===

Among a squadron of soldiers investigating the disappearance of three adventurers sent to exterminate a reported goblin den -

"Well, this is the den, captain" said a soldier, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized a map in his hands.

"Are you absolutely sure?" said the captain.

The soldier looked back down at the map. "Yes, I'm sure of it, sir. Villagers reported small men taking their chickens and cows. The hunters tracked these suspects to around here and confirmed they were goblins. And I am no adventurer, but this does seem like a den goblins would hide in."

"Then tell me, where are the goblins?" The captain paced up to the den, peering in, then back in, hands behind his back. "Hm? Where are they?"

The soldiers looked at each other, not sure what to say.

"Maybe the adventurers killed them and left," said another soldier.

"Without returning to the village for their pay?" The captain scoffed. "I am no adventurer, but from rumors, I hear that the one stars make even less than us, thank the empire for its benefits.

You truly believe they would skip out on coin when they may not even have the coin to fill their stomachs?"

"Nothing ever happens here, I doubt they are truly dead," remarked a soldier. When he saw the captain glare at him, he added, "Respectfully speaking, sir."

The captain rubbed his forehead. "Then where. Are. They."

The soldiers looked at each other in confusion again.

"I should not have expected anything from soldiers so lowly the empire throws them out to guard this miserable frontier village in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere. By Ajna, what I would give to be back in the greater cities where the arts and music and magic and, most importantly, bare common-sense flourish."

The captain pointed at the den. "Look, you fools. Nothing in the den. No goblin bodies. No adventurer bodies. What do we tell the Adventurer's League?"

"I thought the League did not really care for their one stars," said a soldier.

"They do not care if they know how they died. If there is a proper report. Another thing this barbaric place sorely lacks – records and reports. No working toilets, just pits to squat on, let alone paper and ink." The sergeant shook his head. "The League, the Order, and practically every single important group there is in all the realms are on watch for Undeath.

One undead can make a thousand more." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. Did your mothers not tell you tales of the undead when you sucked on her teats?

If we do not give them a proper report, they will send more adventurers to investigate, and they will tear through this village and forest until they find corpses."

"That is not so bad, is it?" said a soldier. He coughed and added on a "sir."

The captain stepped up to the younger soldier. "Not so bad? Tell me, why is this not so bad?"

The soldier wavered for a bit. "The adventurers fought for this village. They may get proper sendoff to Aetheria if their bodies are found."

"Oh, yes, I would not deny them the sacred rite to have their bodies burned," said the captain. "But let me put it in a way all of you can understand.

We are taking bribes, yes?"

The soldiers nodded.

"Bribes from a sorcerer, yes?"

The soldiers nodded.

"A sorcerer with a fucking sealing order on him, yes?"

The soldiers nodded a little slower this time.

"You know what that means, no?"

The soldiers looked at each other, hints of confusion on their faces.

The captain sighed. "Did all of you grow upon farms? Oh wait, yes you did. You did not have tutors, you learned from pigs and chickens," he said sarcastically. "The Sorcerer's Order does not designate sealing orders lightly.

They place it upon heretics of the highest degree, those who with their twisted mystic arts have broken the laws of the gods and the sanctity of life, and the Order works closely with the League – the two might as well be the same damn thing, as far as we are concerned.

Say the League investigates us, you think they will not find out about this very same sorcerer lining our pockets? Then they call their friends in the Order that strap us up, interrogate us, and then toss us behind bars.

And because we are all lowly soldier-castes, we will rot there for a decade. Perhaps my father can bail me out, but all of you will end up as skeletons picked clean by rats."

The soldiers shuffled uncomfortably. One of them raised a suggestion. "We can turn the sorcerer in. I never liked him in the first place, foreign snake he is."

"Oh, marvelous idea," said the captain, throwing his hands in the air. "And then he can turn us in when the Order questions him."

"We could forge a report," came another suggestion.

"Now we are getting somewhere." The captain raised a hand to his moustache. "But not until we search further. If we can find their bodies, good. It would leave a bad taste on my tongue also if they were not given proper passage rites.

But if not, then start conjuring up some creative ideas for me to put into this 'report'. Something that will get the League off our backs." The sergeant thrust out a hand towards the edges of the clearing. "Think while you move. Light your torches, fan out and search the surroundings. Anendara is a large forest, untamed by man.

Take your time, avoid getting eaten by sloth bears, and reconvene here in an hour."

"Yes sir!"

The captain watched as his men funneled out, the lights of their torches disappearing as they faded out of the clearing, and himself picked up his torch and headed out. He wondered whether sloth bears even lived in this forest, but mentally shrugged.

It was not his job to strut around in the muck of this wild forest, to know what ever happened here. All he had to do was keep watch over the village for a year, then he could get back to Dwarka where in a real city, he could take a real bath, eat some real food, and listen to some real music.

But he would not get there rotting in a Sundan jail cell. Born without the capacity to awaken spirit roots and with no mind for business, all he could do was be a soldier. Well, until his bloated father croaked and died to leave him a merchant's fortune.

He did not expect to find the adventurers. He had little idea what could have actually happened, nor did he truly care much. The soldiers were right: nothing ever happened here, this far from the eastern warfront or the southern borders by the World Dungeons.

This place was a safe haven. A lazy place where villagers from the labor-caste lived their little lives and died in their mud huts.

That was what he thought as he stepped out of the clearing, and not ten steps in, something yanked him off balance, covering his mouth in hard metal that scraped his skin. His torch fell out of his grip and snuffed out of existence, leaving him blind in the night.

===

The Collector dragged the squirming human further into the forest, away from his men who grew ever more distant by the second. It pinned the human's arms down with its own massive arm and kept a hand wrapped around his head.

The Collector's hand alone was large enough to wrap entirely around the man's head, preventing him from uttering a noise. Like this, the Collector held the man, and his squirming offered as much resistance to the Collector as the nightly breeze would.

Several minutes passed, and the Collector confirmed this human's allies were far enough away. It uncovered a hand from the human's mouth.

"Me-," began the human in a half-formed shout to try and call for his soldiers.

The Collector reacted instantaneously and slammed the human into a tree, monitoring its force such that it simply knocked the breath out of him while minimizing noise.

Armor clanked against tree bark, and the human slumped down to the forest floor, wheezing as he looked up, trying to get a read of the Collector.

"You will not call for assistance, primitive little creature. When your fragile lungs recover breath, I will ask you questions. You will answer them."