"So… you're looking for a warrior?"
The three of them turned toward the newcomer.
Standing before them was a young man.
He was slightly taller than Darin but not as bulky as Garron. His lean build suggested agility over brute strength. His short, dark brown hair was slightly unkempt, and his sharp green eyes had a confident glint. A longsword rested on his back, the hilt well-worn from use. His clothes were simple—light armor covering his torso, complemented by a dark blue cloak that shifted slightly with the breeze, almost as if responding to his presence.
Darin tilted his head, eyeing him up and down. "Depends. You here for the free food, or are you actually interested in the recruitment?"
He folded his arms, his stance casual yet composed. "Depends. Are you guys any good?"
Darin let out an exaggerated scoff, leaning back in his chair. "We took down a forest wolf on our first quest. That good enough for you?"
Rowen raised an eyebrow, amused. "One wolf?"
Darin frowned. "It was a big one."
Rowen chuckled. "Not bad." He tapped the hilt of his sword, his fingers drumming against the leather grip. "Rowen Gale. Swordsman. Wind magic user. I've been working solo for a while, but I figured it's time to team up."
Lena's expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "You fight alone? Isn't that dangerous?"
Rowen shrugged, a ghost of a grin on his lips. "Not if you're fast enough."
His voice carried a quiet confidence, but there was something else underneath—a sense of experience, of someone who had learned how to survive on his own.
Garron, who had been studying him intently, finally leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His gaze, unwavering and serious, met Rowen's.
"We're not just looking for anyone. We want to be the strongest party in Dawnstead. If you're serious about joining us, we'll need to test your skills."
Rowen's smirk widened. His hand instinctively hovered near his sword, as if ready for a challenge at any moment.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
The Adventurer's Guild had an open-air training ground at the back—an area where rookies sharpened their skills and seasoned fighters tested their mettle. The sun was high, casting a golden glow over the arena's dirt floor as adventurers gathered around, drawn by the promise of a fight.
Rowen stood across from Garron, rolling his shoulders as he assessed his opponent. The wind tousled his dark brown hair, and his sword rested easily in his grip, as if it were merely an extension of himself.
"You sure you want me to fight the big guy?" Rowen asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Darin grinned from the sidelines. "If you can get past Garron, you'll be fine in a real fight."
Garron, unfazed, simply raised his tower shield, planting his feet like an immovable fortress. "Come at me whenever you're ready."
There was no hesitation.
Rowen moved.
A gust of dust kicked up from the ground as he shot forward with lightning-fast agility. His sword flashed, slicing through the air in a direct arc toward Garron's side.
CLANG!
The strike met solid steel as Garron shifted his shield, absorbing the impact with an unshakable stance.
Rowen's smirk widened. "Not bad."
He exhaled sharply and took a quick step back, slashing outward with his sword.
WHOOSH!
A sharp gust of wind followed the motion, carving through the air like an invisible blade.
Garron braced himself, his shield absorbing the full force of the wind slash. The impact sent him sliding back slightly, boots grinding against the dirt.
Darin let out an impressed whistle. "Wind magic and swordplay, huh? That's a nasty combo."
Lena's hands clutched the hem of her robe. "He's really fast…"
But Rowen wasn't done.
The moment Garron steadied himself, Rowen moved again—this time disappearing from view.
No, he wasn't gone. He was above.
A sharp gust of wind propelled him into the air, flipping over Garron in a blur.
He's going for a downward strike!
Lena's breath caught as Rowen's sword came crashing down.
But Garron was no amateur.
At the last second, he pivoted, bringing his broadsword upward in a powerful arc.
Sparks flew as their weapons collided.
Rowen landed lightly on his feet, spinning his sword once before resting it on his shoulder. "Not bad. You're a wall."
Garron exhaled. "And you're quick. I'll give you that."
Darin clapped his hands together. "Alright, alright, I think we've seen enough! I say we take him."
Lena smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I agree. He's skilled, and he balances out our team well."
Garron studied Rowen for a long moment before finally nodding. "Fine. You pass."
Rowen grinned. "Glad to be here."
Darin wasted no time, slinging an arm around him. "Welcome to the soon-to-be greatest party in Dawnstead!"
Garron crossed his arms. "Now, we just need to register our party with the guild."
Lena glanced between them, excitement in her eyes. "What should our party name be?"
Garron's smirk deepened.
And just like that, Trinity Blade was officially born.
The early days were filled with struggles, victories, and near defeats, but through it all, they grew stronger—not just as individuals, but as a team.
At first, they were just another rookie party, taking on whatever quests they could manage. Monster subjugations, escort missions, dungeon expeditions—some were routine, others nearly fatal. But they never turned away from a challenge.
And they never lost.
One of their first difficult quests had seemed like nothing special.
A routine monster subjugation in the lowlands outside Dawnstead—goblins raiding merchant wagons, nothing more. A standard clean-up job for a four-person team.
