Chapter 12: Scallion Pancakes With Goblins
Wei was dreaming about scallion pancakes.
Not the greasy street-vendor kind wrapped in wax paper. Grandmother's recipe—the one she'd tried to teach Hao three times. He'd burned the first batch black, the second batch came out raw in the middle, and the third batch he somehow set on actual fire.
"The oil was too hot," he'd insisted, smoke pouring from the pan while Grandmother stood there with her arms crossed. She hadn't said a word. She'd just looked at him with that expression—the one that said I survived famines and wars and the death of everything I ever loved, and my grandson cannot fry dough. Hao had avoided her gaze for three full days.
But in the dream, none of that mattered. The kitchen was warm and full of lamplight, the old oil lamps his father insisted on lighting every evening even now, even after the world had ended, because you didn't stop doing the small things just because everything else had stopped.
The whole family sat around the scarred old table—the one with the knife marks from three generations of meals, the hot pot rings burned into the wood like memories pressed into paper.
Jun was giggling, slapping the table with both small hands, his wooden duck propped against the soy sauce bottle. The duck was crudely carved—Li had made it for him in her spare moments, whittling by lamplight—but Jun loved it with the fierce, indiscriminate love of a child who had learned too early that things could be taken away.
Li was trying not to smile and failing, her lips pressed together, her eyes crinkling at the corners the way they always did when she was pretending to be above it all. Even Father looked almost relaxed—that rare softening around his eyes, his shoulders loose, his hands still for once instead of working, always working, always preparing for the next disaster.
Mother came through from the stove with another platter balanced on one hand. Her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, and her forearms were dusted with flour, and the smell of toasted sesame oil and fresh dough and the particular sweetness of blessed peaches drifted through the room like a promise.
Xiao Hei was under the table, waiting for scraps with the infinite patience of a creature who believed, truly and deeply, that something would fall. Hei lay by the door with one eye open, guarding them even in dreams.
Wei reached for a pancake. Hao's chopsticks darted out to intercept.
"That one's mine," Hao said, mouth already full.
"You've had four already."
"I'm a growing boy. Look at me. I'm practically wasting away."
"You stopped growing three years ago," Li said without looking up from her bowl. "You're just getting wider."
"I am not getting wider. My belt is shrinking. It's a laundry issue."
Hao threw a pickled radish at her head. She caught it without looking and popped it into her mouth.
"Good catch," Wei said.
"She's had practice," Father said, and his voice carried that dry undercurrent that was almost humor.
Grandmother made that small sound in her throat—not quite a laugh, but close. The whole table paused for a moment, savoring it. Even Xiao Hei looked up.
Then the dream ripped apart.
```
┌──────────────────────────────┐
│ ⚠ THREAT DETECTED │
├──────────────────────────────┤
│ Goblins approaching from the east. │
│ Count: ??? │
│ Composition: Warriors, archers, │
│ elite units detected. │
│ Time to contact: 4 minutes. │
└──────────────────────────────┘
```
"Fuck, what is it now !?"
Wei's eyes snapped open. Warm kitchen gone. Dark ceiling beams. Cold air biting his face. The fish-shaped knot in the third beam—Li's fish, still swimming toward the window after all these years, a fixed point in a world that kept trying to spin off its axis.
"Question marks. Does it mean there are too many out there? That's bad."
He was already moving, legs swinging off the kang before the thought finished. Bare feet hitting packed earth with a jolt. The scythe came off the wall in one motion—cloth wrapping falling, curved blade catching faint gold light from the window.
Xiao Hei scrambled up, barking in frantic high-pitched bursts.
"HAO! FUCKING WAKE UP ! NOW ! GOBLINS!"
Hao jolted upright, foot tangled in the blanket, crashed to the floor face-first with a sound like a sack of rice dropped from a height. "What , where, how, why, when ?!!!" With a foolish look.
"East wall! It's like the whole pack coming !"
He grabbed his bow. His hand slapped his hip. Empty.
"Where are my—where the hell are my arrows?!"
"Kitchen! You left them again!"
