Chapter 127: Growth!

Approximately two hours later, Kellan lay flat on his back in the grass and panted like a dead dog that had somehow been ordered to keep breathing out of spite.

His arms were spread uselessly beside him, Garrick’s spear resting several feet away where he had finally dropped it after the last fight.

Sweat had soaked through the clothing beneath his medium armor, every muscle in his body ached, and whatever reserve of stamina he’d possessed that morning had long since been beaten, stabbed, chopped and frightened out of him.

Damian looked down at the teenager with absolutely no sympathy.

"Still alive down there?"

Kellan’s chest heaved.

"...Barely."

"A lot better than I expected."

Kellan weakly turned his head and glared at him.

Damian smiled.

The training session had gone considerably better than expected.

After killing the first Level 6 elite, Kellan had been forced to fight every remaining Dark Goblin warrior one after another.

Damian released them individually from his Battle Aura, gave each enough space to recover control of their body, then allowed the resulting duel to proceed without interference unless Kellan’s life was genuinely about to end.

And the Goblins had certainly tried.

They were not identical training dummies carrying different faces.

One attacked with a sword and shield, slowly compressing Kellan’s available space while refusing to overextend.

Another fought with twin knives and spent most of the duel trying to slip inside the spear’s effective range.

A heavy warrior with a mace had almost crushed Kellan’s shoulder after deliberately accepting a shallow wound to force an exchange, while another bastard spent half the fight retreating, throwing dirt, rocks and anything else he could grab whenever Kellan approached.

Some were ferocious, some cautious, some reckless, and some cunning enough that Kellan needed several painful mistakes before understanding what they were trying to accomplish.

That variety had been precisely what Damian wanted.

Kellan possessed years of spear training, but almost all of it came from Garrick.

He had only one teacher, one fighting philosophy, and one familiar set of habits.

Now the boy was being forced to discover that real enemies did not politely resemble the person who trained you.

His improvement had been obvious.

The frightened teenager who barely trusted his own body during the first duel gradually disappeared as fight followed fight.

Kellan stopped freezing whenever someone charged aggressively, learned that a weaker opponent could still hurt him through superior timing and discovered that possessing a spear did not automatically guarantee control of distance when the enemy understood how to pressure the shaft rather than the tip.

He had been wounded repeatedly too.

A sword opened his thigh during the fourth duel, one Goblin caught him across the ribs with a hooked blade, while another nearly split his scalp before Kellan desperately twisted aside and received a deep cut along the shoulder instead.

Damian healed anything dangerous between fights and provided Draughts of Healing, Vigor and Restoration whenever Kellan’s condition genuinely threatened his ability to continue, but he deliberately refused to give the boy any meaningful period of rest.

The point was not merely winning, but was about fighting while tired, thinking while hurting, and recognizing that the next enemy did not care how difficult the previous battle had been.

By the final several duels, Kellan had reached the point where his breathing began badly before the fight even started, yet his technique had become noticeably more fluid than it was two hours earlier.

And apparently...

The Valorian Overworld System appreciated that.

Kellan’s eyes had widened after the second duel when his reward appeared, then again after the third.

Most fights awarded somewhere around five or six Experience Points.

That was far more than Damian expected from enemies around Kellan’s own Level, but when he considered the circumstances, it made perfect sense.

Kellan had fought them alone and they were genuine hostile warriors attempting to kill him.

The opponents possessed comparable Levels, extensive combat experience and wildly different styles, forcing Kellan to continuously adapt rather than repeat one reliable solution.

More importantly, Kellan was being pushed directly against the edge of his actual capability.

The Valorian Overworld System loved meaningful challenge and hated merely farming.

By the time the final Dark Goblin fell, another notification appeared before Kellan.

The exhausted teenager stared at it, then slowly sat upright.

"Lord Damian..."

Damian raised an eyebrow.

Kellan’s expression became strange, half disbelief and half joy.

"I... I leveled up!"

That caught everyone’s attention.

Paulina immediately grinned, Julia looked pleasantly surprised, while Ronan nodded with the satisfaction of an older warrior watching a younger one finally earn something properly.

Damian smiled.

Level 8, huh?

Kellan had reached Level 7 last night because Damian stuffed enough pills down his throat to drag him there.

But this level up, though... this one belonged to him and him alone!

He had earned every point through battle.

Kellan quietly opened his Character Sheet, stared at the new free Attribute Point for several seconds and then placed it into Wisdom after informing Damian.

Damian blinked.

"...Wisdom?"

Kellan nodded confidently.

The decision surprised Damian, naturally.

He had expected the young lad to take Strength, Dexterity or perhaps Agility after the morning’s fighting.

Kellan looked toward the bodies scattered across Greenmoss Flats before explaining, "I kept thinking I needed to become faster or stronger, but that wasn’t what decided most of the fights. Whenever I understood what the Goblin was trying to do, I could deal with it. Whenever I panicked or misunderstood them, that’s when I got hurt."

The teenager rubbed his bruised side.

