The nascent dawn painted the sky in hues of grey and orange as Ragnar, escorted by the Veridian royal guard, left the boundaries of Valenbois for the first time. His heart heavy, he cast a final glance back at the familiar rooftops fading into the morning mist. Already, dark figures were busying themselves near the forest's edge: the Kaldor troops, deploying mining tools of strange and menacing shapes. Their brutal presence starkly contrasted with the usual tranquility of the place.

  A pang of regret struck Ragnar. He suddenly realized he had forgotten something important: his magic book. A precious tool, his only gateway to untapped potential. He turned to King Theron, who rode not far from him, looking pleased.

  "Your Majesty," Ragnar began with feigned hesitation. "I… I left a very valuable object in my cabin. Would it be possible to make a brief detour to retrieve it?" He refrained from mentioning the object's nature, fearing a negative reaction.

  King Theron frowned, his piercing gaze analyzing Ragnar. "A valuable object? What is it?"

  "It's… it's a family heirloom, Your Majesty. Of great sentimental importance to me," Ragnar improvised, hoping it would suffice.

  The king sighed, visibly impatient. "Very well. Only a few minutes. But don't keep us waiting, peasant."

  Ragnar thanked the king and quickly turned back, his heart pounding. On his way to his cabin, he encountered Borin, whose face expressed a mixture of anger and sadness.

  "Ragnar! What are you doing? Are you following them? Are you abandoning Lysiane and the whole village to their fate?" Borin's voice was hoarse, full of reproach.

  Ragnar stopped, leaning in to speak softly. "Borin, it's not what you think. I have a plan. An idea behind all this. I'm not abandoning them." He gestured with his chin towards his plot of land. "Watch over my property, Borin. My fields… the vegetables should start growing in a few months. Take care of them." He briefly confided his hope of helping Lysiane from within.

  Borin looked at him with skepticism tinged with a glimmer of hope. "Be careful, Ragnar. And may the Gods protect you if you have such a crazy idea."

  Ragnar gave his tavern friend a final nod and rejoined the royal procession waiting for him at the edge of the village. King Theron gave him an impatient look but said nothing.

  Once outside Valenbois, the distance between the peaceful village and the majestic city of Veridia was considerable. Their path traversed a vast forest, stretching as far as the eye could see, whose depths, according to rumors, harbored monstrous creatures and unforeseen dangers.

  In the middle of the royal troop, a large, roughly made wooden cage jostled, carrying Lysiane and her bound men. Their gazes occasionally met Ragnar's. Lysiane's was filled with icy contempt, a silent accusation. Ragnar held her gaze without betraying any emotion, aware that the slightest sign of collusion could arouse the king's suspicion.

  En route, King Theron, clearly in a boastful mood, began to recount his family's history, generation by generation, how they had risen to power by overthrowing a tyrannical former ruler. He described their heroic deeds and enlightened wisdom, painting an idyllic picture of their lineage.

  Lysiane, despite her bonds and captivity, couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh. "A dictator overthrowing another dictator… what a noble story, Your Majesty. It seems history has a nasty tendency to repeat itself, doesn't it?" Her sarcastic tone was a bold challenge to the king's authority.

  Lysiane's cutting remark triggered a violent argument. King Theron, red with anger, retorted with crude and threatening language. Lysiane, despite her precarious situation, refused to be intimidated, responding to his insults with indomitable pride. The air thickened with tension, the royal guards observing the scene with palpable unease.

  The commotion ceased abruptly as they entered a particular area of the forest. The air became heavy and oppressive, and an unusual silence settled. A guard approached the king and murmured in an anxious voice. "Your Majesty, we are entering the Silent Zone. A single loud noise is enough to awaken the forest goblins."

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  King Theron, despite his usual arrogance, seemed slightly nervous. He ordered his troop to slow their pace and proceed with caution. The clanking of armor and the sound of hooves were muffled, replaced by a tense silence, broken only by the horses' breathing.

  In the midst of this heavy atmosphere, King Theron, true to his vain personality, suddenly felt the need to admire himself. He took a small mirror from his pouch and began to adjust his crown, superbly ignoring the imminent danger surrounding them.

  It was at that precise moment that a horde emerged from the depths of the forest. Small, green, and hideous creatures, armed with rudimentary spears and uttering shrill cries, threw themselves at the royal procession. For the first time, Ragnar's System interface activated with alarming urgency, displaying a multitude of information:

  The enemy numbers and levels flashed red, signaling a danger far greater than anything Ragnar had encountered so far. The silence of the forest had been shattered by chaos, and the march to Veridia had just turned into a desperate fight for survival.

  King Theron dismissed the goblin horde with a disdainful glance. "Vermin. If we passed through here unscathed on the way, I highly doubt these pathetic creatures will pose any real problem on our return." His arrogance seemed unshakable.

  Suddenly, he raised his hand and gave a brief, sharp command. "Soldiers! Eliminate this nuisance!"

  Immediately, the royal squad deployed with terrifying efficiency. Ragnar, caught off guard by the speed of their reaction, watched with a mixture of awe and astonishment the level of combat mastery displayed by these elite soldiers. Their swords gleamed in the dim morning light, slicing through the air with deadly precision. Goblins fell like flies, their green bodies collapsing under the swift and accurate blows.

  However, despite the royal soldiers' obvious superiority, two or three particularly aggressive goblins managed to fight their way through the chaos and charged straight at Ragnar. Panic seized him for a moment. He had never faced such creatures. Instinctively, he drew his new axe, its handle cold in his trembling hand.

  Remembering his recent acquisition, he focused his will and channeled the small amount of mana he had managed to awaken. "Vigorous Strike!" he thought, projecting all his strength into the blow. The axe fell with unexpected power, literally pulverizing the first goblin that approached. The other two, surprised by the violence of the attack, hesitated for a moment before lunging at him. Ragnar, galvanized by his initial success, followed up with wild swings, fueled by adrenaline and his newly acquired brute strength.

  Each goblin he felled triggered a notification in his field of vision:

  The bloodshed around him was gruesome, but a strange satisfaction grew with each creature eliminated.

  When the last goblin collapsed at his feet, a more significant notification appeared:

  Ragnar gasped for breath, his body trembling with adrenaline. He had survived his first real battle. Without hesitation, he opened his statistics menu and allocated all five attribute points to his Intelligence. His current mana was low, with a limit of only five points. He had realized that to use magic effectively, he would need larger reserves.

  A new threshold opened before him. Thirty mana points. The whispers of magic were becoming slightly more audible. The road to Veridia, though strewn with bloody obstacles, also offered unexpected opportunities for growth and discovery.