"Why didn't you remind me?!"
"I was ASLEEP! Like a normal person! It's the middle of the night!"
They burst into the hallway, Xiao Hei yapping at their heels. The house was collapsing into chaos—doors slamming, feet pounding on wooden boards that creaked with decades of stress, voices shouting over each other.
Mother's voice cut through from the kitchen: "—no, the BIG cleaver, the one I used for the pork shoulder, no, not that one, the OTHER—"
Li appeared in her doorway, blue jacket half-buttoned over her nightshirt, spear already in her right hand. Hair loose and tangled from sleep. Eyes sharp despite the hour. "How many?"
"I don't know. But it seems there are too many out there "
"That's bad."
"Very bad."
"Are they at the wall yet?"
"Almost. They will reach in a while. Maybe less."
She adjusted her grip, knuckles whitening on the shaft. "I've done more with less time."
"That's a lie and we both know it."
"It's a motivational lie. It's different from a regular lie. It has a purpose."
Father emerged from the master bedroom, bow already strung—the motion automatic, his hands doing it without thought, the way they'd done for decades.
Quiver on his back, strap crossing his chest at the exact same angle as always. He never forgot his equipment. His face was calm in that particular way that meant he was already calculating exactly how many of them might die tonight and where to position everyone.
"Positions. East wall. Wei—"
"East wall first. Then wherever it cracks."
"If you see something the rest of us can't—"
"I'll handle it."
"Are you mad , Alone?"
"If I have to."
Father held his eyes for a beat. Whatever he was looking for, he found it. "Go. We'll hold the gate."
*****
They spilled into the courtyard. The cold hit Wei's face like a slap. His breath exploded in silver fog. Stars still out, cold and indifferent. Moon a thin crescent, barely bright enough to cast shadows. The Tree of Life pulsed gold at the farm's heart, but its light seemed dimmer tonight—like the tree itself was holding its breath.
Beyond the wall, torches were moving. Dozens of ugly orange pinpricks bobbing in the darkness. And underneath—a drum. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Slow. Steady. Military.
Uncle Jianguo was already at the tool rack, strapping on leather vambraces with quick, practiced movements. Spear and hand-axe leaned beside him, edges gleaming. He'd probably been awake before the alarm. The man slept in his clothes and kept his weapons within arm's reach.
"You feel it too?" he asked without looking up.
"Whole farm feels it. Even the animals are awake."
"Good." He tugged a strap tight, tested the fit. "Archers on the wall. Spears at the gate. I've been listening to that drum. It's a feint rhythm—standard military. They're trying to pull our attention."
"To where?"
"I don't know yet. That's what worries me."
The survivors poured from the barn. Cheng Wei, still pulling his shirt on, his massive construction hammer already in his other hand.
Scars on his chest—old ones from job sites, new ones from goblin arrows—pale in the moonlight. Mei right behind him, Jun clutched to her chest.
The boy was awake, dark eyes wide, wooden duck in one tiny fist. Song Na with her nurse's bag slung cross-body, strap digging a groove into her shoulder.
Feng materialized from the shadows near the barn door, knives already in both hands, silent. Bai Jun limped out last, spear in his good hand, cane left behind in the barn, jaw set with stubborn determination.
Liu Wei grabbed a spear from the rack. His hands were shaking—Wei could see the tremor—but his grip was white-knuckled.
"Mei, Jun—run towards the root cellar," Wei said. "Now. Grandfather and Grandmother are already going. Bar the door from inside. Don't come out until someone comes for you. No matter what you hear."
Mei nodded, face pale as paper. "We'll be quiet. Jun's been practicing."
"Like a mouse," Jun whispered. "The tiniest mouse."
Jun looked back over her shoulder. "Father! Kill all the bad frogs!"
Liu Wei stopped. One heartbeat. Two. "I will, Jun. I promise. Every last one."
"With extra honey later?"
"With extra honey. The biggest breakfast you've ever seen."
Then Mei was running for the house, and Jun was looking back, and they were gone.
Wei turned toward the wall.