"Grandpap always said a spear fighter shouldn’t simply react. You have to understand distance, timing and what the other person wants before they do it. If Wisdom helps with comprehension and judgment..."

Kellan shrugged tiredly.

"I think I need that more."

Damian stared at him for a moment, then smiled broadly.

"Good choice."

Very good choice, actually!

These two hours were already teaching the boy how to build around himself rather than blindly copying whatever Attributes looked most immediately useful.

Now Kellan stood at Level 8, the same numerical Level as Varkas.

For the first time, the coming battle would not involve Kellan staring upward at the Chieftain merely because the System itself said one stood above the other.

Unfortunately, Kellan’s new Level did nothing about the fact that he currently looked one strong breeze away from death.

Eunice apparently agreed.

The Cleric had been watching him with increasing pity for nearly half an hour, and now that Damian finally stopped producing Goblins for the poor boy to fight, she stepped toward the center of the group.

"That’s enough."

Damian glanced over.

Eunice folded her hands together and her Divine power answered.

"Omnes Cura!"

<Prayer of Healing>!

Warm light spread outward across Greenmoss Flats.

Kellan froze as the accumulated aches across his body vanished almost at once.

The deep exhaustion that repeated potions had only kept under control disappeared as though someone opened his body, removed every miserable complaint and replaced the contents with fresh strength.

The cuts healed, the bruises faded, and the strained muscles loosened.

Even the freed slaves nearby visibly straightened as old wounds and recent injuries vanished beneath the prayer.

Several stared at Eunice in open wonder.

Kellan slowly rose, flexing one arm then the other.

"...I feel completely fine."

Eunice smiled faintly. "That’s the idea."

Damian nodded in appreciation.

He had been about to heal everyone himself once Kellan’s training ended, but Eunice had saved him the trouble.

And this was precisely why Clerics remained valuable despite Healing Potions existing.

If bottled medicine could perfectly duplicate everything divine healing accomplished, who the hell would waste years learning prayers?

Potions were convenient, portable, and reliable as emergency tools.

But proper healing magic could restore a battered group in a way repeatedly chugging liquids simply couldn’t imitate efficiently.

Damian’s attention eventually returned toward Varkas.

The Goblin Chieftain had not watched a single duel.

After the first warrior died, Varkas had simply closed his eyes.

He remained that way for the entire two hours while the men he had secretly trained and preserved as the Blackroot Clan’s final trump card were dragged out individually and killed one by one.

Warriors intended to someday resist Ravelhorn, veterans who had remained hidden even from many members of their own clan, and men Varkas had clearly trusted deeply.

Damian had used every single one as a whetstone for a Human teenager.

Vesha had taken it much worse as tears stained the young Goblin woman’s cheeks.

Several of those warriors had apparently been part of her life since childhood.

They had been uncles, teachers, and protectors.

They were men who carried her when she was small and trained her once she grew old enough to hold a weapon.

Now, they were all dead.

The Goblin Shaman had remained mostly silent throughout the process.

Unlike Vesha, resignation dominated his face.

The old Goblin clearly understood that once Damian found their escape route and dismantled the hostage plan, this outcome had become almost inevitable.

Damian stretched, then looked toward Varkas.

"It’s your turn now, Goblin Chief."

<Mage Hand> formed and pulled the compact Dark Goblin away from the others.

Varkas slid across the grass until Damian deposited him several meters opposite Kellan.

Even then... nothing.

His eyes remained closed and his posture did not change.

He stood there like a statue whose only proof of life came from the slow movement of his chest.

Damian stared in confusion, tilting his head.

Ah!

He suddenly understood!

"...You are truly a very funny creature, Varkas," Damian stated with twitching lips.

The Chieftain did not react.

Damian rubbed his forehead. "What exactly do you think this is, and what exactly do you think I am?"

Still nothing.

Damian sighed. "I am not some performer or schemer laying out intricate traps because I desperately need some imaginary script in my head to play out perfectly. I’m just a Human helping another Human seek justice."

That finally caused the Goblin Shaman to look toward him.

Damian gestured casually toward Kellan.

"That justice does not require some honorable one-on-one deathmatch where both sides exchange names, talk about their dreams and fight until sunset. I could simply have him walk over there and lop off your head."

Varkas remained motionless.

Damian’s gaze shifted toward Vesha.

"Then lop off your daughter’s immediately afterward."

Varkas twitched, his eyes slowly opening.

Heh, there we go!

For the first time since Damian dragged him forward, the Dark Goblin Chieftain looked directly toward him.

His voice was hoarse.

"What... would it take..."

Varkas swallowed.

"...for you to spare my daughter?"

Vesha broke. "Father!"

The young Goblin woman burst into tears, whatever control she’d maintained throughout the deaths of the warriors finally collapsing.

Damian’s eyebrows rose.

Interesting.

That was genuine, with no calculation nor trick.

Varkas truly cared more about his daughter’s survival than whatever happened to himself.

Damian almost felt impressed, almost.

He glanced backward to see whether the touching display had affected anyone else, and his expression became strange.

