The group moved out, following Frank. He set a pace that everyone could match even laden, and that would exhaust no one. It took nearly three hours to reach the sight of yesterday evening's desperate struggle.

"We are where I found the trail," Frank said, coming to a stop. "From here it took me an hour travelling through the woods. With our pace as a group, perhaps an hour and a half."

Greg nodded at this and called out to all assembled. "We will take a short break here. Drink some water, sit for a few minutes. Then we will continue."

People immediately shed their packs and sat down, quenching their thirst and stretching their legs. Frank sat down as well, slightly apart from everyone. He'd noticed Greg glance at him multiple times during the walk and expected he'd have something to say. Sure enough, Greg soon wandered over and took a seat on the pavement beside him.

"Bill told us you saved his life. Said he knew you could have just run away when the group of goblins attacked. Yet you stayed." Greg looked at Frank's face. "That's why I took what you said seriously. But he also said there were nine of them and three had weapons and you basically defeated them singlehandedly with a staff."

Frank didn't respond, except to look back at Greg, indicating him to get to the point. "Sasha spotted something fishy about your attitude too. Sasha's one of two people I knew well before this. He's rarely off in his judgements." Greg continued. "This is all a bit forward, but I don't have time to be circumspect. Some guy comes into town with a giant fucking quarterstaff, the kind of weapon that people stopped using in the eighteenth century, and can apparently take out nine of those fucking things with it while defending someone who's helpless. Then he manages to put the most dangerous man I know on guard. Everyone else he shares more than a few words with starts figuring shit out in a hurry. That shit doesn't make sense. I spent fifteen years in the forces, saw real combat. Led men. You, you are obviously like twenty, just out of high school. I can tell from looking at you that before this you were doing fuck all but sitting around in a classroom and bagging groceries."

"Help me make sense of that. Why an out of shape twenty year old is an expert in melee weapons, has the demeanour of a man been through hell and returned. Why you knew Jim's gun wouldn't work. Why you knew to go look for an encampment of goblins." Greg stopped for a moment, and when Frank still didn't respond, he continued.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not suspecting you of being out to get us. I just experienced teleportation, communication by thought, and the ability to get stronger like a video game. Something powerful enough to do that has no need to come to us like the second coming of Christ and play messiah. If it wants to blink me out of existence, nothing I can do. I genuinely believe you, not in small part because you aren't a good liar. Everyone but Sasha was too stressed and scared to catch it. But fuck, you obviously know some shit I don't, and I want to know why."

He stood up. "Talk to me about this tomorrow." Greg walked away. The entire time his tone had been quiet and even, despite the words he chose. Frank looked over at the others. Only Sasha had noticed anything. Soon, it was time to move again. At Greg's calling the other's stood up, shouldering their packs and looking towards Frank. He led them, across the ditch and into the force, following the trail he had earlier found.

Everyone was silent, knowing they approached the same things they had been forced to fight. Sticks breaking and leaves rustled as they walked through the dense underbrush made most there uneasy. No goblins appeared, and the forest did not ring with the call of birds and other animals. The eerie quiet, exacerbated by the sound dampening properties of the thick rainforest that blanketed the Pacific North West, set the group on edge. Only Frank and Sasha retained their calm, justifying their selection at the head and tail of the group.

People moved in a single file, following the route Frank had picked out. He slowed down, making sure they did not stretch their small train. Then, as if nature sought to ambush them, the trees abruptly began to thin out. Frank stopped, and the group bunched up behind him. He turned, putting a finger to his lips. Everyone took the formation Greg had mentioned previously, and carefully prepared themselves, as quietly as they could, for what was to come.

After a few minutes, tense, and short, the party moved on. The goblins would set no guards, Frank knew. The only risk before beginning was running into a group leaving or coming at random. They approached slowly, and the camp came into sight. Just as he remembered it, a loose collection of poorly made animal-skin tents, forming a ring around a much larger and better-appointed shelter. The pen beside it though had one less person than previous.

Goblins were strewn about, lazing around, eating, scratching. It was obvious they could not sneak through, and so Greg motioned all who had been given a grenade to him, and quietly directed where he wanted each thrown. Jim and him put on their gas masks, and everyone began creeping forward. They grew perilously close, but still, the goblins were unaware. Then Greg gave the signal, and all hell broke loose.

The canisters of tear gas sailed through the air, filling the closest half of the encampment with burning aerosol. The pained shouts of confused goblins rose into the air, dozens of them screaming. Jim and Greg broke into a trot, moving towards the pens in the center. None blocked their way, all the potential opposition preoccupied with their burning eyes and throat. Through the haze, they cut shadowy figures. Frank chose to make his move, jogging around the edge of the tear gas cloud, eyes watering a little. A goblin stumbled out in front of him blindly fleeing its pain, and he put it out of its misery. Without the ability to see, it didn't even realize it's doom, the blow of Frank's quarterstaff silencing it instantly.

Frank soon made his way around the perimeter and reached the opposite side. With the camp's inhabitants focused on the sudden assault from the other direction, he stepped amongst the tents. Stray goblins, confused and gawking, took blows from behind as Frank moved past them. Very quickly, he approached the big tent in the middle. Just in time too, for as he arrived, the flap opened, and a five-foot tall figure stepped out.

Field Dungeon Goblin Encampment under attack. Goblin Chief roused. Defeat it to clear the dungeon.

Almost no information. With low knowledge, the system was less than forthcoming. But a real boss in a dungeon-like this was something Frank hadn't accounted for. Frank immediately moved around the tent, charging his opponent.

It was a goblin, of course. But it was quite different. Significantly taller and broader, it's head was close to proportionate rather than comically oversized. Instead of being a stringy, boney thing with a potbelly, the goblin chief was lean and muscular. It wore pants of animal skin, and in one handheld not a simple club or spear, but a wickedly curved blade, oiled and gleaming in the early evening sun.

Frank dashed to it, putting his body weight behind a thrust right towards its chest. Despite the fact it had not been looking his way, the goblin chief reacted with supernatural awareness, it's sword sweeping across one-handed and deflecting the staff to pierce the air above its shoulder. It had used one hand to do so, yet held on to the sword.

The ring of the metal tip of Frank's staff clashing with the goblin's blade alerted Jim and Greg to the situation. Both turned to the source of the sound, as did the unfortunates they were in the process of freeing. Frank motioned with his head to them, indicating the location of the others. No time to speak though, as the goblin chief had already recovered from his reflexive defence and was staring at Frank.

Frank felt his hair raise at the creature's gaze. Its eyes gleamed with a cold intelligence as it looked him over, deciding how to proceed.