NOVEL NEXT B3 - Lesson 5: "Loopholes Are Fun!"
"AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!!!"
Perched on a thick, gnarled branch high above the forest floor, Antchaser watched as Aria thrashed against yet another set of traps. Her wild screams of frustration echoed through the cavernous woodland, her every movement brimming with fury. By all rights, watching her struggle should have been gratifying.
She had kidnapped him.
Tortured him.
Tried to kill him.
And if left unchecked, Antchaser had no doubt she would do the same to others. More immediately, to his people, if she — and the rest of the bandits — managed to reach the village. Yet, despite everything, he felt no satisfaction.
It wasn't frustration over the loss of so many traps before the main bandit force had even arrived. He had prepared for this, setting multiple layers of defenses across every possible approach.
It wasn't even the fact that Aria barely seemed affected by them. These early traps weren't designed to stop her, just to slow them down, weaken their forces, and buy time. The real dangers still lay ahead.
"I know that look," a voice said beside him.
Antchaser turned. One of Alpha's [Wasp] drones had settled on the branch next to him, its mechanical body still as it regarded him.
"Fight not turning out how you expected?" Alpha asked, tilting the drone's head.
Antchaser let out a quiet chuckle. "You could say that."
"Need me to send reinforcements?"
Antchaser shook his head, eyes fixed on the destruction below.
"No... things are actually going better than expected."
"So what's the problem, then?"
He hesitated. His fingers drummed against the bark. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I don't really know. I guess..."
Below, Aria screeched again, obliterating another trap with sheer brute force. Antchaser watched, then sighed.
"I… just imagined this going differently."
"How so?"
Antchaser's gaze grew distant. "I grew up on the same stories as everyone else. Tales of once-in-a-millennium geniuses with heaven-defying talent. Heroes who defied their fates and shattered the heavens. I don't know anyone who hasn't heard them. They're the reason so many take up cultivation in the first place. In those stories, the great ones always fight above their realm. That's what makes them legendary."
His fingers curled into a loose fist. "But reality… reality is different. Most people will never make it past [Iron Body]. Even those rare few who reach [Bronze Spirit] are nothing compared to the sects. There, that's just the starting line."
Antchaser shook his head. "Fighting above your realm? That's a dream most will never touch."
Alpha twitched one of the drone's antennae. "So what? You're upset the fight's too easy? Kid, where I come from, that's not really a bad thing."
Antchaser chuckled. "Many cultivators would disagree. There's no honor in an easy fight. No glory."
Alpha snorted. "Honor and glory are for fools. A friend of mine has a saying: 'The wolf at the door knows no honor.' When trouble comes knocking, life doesn't care about 'honor' or 'glory.' What matters is being the one who makes it home. Do you know what a soldier's ultimate duty is?"
Antchaser raised a brow. "To fight for his liege, I'd assume."
The drone shook its head. "No. A soldier's ultimate duty is to build a world where he isn't needed."
Antchaser blinked. For a moment, he simply stared. Then, with a soft laugh, he shook his head. "Your people are strange, Alpha." A pause. "Yet… I think I'd like to visit them someday. This 'Federation' of yours seems… nice."
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Alpha let out a short laugh. "You're romanticizing it. The Federation has its own problems, just like anywhere else. Its just we've got people willing to do something about it."
The goblin hunters had debated the nature of Alpha's so-called "Federation" more times than he could count. Some were convinced it was a fabrication — just a training construct designed to guide them, like a dungeon's storyline.
Others argued that the world was vast. The Skypiercer Continent and Gaia Continent were hardly its only landmasses. Who was to say that the Federation didn't exist somewhere out there, beyond their maps?
One of the more scholarly hunters, a goblin who had spent years in Halirosa, proposed a different theory — that the Federation had existed once but had fallen long ago. He even speculated that the scattered "Old Ruins" dotting the world might be its remnants.
No one could agree on the truth.
Boarslayer, being Boarslayer, had simply rolled her eyes and said, "Just ask him." Yet none had dared.
Alpha's drone tilted its head. "Why this sudden concern about honor? They're bandits."
Antchaser's frown deepened. "Because… I'm a goblin."
A pause. Alpha said nothing.
Antchaser sighed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but goblins don't have the best reputation. Especially among Adventurers."
Alpha had noticed.