It was the kind of quest they had started taking without hesitation, a stepping stone to greater challenges. The guild's report suggested a few scattered goblin groups, remnants of a larger force that had already been weakened by other adventurers.
They were wrong.
Night had settled over the lowlands when they arrived, the rolling plains bathed in the silver glow of the moon. Broken wagons and bloodstained dirt lined the road, the scent of rot thick in the air. At first, the scene was eerily quiet—too quiet.
Then, the ambush was sprung.
A rustling in the grass. The snap of a twig. Then—A warhorn's howl split the night.
Dark shapes burst from the shadows, eyes gleaming with savage hunger. Not a small raiding party. An entire warband.
Nearly thirty goblins, armed with crude blades, spears, and bows, encircled them, their grotesque grins illuminated by flickering torchlight. But worse than their numbers was the towering figure that emerged from behind them—a hobgoblin warchief, nearly two heads taller than a man, its muscular frame clad in scavenged iron plates.
Its jagged steel axe gleamed in the moonlight, and its blood-red eyes burned with a cruel intelligence. This wasn't some mindless beast. It was a leader, commanding its minions with a terrifying presence.
Darin cursed under his breath, eyes darting around their encirclement. "This is way more than we signed up for."
Lena's hands clenched around her staff. "Do we retreat?"
Rowen gave a slow, excited grin, spinning his sword once before resting it on his shoulder. "Are you kidding?" His voice practically dripped with exhilaration. "This is perfect."
Garron didn't hesitate. He took a step forward, raising his massive shield with both hands. His voice was steady, unshaken.
"Then we fight."
The goblins struck first.
Shrill screeches filled the air as they charged in from all sides, their blades glinting with malice. The first wave crashed against Garron's shield, their rusted weapons bouncing harmlessly off the reinforced steel. He retaliated with a powerful shove, sending goblins sprawling, then brought his broadsword down like a guillotine, slicing a goblin clean in half.
Rowen was a blur.
He darted through the chaos, weaving between goblins with inhuman agility. One lunged at him with a spear—too slow. Rowen sidestepped, his blade flashing in the moonlight. The goblin collapsed, throat slit before it even realized it was dead.
Another swung a rusted axe at him—he ducked, rolled to the side, and retaliated with a wind-enhanced slash. The blade cut through flesh like paper, a howling gust trailing behind it, sending the goblin flying.
Darin fought like a living inferno.
He raised both hands, and a surge of fire erupted from his palms, forming a blazing arc that swallowed the first row of goblins in searing heat. The creatures screeched, their skin blackening as they collapsed, writhing.
A goblin archer nocked an arrow, aiming for Darin's exposed back.
But Lena acted first.
She traced a glowing sigil in the air, her voice steady as she chanted. A wall of ice erupted between Darin and the archer, stopping the arrow in mid-flight. Then, with a flick of her staff, the ice shattered into razor-sharp shards—sending frozen lances straight at the enemy.
The goblin crumpled, impaled before it could react.
Darin grinned, flames dancing along his fingertips. "Thanks for the save, Lena."
"Just don't get reckless," she replied.
Darin thrust his hands forward, his voice rising. "Firestorm!"
A wave of searing flames burst outward, forcing the goblins back as embers filled the air. The fire twisted and surged forward, igniting dry grass beneath the goblins' feet, trapping them in a ring of fire.
For a moment, it seemed like the tide was turning.
Then—The ground trembled.
The goblins suddenly halted, parting as their leader stepped forward.
The hobgoblin warchief let out a guttural growl, rolling its massive shoulders as it tightened its grip on its axe. It didn't need to order its minions. They already knew what was coming.
The real fight was about to begin.
A moment ago, the battlefield had been theirs. The goblins were burning, their ranks broken. Victory had seemed within reach.
Then—it moved.
The hobgoblin warchief launched forward, a tower of muscle and fury, its iron-clad boots thundering against the ground. Faster than it had any right to be.
Its axe—a brutal slab of jagged steel—swung downward like a falling star.
"Garron, move!" Rowen's voice was sharp, urgent.
But Garron didn't move.
He stood firm, his massive shield braced as the onslaught came crashing down.
CLANG!
A deafening explosion of metal on metal ripped through the night. The impact sent a shockwave rippling across the battlefield, kicking up dust and scattering embers from Darin's lingering flames.
Garron gritted his teeth, his arms trembling as the sheer force of the blow drove him a foot into the dirt. His shield—reinforced steel, thick as an anvil—splintered at the center, jagged cracks webbing outward.
His feet nearly gave out beneath him. But they didn't.
Instead, with a defiant roar, he threw the warchief back, muscles straining as he shoved the massive beast away.
The hobgoblin staggered—but only for a second.
Its blood-red eyes flared with murderous rage, its grip on the axe tightening.
"Damn… that actually hurt." Garron exhaled, rolling his shoulders as his arms burned from the impact.
