. It was called the Dusk of Majesty.”
Eon listened.
“Several kingdoms fought,” she continued. “Borders collapsed. Cities burned. Many armies were destroyed before the alliances could form.”
She glanced again toward the forge.
“Boros led a vanguard unit during that war.”
Herman nodded slowly.
“They held the front line,” he added. “Long enough for reinforcements from the other kingdoms to arrive.”
Elara smiled faintly.
“That’s why they called him the Forge Father.”
Eon looked at her.
“Every soldier in his unit carried a weapon crafted by Boros himself,” she explained. “Not just any weapon. A weapon made specifically for the person using it. Perfect balance. Perfect weight. Perfect reach.”
Herman gave a short laugh.
“Those soldiers said the weapons felt like extensions of their arms.”
“And they survived battles that should have wiped them out,” Elara finished.
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Eon looked toward the forge again.
The man he had just fought was not merely a blacksmith.
He was a war veteran who once held battlefields against entire armies.
And Eon had tried to box him.
A small breath escaped his mouth.
The capital of Specia could wait.
It seemed he would be staying in Haven Reach a little longer.
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