******
The east wall was screaming.
Wei came over the top of the ladder and an arrow hissed past his ear—close enough to feel the wind of it, close enough to hear the whisper of stone cutting air. The shaft shattered against the battlement behind him, stone fragments spraying across his neck. One drew blood—a hot sting just below his ear. He pressed his palm to it. His hand came away red.
"DOWN!" Hao shouted from somewhere further along, and Wei dropped to a crouch, heart slamming.
The field below was alive with green bodies. Torches bobbed everywhere—dozens, too many to count at a glance.
Goblins coming in organized waves, not the scattered rabble from the first raid. Warriors scuttled forward in packs, hunched low, crude blades catching firelight.
Behind them, archers in a ragged firing line, bending bows in unison, releasing volleys that rattled against the blessed stone like hail. And further back—five larger shapes. Broader. Armored. Shields locked. Axes gleaming. Waiting.
Wei activated Eyes of the Land. Forty mana drained in a cold rush.
The field resolved in sharp detail. Yellow eyes darting. Archers' fingers bleeding from repeated draws. The five elites holding position.
```
┌─────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ GOBLIN ELITE WARRIOR │
│ Threat: High │
│ Strength: 8.5 | Agility: 5.1 │
│ Resilience: 9.2 │
│ Notes: Shield-trained. Commands lesser │
│ goblins. Break formation to isolate. │
└─────────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Five elites. Holding back. Letting the fodder soften us up first.
Nothing else. No stealth signatures, no hidden forces. Just the main assault at the east gate. Whatever else was out there—if there was anything else—he couldn't see it.
Father was beside him, firing arrows into the darkness with mechanical precision. Each shot deliberate. Each shot finding a target. He didn't waste a single shaft.
"Archers! Volley on my order!" Uncle's voice cut through. "Aim for the climbers near the gate!"
The defenders responded. Hao, further down the wall, was firing as fast as he could draw, but his rhythm was off.
"Where's your quiver?" Li shouted at him.
"I don't have it!"
"You STILL don't have it?!"
"I was busy! There was panic! Goblins!"
Li grabbed a handful of her own arrows and shoved them at him. "Here! Don't miss! Those are my good ones! I spent an hour straightening the shafts!"
"I never miss!"
"You missed three times yesterday!"
"Practice misses! Strategic calibration!"
"Just SHOOT, Hao!"
He nocked, drew, released. The arrow streaked across the field, caught a goblin archer in the shoulder. The creature shrieked and crumpled.
"HA! One!"
"We don't have time for a tally!" Cheng Wei swung his massive hammer, caught a climbing goblin square in the face. The body tumbled backward, taking out another climber.
"Nice shot!" Bai Jun shouted from the spear line near the gatepost.
"That wasn't a shot! That was a hammer!"
"Nice hammer then!"
"Thank you!"
"Stop complimenting each other and FIGHT!" Song Na's voice cut through from behind the line, where she'd set up a makeshift aid station against the gatehouse wall. Bandages laid out, suture kit open, curved needle gleaming. Her eyes tracked every wound, every stumble.
And then ShadowFang appeared.
The big dog materialized out of the darkness on the wall walk—fur like condensed shadow, amber eyes glowing faintly. In his massive jaws, a woven reed basket stuffed full of crude stone-tipped shafts. He dropped it at Hao's feet with a wet thump, wagged his tail once in profound satisfaction, and immediately vanished back into the shadows.
Hao stared. "Did he— just steal a goblin's entire ammunition supply?"
"Looks like it," Li said, spearing another climber.
"He STOLE it! From a GOBLIN! In the middle of a BATTLE!"
"He's a very good dog."
"He's the BEST dog! I'm putting him in my will! He gets everything!"
"You don't have anything to leave."
"Then I'm putting him in your will!"
"You can't put a dog in someone else's will."
"Watch me!"
The goblin archer whose basket Hei had stolen was absolutely losing its tiny green mind. It stood in the field just beyond accurate range, one long trembling finger pointing directly at Hao, shrieking in a language that needed no translation. The gist was unmistakable.