Though most visiting Adventurers were cordial enough, there was always a quiet tension, an invisible barrier between them. A handful — like Bert — had managed to break past it, forging the first genuine friendships between goblins and humans, but they were the exception, not the rule.
Antchaser gazed up at the cavern ceiling. "The Deep Tribes aren't one people. We're more like independent city-states with a mutual defense pact. We'll fight together if the surface dwellers attack, but otherwise? Everyone fends for themselves. It's not perfect. Tribes and cities still war over caverns, resources, and all manner of things."
His eyes darkened. "But even the most warlike tribe in the Deep knows honor. Knows restraint. The surface tribes, though…" He shook his head. "There's a reason they're used to scare children into behaving. Both on the surface and in the Deep."
His gaze drifted downward, settling on the rampaging woman below. "I've wondered at times what makes us so different from the other sapient races. Why do goblins have this… duality? Are we, by nature, destructive? Or is there simply something wrong with us?"
His voice grew quiet. "But after everything I've seen — Bosco, the bandits, all of it — I'm starting to think we're not so different after all. Maybe it's not that there's something different with goblins. Maybe… we're just not as good at hiding it." He turned to Alpha. "What do you think? You've seen more than me."
Silence stretched between them.
Then—
"Not a clue!" Alpha said brightly.
Antchaser nearly choked. He barely caught himself before toppling from the branch, whirling on the drone with an incredulous look.
Alpha just shook the drone's head. "Look, you're overthinking things. Honor, glory, right, wrong — all important things to be thinking about. Good for you. But everything has its time and place. Right now? With the enemy in front of you? You don't have the luxury to worry about what some stranger down the road might think of you. Good or bad, you just have to handle the wolf at your door."
The drone's mechanical eyes gleamed. "Worry about the rest later. When you make it home alive."
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Robert ground his teeth as he paced atop the village wall, boots thudding against the worn wooden planks.
Nothing was going as it should.
"You!" He snapped at an Adventurer hauling himself up the rickety ladder. "Report! Where is Scout Leader Garrelt?!"
Robert had called for all hands on deck half an hour ago, yet the only one of his core leadership to show up had been Bert.
The Adventurer saluted, breathless. "Sir! The doctor requested the Scout and Support Leaders in her clinic for a checkup before the bandits arrive. She was concerned about their injuries."
Robert froze mid-step, blinking. He had expected a number of possibilities for Garrelt's absence — defiance, incompetence, outright cowardice. The fact that the man had actually followed orders for once was irritating enough, but for it to be under circumstances Robert couldn't reprimand him for? Infuriating.
Guild regulations protected medical personnel from interference if they deemed a summons detrimental to their work. Which meant, conveniently, that Robert had no grounds to discipline Garrelt. As for Maggy… well, that scatterbrained girl being late wasn't exactly surprising. She had a talent for getting lost in her own world.
Robert clenched his jaw so hard he swore he felt something crack. With a sharp click of his tongue, he turned away. "Fine! But make it clear — I want to see them the moment the doctor is done with them."
The Adventurer saluted again and disappeared back down the ladder.
Behind him, Bert — who had been leaning against the rampart wall, arms folded in quiet meditation — finally pushed himself up. "Guess that means it's just us," he said casually.
Robert whirled on him, eyes flashing.
"How convenient for you, Mr. Guild Investigator." His voice was low, dangerous.
Bert exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "Robert. I know you're under a lot of stress, but you need to stop treating the rest of us like we're the enemy. The last thing we need right now is division."
Robert didn't answer. He turned to the north, hands tightening against the rough wood of the battlement, occasionally cutting a glare at Bert from the corner of his eye.
Bert sighed, raking a hand through his thick beard. "We'll wait, then. If it's that important."
He'd dealt with plenty of tense situations before. Being a Guild Investigator meant people rarely welcomed him with open arms. But Robert? He was unraveling.
The man's usual pristine image was fraying at the edges. His once-spotless armor bore dust and smudges. His undertunic was wrinkled and stained. Even his thick black hair, typically combed into a strict military style, was slightly disheveled, as though he'd run his fingers through it one too many times in frustration.
Bert shook his head and settled back against the rampart wall, resuming his meditation.
But before closing his eyes, his gaze flickered toward the village center, toward Dr. Maria's clinic.
What are you two really up to?