Chapter 75 — Newbies’ Test

  Garrick did not lead them into the woods.

  That alone unsettled the children.

  Instead of turning west—toward the goblin sightings reported near the forest line—he headed east, out through the gate and into the open fields beyond the walls. The path was wide, exposed, and worn smooth by farmers and patrols alike.

  Ivaline recognized it immediately.

  She had trained here before.

  Hennel noticed a moment later.

  “Old man,” he said, frowning, “we’re going the wrong way.”

  Ayra flinched at his tone and tugged lightly at his sleeve.

  “H-Hennel… don’t talk like that.”

  “But Ayra! The goblins were spotted near the west gate, not the east!”

  Garrick didn’t respond.

  He kept walking, boots crunching through gravel, pace steady and unhurried.

  The silence stretched long enough to gnaw at Hennel’s patience. His fiery red hair bounced with each step, never staying in place, much like his thoughts. He adjusted his grip on the short spear, the round wooden shield knocking against his arm.

  Ayra followed more carefully. Thirteen, slight, her shoulders hunched as if the world itself might scold her for taking up space. Brown eyes flicked constantly—grass, sky, path, Garrick’s back. A sling hung at her waist, the kind meant for control rather than killing. A dagger rested at her side, untouched.

  They reached the open field.

  Only then did Garrick stop.

  “We’re not going into the woods yet, Hennel.”

  The boy halted mid-step.

  “…How do you know my name?”

  Garrick glanced back, expression lazy.

  “Ayra just said it.”

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  “Oh. Right—wait. That still doesn’t explain—”

  Hennel’s protest died as Garrick turned fully to face them.

  His face was relaxed, almost bored, but his eyes were sharp. The eyes of someone who had survived long enough to grow tired of bad reasoning.

  “We don’t know each other,” Garrick said. “Not properly.”

  The kids blinked.

  “You don’t know how each other moves. You don’t know who freezes when things go wrong. You don’t know who panics when blood hits the ground.”

  His gaze passed over them slowly—Hennel, Ayra, then Ivaline.

  “You don’t know who lies when scared.”

  The words settled uncomfortably.

  “And yet,” Garrick continued, “you think you can hunt goblins.”

  Hennel bristled.

  “We can just rush them! Goblins are weak, right? Everyone says so!”

  Smack.

  The sound cracked through the air.

  “OW—!?”

  Hennel staggered back, clutching his head. Garrick withdrew his knuckles without a shred of apology.

  “Do that alone if you want,” he said evenly. “But when you’re in a party, your stupidity becomes everyone else’s problem.”

  “You didn’t have to hit me!”

  “Yes,” Garrick replied. “I did.”

  Ayra stiffened but said nothing. Her eyes had already shifted—tall grass, wind direction, distance to the treeline. She wasn’t brave, but she was aware.

  Ivaline simply nodded once, as if Garrick had said something obvious.

  “Pain sticks better than words,” Garrick said. “Now. We test.”

  He stepped backward into the field, putting space between them.

  “Formation. Now. No talking.”

  They hesitated.

  Hennel moved first—too fast, too eager. He stepped forward with spear raised, shield lifted high, placing himself squarely at the front.

  Brave.

  Reckless.

  Ayra lingered behind him, unsure. Her fingers hovered near her sling but didn’t load it. Her feet angled sideways, leaving herself an escape route without realizing it.

  Ivaline moved last.

  She didn’t stand directly behind Hennel.

  Instead, she shifted slightly to his side—close enough to support, far enough not to be trapped if he fell. Her wooden staff rested loosely in her hands, weight balanced, knees relaxed.

  Garrick’s eyebrow twitched.

  “Good,” he muttered. “At least one of you thinks.”

  He bent down, picked up a small stone, and flicked it toward the grass without warning.

  Ayra flinched.

  Hennel lunged forward.

  Ivaline didn’t move—but her eyes followed the stone’s arc, calculating distance and speed in an instant.

  “Stop,” Garrick said.

  They froze.

  “That,” he pointed at Hennel, “was overcommitment.”

  “I was protecting them!” Hennel snapped.

  “You were blocking their vision,” Garrick replied. “And if that stone were a knife, you’d be bleeding out before your shield mattered.”

  He turned to Ayra.

  “You saw it first.”

  Ayra swallowed.

  “…Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you act?”

  “I—I wasn’t sure if it was real.”

  Garrick nodded once.

  “Caution keeps you alive. Hesitation gets your friends killed.”

  Then he looked at Ivaline.

  “You didn’t react.”

  “I didn’t need to,” she said calmly. “It wasn’t a threat.”

  The wind brushed through the grass.

  Garrick stared at her for a long moment—then laughed, quiet and rough.

  “See?” he said to the others. “This is why we don’t start with monsters.”

  He stepped back and drew his sword just enough for steel to whisper against the scabbard.

  “Today, you don’t fight goblins,” Garrick said. “You fight your habits.”

  He shifted his stance—loose, unreadable.

  “And I won’t go easy.”

  The grass swayed.

  The field felt suddenly smaller.

  The lesson had begun.