"Uh," Hao said. "Is that goblin yelling at me specifically?"
"It's definitely yelling at you," Li confirmed. "It's been pointing for like two minutes."
"What's it saying?"
"I don't speak goblin. I speak chicken, duck, slightly conversational pig, and I'm working on sheep."
"I think," Feng said, pausing to pull a throwing knife from a dead goblin's eye socket, "he called you a toad."
"He WHAT?!"
"I'm extrapolating. The pointing is very aggressive. That much pointing always means something about someone's mother. Usually involving amphibians."
The goblin, frustrated by the language barrier, scooped up a small stone and threw it. The pebble pinged harmlessly off the battlement three feet from Hao.
"Did that goblin just throw a PEBBLE at me?"
"It's the thought that counts."
"It threw a rock! A tiny, insulting, demeaning rock!"
"Throw one back," Li suggested.
"I'm not throwing rocks like a child!"
"You've been calling it a mushroom for the past minute. I don't think maturity is your primary concern."
The goblin threw another stone—fist-sized. It cracked against the wall. Hao, outraged, leaned over the battlements and bellowed into the darkness:
"YOUR MOTHER WAS A MUSHROOM! A POISONOUS MUSHROOM THAT NO ONE WANTED TO EAT! YOU WERE RAISED BY SPORES! YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY WILL BECOME ZOMBIE FOOD!"
The goblin shrieked back at a volume that shouldn't have been physically possible. It grabbed a rock the size of its own head, heaved it with both hands, and the stone whistled past Hao's ear—close enough to ruffle his hair—and crashed into the courtyard below, startling one of the unnamed puppies into frenzied barking.
"FUCKKK!!!!! That one actually almost hit me!"
"THEN STOP ANTAGONIZING THE GOBLIN!" Li shouted, driving her spear into another climber. "We have approximately fifty other problems right now!"
"It started it! It's personal!"
"It's going to be fatal if you don't shut up!"
Mother, further down the wall, had run out of throwing rocks and was improvising. She'd grabbed her cast-iron pot lid and was deflecting incoming arrows with it. Every time a shaft struck, it rang like a gong—bong, bong, bong—echoing along the wall. Her cleaver waited in her other hand, blade already dark with goblin blood.
A warrior crested the wall right beside her—larger than the others, yellow eyes wild, jagged blade already swinging. It had come up a ladder no one had seen, exploiting a momentary gap.
Mother didn't flinch. Didn't step back. The cleaver took its head off in a single economical stroke—the same motion she used to joint chickens, to section pork, to chop through bone and tendon without hesitation. The head bounced once on the parapet, rolled, and fell into the darkness. The body, still standing for one disbelieving heartbeat, toppled after it.
Father, nocking another arrow, glanced over. "Good swing."
"It was adequate." Mother was already scanning for the next threat. "That one was slow. Sloppy footwork. He was off-balance before he even reached the top."
"They're all slow compared to you."
"Flattery doesn't win battles."
"No. But it passes the time between them."
Wei was about to call out a warning about the elites—they were shifting formation, preparing to advance—when the world exploded.
********
A sound wave from a distance hit like physical force—a pressure wave that slammed into Wei's chest and made his ribs ache and his ears pop and his vision blur for one disorienting heartbeat. He grabbed the battlement to keep from falling. The purple light came a moment later, a column of sickly, roiling corruption that punched into the night sky like a fist, illuminating the entire farm in a hellish, pulsing glow.
Everyone on the east wall froze. Even the goblins paused, their yellow eyes swiveling toward the light.
Wei stared.
A section of the north-eastern wall—the part that bordered the rice paddies, the part his father had designed and his grandfather had built—was gone. Vaporized. Erased. In its place, a gaping wound 6 feet wide, rubble spilling outward into the paddies, muddy water sloshing through the breach in a dark flood. The blessed vines were black ash blowing on the wind.
The rice fields. That's three hundred meters from here. They hit the rice fields. How did they—
He didn't finish the thought. He was already moving.