Nope, absolutely nobody!

Eunice stood with both hands folded neatly before her abdomen, regarding Varkas and Vesha with calm neutrality.

She looked more like a Cleric observing the conclusion of a legal proceeding than a woman struggling against sympathy.

She did blush slightly when she noticed Damian staring at her.

Damian immediately looked toward Julia.

The Elf had her arms folded with her usual ’resting bitch face’ active. She glared at Damian with red cheeks when he looked over.

Paulina stood with both hands resting firmly against her hips, and when Damian looked over, she raised her head slightly as her tail wagged.

Janet had somehow dropped into a deep squat with her heels flat against the grass, looking disturbingly comfortable in a posture that made Damian think of random Russians hanging outside apartment blocks.

When Damian looked over, she grinned sinisterly, then made an obscene gesture towards him.

The freed Human slaves were even worse as open hatred simmered across their faces.

Most of them had spent months or years under the tyranny of the Blackroot Clan.

Whatever sympathy a father begging for his daughter might ordinarily inspire had clearly died somewhere between chains, beatings and forced labor.

Then, there was Kellan.

The teenager simply stared at Varkas, his eyes sharper than before, and calmer too.

There was no pity nor hesitation.

Heh, truly interesting!

Damian turned back toward the Goblin Chieftain with a faint, strange smile.

"Do you see that?"

Varkas looked past him and so did the Shaman.

Damian casually pointed toward everyone standing behind him.

"What do you think your chances are?"

Silence followed.

Varkas’s expression hardened while the Goblin Shaman slowly lowered his head.

Indeed.

This was not some situation where the ruthless human in charge had become blinded by anger while kinder companions stood nearby waiting to restrain him.

Nobody wanted to restrain Damian, nor did anyone particularly object to what was happening.

The consequences of the Blackroot Clan’s actions had finally traveled all the way back to them!

Damian chuckled. "But don’t worry. The choice is probably mine."

Varkas looked at him again.

"You have two win conditions."

Damian raised one finger.

"First win condition: slaughter my brat," he stated as he pointed toward Kellan.

Kellan’s lips twitched.

Damian ignored him.

"If you kill Kellan, I’ll let you go. You, the Shaman, your daughter... all of you."

Varkas’s eyes narrowed, the Goblin Shaman raised his head sharply, and Vesha stared through wet eyes.

Kellan glanced toward Damian but did not object, not anymore.

Last night, he might have panicked.

Two hours ago, he might have wondered whether Damian had lost his mind.

Now?

He simply tightened his grip around Garrick’s spear.

Damian raised a second finger.

"Your second win condition is easier. Give Kellan a good enough challenge and push him to the brink. If you do that..."

His gaze moved toward Vesha.

"Your daughter gets to live."

Varkas’s head snapped upward, life returning to his expression so violently that it almost resembled another person stepping into his body.

"Human."

His voice came considerably stronger this time.

"Are you sure?"

Damian nodded solemnly. "I swear on my name as Silas Vane."

Silence.

Absolute, dangerous silence.

Kellan’s face spasmed, Ronan suddenly developed an intense interest in the horizon, Stella lowered her head so quickly that her hair concealed most of her expression.

Paulina’s lips compressed into a hard line, Julia’s pointed ears twitched violently, Janet covered her mouth with both hands while her shoulders shook, and even Eunice closed her eyes for one suspiciously long moment.

All of them shared one single thought.

’Poor Goblin...’

Varkas knew none of this.

He closed his eyes briefly and released a long breath when Damian withdrew the Battle Aura suppressing him.

Strength immediately returned to the Chieftain’s body.

Varkas rolled his shoulders once before reaching behind himself and drawing his weapon.

Kellan’s eyes narrowed.

That great poleaxe looked almost absurd in Varkas’s hands.

Its shaft was nearly as tall as Kellan, while the broad axe blade was wide enough that one clean swing could probably remove half the teenager’s torso.

Yet Varkas handled the enormous weapon naturally and comfortably, like an extension of his body.

Kellan walked toward Garrick’s spear, lifted the steel weapon from the grass and gave it one testing flourish.

His body felt fresh and his mind felt clearer.

The exhaustion from the previous battles had disappeared beneath Eunice’s prayer, but the experience remained.

He was a Level 8 Journeyman Fighter who had mastered Garrick’s techniques.

He now made his own choices and had achieved his own victories.

Kellan lowered the spear and entered the starting stance his grandfather had drilled into him countless times.

Across from him, Varkas gripped the great poleaxe in both hands.

The atmosphere changed, and nobody spoke.

Even Janet stopped trying not to laugh.

Greenmoss Flats became strangely quiet as the two fighters watched one another across the grass.

Several seconds passed... then a small gopher suddenly emerged from a nearby hole.

It looked left, looked right, saw far too many armed people, and immediately scrambled across the open ground with the desperate energy of something regretting every decision it had made that morning.

Right at that moment, Kellan and Varkas moved at the same instant!

Both charged forward with killing intent!