Rowen didn't waste the opening.
He was already in motion—a blur of silver and wind.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished, his wind magic kicking up a sudden gust as he reappeared behind the warchief in a burst of speed.
Slash.
Once.
Slash.
Twice.
Slash.
A third time—his blade cutting in rapid, precise succession, each strike aiming for weak points in the warchief's thick hide.
But the creature was unnaturally durable.
Its muscles—corded steel beneath its thick, gray-green skin—absorbed the damage. The wounds were shallow, mere scratches to a beast that had fought and survived a hundred battles.
Rowen barely had time to register that before the warchief retaliated.
It twisted unnaturally fast, its axe whipping through the air in a horizontal arc.
Rowen's eyes widened.
Too fast. Too strong.
His instincts screamed at him—MOVE!
But even his enhanced reflexes weren't enough to fully dodge.
The axe's edge clipped his side, sending a jolt of white-hot pain through his ribs. He twisted midair, trying to absorb the impact, but the sheer force threw him backward like a ragdoll.
He hit the ground hard, skidding through dirt and ash before rolling to his feet. A sharp breath—blood on his lips.
"Rowen!" Lena's panicked voice cut through the battle.
"I'm fine," he coughed, wiping his mouth. "That thing… hits like a damn war machine."
Darin didn't hesitate. He had seen the opening.
He raised both hands, flames swirling and crackling between his palms. The fire gathered into a blazing crescent, its heat warping the air around it.
Then—he unleashed it.
The flames roared forward, a wave of fire searing through the battlefield in a brilliant arc.
The warchief snarled, raising its arm to shield its face—but fire didn't care for defenses. The flames bit deep, scorching flesh and charring armor.
It bellowed—a sound more beast than man—staggering backward, smoke rising from its burnt skin.
Its rage turned to recklessness.
With a snarl, it turned toward Darin—and charged.
A thunderous, earth-shaking sprint, its axe raised high, its beady eyes filled with murderous intent.
But Lena was already moving.
Her fingers danced across her staff, etching a runic sigil into the air. Her voice—steady, controlled, powerful—whispered the incantation.
A bitter chill surged through the air.
Suddenly—the ground beneath the warchief's feet turned to ice.
Its own momentum betrayed it. Its foot slipped—just slightly. Its balance wavered—just enough.
Its axe swung down—just a fraction too slow.
And that was all Garron needed.
With a thunderous battle cry, he raised his broadsword—both hands gripping the hilt—and brought it down with every ounce of strength he had.
Steel met flesh. A single, brutal strike.
The warchief's roar cut off abruptly as the blade split through its skull, embedding itself deep between its eyes.
Its massive frame twitched, muscles locking—before it collapsed.
For a long moment, silence hung over the battlefield.
Then—The goblins fled.
Their morale shattered. Their leader—slain.
They had won.
The battlefield turned eerily quiet.
Only the distant howls of fleeing goblins broke the silence. Embers from Darin's fire still flickered in the charred grass, casting faint, shifting shadows. The air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh, blood, and the metallic tang of steel.
Lena let out a slow, shaky breath. Her hands were trembling.
She hadn't even noticed until now.
The magic still tingled in her fingertips, her pulse hammering in her ears. The rush of combat was fading, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
"That…" she whispered, swallowing hard. "That was harder than I expected."
The warchief's corpse lay a few feet away, its hulking form now motionless—a stark reminder of how close things had been.
Rowen, despite a shallow cut along his ribs, let out a breathless chuckle. He wiped his blade clean on a fallen goblin's tattered cloak, sheathing it with a satisfied smirk.
"Now that," he said, grinning despite the sweat clinging to his brow, "was fun."
Lena shot him a look, still catching her breath. "Fun? We nearly died."
Rowen shrugged. "Almost. But we didn't."
Darin let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair before glancing at the others.
"That was insane," he muttered, shaking his head. "That warchief… it was nothing like the ones I've read about. That thing moved too fast, like it—" He stopped himself, rubbing at his temple.
It didn't matter now. What mattered was that they won.
Garron hadn't said a word yet.
While the others spoke, he stood motionless, his broad frame still like a statue, surveying the battlefield. His shield was ruined—cracked straight through the center from the force of the warchief's strike. His armor bore deep gashes, evidence of the sheer brutality of the fight.
But his grip on his sword was steady. His stance, unshaken.
Finally, he spoke.
"This is just the beginning."
His voice was calm. Certain.
No one argued. Because they all knew he was right.
Lena followed his gaze toward the dark horizon, where the goblins had disappeared into the night. The world was vast, and dangers far greater than this warchief lurked beyond Dawnstead.
What they fought tonight was just a taste.
If they wanted to survive in this world—not just as adventurers, but as warriors, as legends—they would have to be stronger.
Tonight, they earned their place in the guild. They proved they weren't just another adventuring party. They were survivors.
And their legend—Was only just beginning.
End of Chapter 38