"Uncle!" he shouted, pulling up the store panel as he ran. Two watchtowers. One hundred credits each. He bought them both.
```
Watchtower purchased: East Gate North. Credits: -100.
Watchtower purchased: East Gate South. Credits: -100.
Construction time: 2 minutes.
```
The ground shook. On either side of the east gate, golden light erupted from the soil as foundations slammed into the earth. Stone blocks spiraled upward, assembling with impossible speed—walls, battlements, firing platforms. The towers climbed like living things, already waist-high, already chest-high.
"Command of the gate is yours! Archers on the towers when they're up! Hold this gate no matter what!"
"Where are you going?!"
"Rice fields! They breached the rice fields!"
Uncle's face went hard. "Go! We'll take care here !"
Wei ran. Down the ladder, across the courtyard. Past the duck pond—Báixuě honking in absolute fury, wings spread, eyes glowing gold.
Past the herb garden. Past the orchard. Into the paddies. The water was ankle-deep and freezing, dragging at his feet with every stride. The young rice plants—green and thriving that very afternoon, his father's careful work—were crushed, torn up, floating broken in the murk.
He activated Eyes of the Land mid-stride. Forty mana. Cold rush.
The hobgoblin came through the breach first. Massive. Eight feet of muscle and scar tissue, shoulders broad as an ox. It carried a blade forged from a vehicle's leaf spring—seven feet of jagged iron. Orange eyes swept the farm with cold intelligence, and when they found Wei, they stopped.
Behind it, ten elite warriors fanned out in a disciplined half-circle, shields locked, axes gleaming. And behind them—two shamans in rotting robes, staves of fused bone and black iron crackling with purple light.
"Were they planning for a pincir attack, Damn It, the wall is already breached !!!."
```
┌─────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ ??? │
│ Threat: Critical │
│ Strength: 15.8 | Agility: 10.3 │
│ Resilience: 17.1 │
│ Notes: Hobgoblin warlord. Avoid direct │
│ confrontation. │
└─────────────────────────────────────────────┘
┌─────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ GOBLIN SHAMAN (Corrupted) │
│ Threat: Extreme │
│ Strength: 4.2 | Mana: 220 │
│ Notes: Channels corruption. Stealth │
│ capability. Destroy staves. │
└─────────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
"Unknown warlord, shamans, elites. Where did such a devilish come from? How did they get here without getting caught.
Suddenly a shaman used some kind of unknown Chanting and he went invisible.
"The hell did that thing vanished to ?, Just what is going on here "
''''
Goblin Shaman Used: Stealth
Duration: 10 minutes
Stealth could be undone upon getting hit.
''''
The moment Wei realized the possibilities of enemies being invisible. And now it was much more tricker than before.
"The shamans stealthed the whole force. We never saw them. The whole east assault was a diversion."
And then he saw the leader of the goblins, a tall figure with crude massive weapon, with blood red eyes, and sinister looks. Glaring directly at Wei.
Wei was nearly patrified after seeing the goblin warlord.
"Just what kind of monstrosity is that ?!" In heavy panic, hands shaking.
The hobgoblin raised its blade and barked a command. The elites surged forward. The shamans began to chant, their high dissonant voices intertwining, the purple light at their staves intensifying.
"Fuck it, wherever happens, I can't let them cross me."
Wei raised the scythe and charged.
*****
Suddenly a elite goblin warrior died before it knew he was there.
The massive boost in Agility turned him into a blur across the thirty feet of flooded paddy water. Mud exploded under his feet with every stride, water spraying in curtains. The scythe took the goblin's head off before it could even begin to raise its shield—a single clean stroke through flesh and bone. Black blood fountained, hot and acrid, steaming in the cold air. The headless body took one more reflexive step and collapsed sideways into the water.
```
┌─────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ Goblin Elite Warrior killed. │
│ Credits +15 | XP +6 │
└─────────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
One. Nine left. Keep moving.
The second elite was faster. Its shield came up—iron-rimmed hide catching the scythe with a shriek of tortured metal, golden sparks showering. Wei didn't fight the deflection. He rode it, letting the blade's momentum carry him into a reverse spin, hooking the curved edge around the shield's rim. He yanked hard, putting all fourteen points of Strength into it.
The goblin stumbled forward, off balance, shield-arm flailing. Wei drove the butt-spike into its exposed throat. The sound was wet and crunching, something he felt all the way up his arm and into his teeth. The goblin went down gurgling, black blood bubbling from its mouth.
```
┌─────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ Goblin Elite Warrior killed. │
│ Credits +15 | XP +6 │
└─────────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Two. Eight left. Faster. You have to be faster.
But the third and fourth elites hit him simultaneously from opposite sides—a coordinated pincer, axes swinging in synchronized arcs. He ducked under the first, felt the wind of it tug at his hair, and had to parry the second with the scythe's shaft. The impact jarred up his arms, into his shoulders, into his spine. Something in his left wrist twinged—not broken, but close. He gritted his teeth against the pain and shoved back, opening a gash across the third goblin's thigh. It screamed and fell back, clutching its leg.
The fourth elite used the opening ruthlessly. Its shield slammed into Wei's left side, a heavy concussive blow that drove the air from his lungs in an explosive whoosh. Pain detonated through his ribs. He tasted blood, hot and coppery. His vision greyed at the edges.
Get up get up GET UP—
He rolled sideways as an axe came down where his head had been. The blade buried itself in the mud with a wet thunk. Wei drove the scythe upward from his prone position—a desperate blind thrust that caught the goblin under the chin. The blade went through flesh and bone and the base of the skull. The goblin died with an expression of complete surprise.
```
┌─────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ Goblin Elite Warrior killed. │
│ Credits +15 | XP +6 │
└─────────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Three. Seven left.
The hobgoblin's blade came down in an overhead swing that would have bisected him. Wei threw himself sideways, mud spraying, and the massive sword buried itself in the paddy soil where he'd been lying. The impact shook the ground, cracks spiderwebbing outward through the mud.
He scrambled up, slipping, and drove the scythe into the hobgoblin's exposed side before it could wrench its blade free. The curved edge bit deep—past hide, past muscle, grinding against bone. The hobgoblin roared. Not a scream of pain. A roar of pure fury, so loud it physically hurt, a sound that vibrated in Wei's chest and made his ears ring.
The creature swung its free arm in a brutal backhand that caught Wei across the chest and sent him flying.
His feet left the ground. For a sickening weightless moment he was airborne, the world spinning—dark sky, purple light, mud, blood, the burning wreckage of his wall—and then he hit the paddy water with a splash that drove every last molecule of air from his lungs.
Pain everywhere. His ribs—definitely broken now, he could feel the wrongness grinding with every breath. His left wrist sprained, maybe fractured. His back screaming where the shaman's earlier bolt had grazed him. Vision narrowing to a tunnel.
Get up. Mei is in the root cellar with Jun. Grandfather and Grandmother. Li. Hao. Everyone. They're waiting. They're scared. You PROMISED. Get UP.
He activated Touch of Restoration. Twenty-five mana drained, cold and sharp, and golden warmth flooded his chest, his ribs, his spine—knitting, mending, fighting back the darkness. The pain receded from unbearable to merely terrible. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, gasping, spitting blood and mud.
The hobgoblin was advancing through the water, blade dragging behind it, carving a furrow in the flooded soil. Its orange eyes were fixed on him, and there was something in them now—not just predatory calculation. Something else. Curiosity, maybe. The particular interest of a creature that had killed many things and was intrigued by one that refused to die.
The surviving elites were re-forming their line. Seven of them left. And the shamans—
One shaman was wounded, down on one knee in the mud, its shoulder a ruin of black blood and torn robe. Its staff lay a few feet away, purple light flickering weakly. The other shaman was still standing, still chanting, its voice rising to a fever pitch, its staff glowing brighter and brighter. Preparing something. Something big.
The wounded one first. Kill it before it recovers.
He sprinted. His feet found purchase in the treacherous mud, and the wounded shaman saw him coming. Its eyeless sockets somehow tracked his movement, and it scrabbled desperately for its fallen staff, bony fingers closing around the shaft just as Wei reached it.
Too late.
The scythe came down in a diagonal stroke that took the shaman's head off at the shoulders. The body convulsed once and went still. The staff rolled away into the water, purple light dying with a faint hiss.
```
┌─────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ Corrupted Shaman killed. │
│ Credits +40 | XP +20 │
└─────────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
One shaman down. One to go.
The hobgoblin was already on him again, blade swinging for his spine. He felt it coming—the shift in air pressure, the particular whistle of a massive sword cutting through space—and dropped flat into the mud. The blade passed over him, close enough to shave the hair from the back of his head. He rolled desperately as the hobgoblin's follow-up stomp came down where his skull had been, the impact shaking the ground.
He came up on one knee, gasping, and the surviving shaman's bolt caught him in the left shoulder.
The world went purple and white. Agony—cold and burning at the same time—exploded through his shoulder joint. His left arm went completely numb from the elbow down, fingers spasming open against his will. He could feel the corruption trying to spread, purple-edged blackness worming through his flesh.
Touch of Restoration. NOW.
Twenty-five mana. Golden warmth flooded his shoulder, fighting back the purple. The numbness receded. His fingers curled back into a fist. But the mana cost was becoming terrifying. How much did he have left? A hundred? Less? Not enough. Never enough.
The hobgoblin was on him. Blade swinging. Elites closing from the sides. The surviving shaman already chanting, preparing another bolt.
I can't keep trading blows. I can't out-heal them. I have to end this.
He drove forward instead of back, slipping under the hobgoblin's swing and coming up inside its guard—so close he could smell its breath, foul and hot. Too close for the massive blade to be effective. He drove the scythe into its stomach with every ounce of strength he had left.
The blade sank deep. Past skin. Past muscle. He felt it grind against the creature's spine. The hobgoblin froze, orange eyes going wide. A sound escaped it—not a roar. Something smaller. Almost surprised.
Wei twisted the blade—felt something give—and pulled it free in a spray of black blood.
The hobgoblin staggered backward, one massive hand pressed to the gushing wound. Black blood poured between its fingers, darkening the paddy water around its feet. Its orange eyes flickered—dim, bright, dim again—and for the first time since the breach, it looked uncertain. Not defeated. But wounded. Badly wounded.
Now. The last shaman. Before it—
The shaman's final bolt caught him in the back.
He didn't see it. Didn't hear it. Just felt the world go purple and white and then—nothing.
******
He was in the mud. Face down. Water cold against his cheek. Stars still out. Sky still black. Somewhere very far away, someone was screaming—maybe Hao, maybe Li, maybe his own voice. He couldn't tell anymore.
The scythe was still in his hand. He couldn't feel his fingers, couldn't feel anything below his shoulders, but they must have been gripping it, because the weapon was there, solid and golden.
Pulse of Life. Still active. Still healing. The corruption is fighting it but I'm still alive. I'm still—
A shadow fell over him.
The hobgoblin. Still standing. Despite the stomach wound. Despite everything Wei had thrown at it. It looked down at him with those burning orange eyes, and something flickered in their depths. It raised its blade for the killing blow.
And Wei, with the last dregs of his strength, activated Shield of Roots.
Sixty mana. He barely had sixty mana left. The drain hit him like a falling tree, and the roots erupted from the mud around him—not grasping, not blocking, but launching. A thick woody tendril as wide as his thigh slammed into the hobgoblin's chest with the force of a battering ram, sending it staggering backward. Another wrapped around its ankle and yanked. The creature fell, its blade spinning away into the darkness, landing with a splash.
Wei pushed himself up on one elbow. The world swam. His chest was a ruin of blood and mud and purple-edged wounds. His mana was a guttering candle. His vision was a tunnel.
The surviving elites were closing in, shields raised, axes gleaming. The last shaman was still standing—barely—its staff flickering. And the hobgoblin was getting back up.
End of Chapter 12