A warning bell cut through the night, waking up Frank Strongarm from his wooden bed.

“Goblins! Goblins! Grab your arms!” a miner shouted frantically from outside.

Frank grabbed his newly forged steel axe from his bedside, and looked out the window at the scene, illuminated by moonlight. The miner was right—he could see an entire organized legion of goblins in the distance, armed with crude weaponry and ragged leather armor. He had only heard of goblins through old wive’s tales, and could not figure out why the goblins were attacking, but he knew what to do. He had to defend Avalon.

Rushing out the door into the moonlit plains, he let out a laugh when he realized that the goblins were attacking from the valley. That was perfect, since they were sitting targets for arrows from the newly finished watchtower and archery bunkers.

He turned around, ready to issue orders, and was shocked. Three ghastly pirates stood in front of him, barking out orders while brandishing their glowing cutlasses. Forte had told him about the pirates, but he was not prepared to see them up close. The boy had a lot of tricks up his sleeve, Frank thought to himself.

Frank walked through the pirates and began issuing orders himself. Avalon’s defenses consisted of eleven miners, four of which were archers, and seven dwarves. “Two able bodied archers, go up the watchtower and start firing! The rest, occupy the bunkers.”

And of course, there was the dragon, but it had not returned from its hunting trip that night. Frank gritted his teeth—they would have to make do without it. Before long, the first volleys of arrows hit the goblins, felling a few.

One of the goblins stepped up and began to speak. “In the name of Lumpwart, the king of goblins, we demand all elves, dwarves, orcs, and humans to retreat from this territory!”

A second volley of arrows hit the legion of goblins, prompting a wave of shrieks. The messenger goblin straightened up and shouted. “This means war!” At that, the goblins beat their shields with their weapons and began charging.

A few more volleys thinned the ranks, but there was still what seemed like an endless stream of goblins, and too few defenders. The goblins climbed up the valley, and the assault began. With their shimmering cutlasses, the loyal pirate servants cut down goblins as if each had the strength of ten men. Horton Chestgrove joined the fray with his massive hammer, and the dwarves jumped in as well to defend their jobs and their lives.

Frank took a deep breath, then entered the battle. He saw that the archers had retreated from their vantage points in the bunkers and the watchtower, and grabbed swords and maces as well. He swung his axe at a goblin, cleaving into the side of his frail body. Spears jabbed him from the sides, but he continued to swing back and forth, killing goblins left and right. He was surrounded. From his back, he heard a war cry, and a massive hammer smashed into the goblins that were behind him, and a hearty voice greeted him. “Let’s get ‘em, Frank Strongarm!”

He was relieved at the sight of Horton Chestgrove, the massive blacksmith who made his battleaxe for him. They fought side by side, taking a few minor hits as they worked their way through the goblins. Frank watched as the ghastly pirates fell, brought down by spears, but he knew that they would regenerate. The goblins moved in, and Frank saw from the corner of his eye that a spear pierced the miner Ern through his heart, killing him instantly. They were losing the battle. Roy, the butcher’s boy, was killed shortly afterwards, and a dwarf fell as well.

The number of goblins seemed to never end, and each ugly green head he lopped off was immediately replaced with another. He knew they should have built that perimeter wall, but it was too late now. Frank cursed under his breath and continued fighting with his back to Horton Chestgrove. He felt fatigued with every blow, and had lost count of how many goblins he killed. The survivors had retreated back into the outpost, and there was fighting between the buildings. Horton grabbed a hot spoke from the blast furnace, and began poking the goblins with the fiery tip.

A roar sounded from the sky, as a regal black dragon descended onto the battleground with a snarl. Frank’s heart jumped with joy at the sight of the dragon. It pounced on the nearest goblin, and then breathed red-orange fire upon the legion, toasting the unfortunate goblins. The messenger goblin yelled, and all the goblins began to retreat haphazardly.

The dragon let out a triumphant roar, and thumped its tail on the ground as the miners and dwarves cheered.

What happened here? The dragon turned and looked at Frank Strongarm, projecting its powerful voice into the air. The miners’ and dwarves’ fallen comrades were forgotten for a moment as jaws dropped. They were astonished that the dragon could talk.

“We were attacked by a legion of goblins, who declared that this territory belongs to them, dragon,” Frank answered confidently. “We gave ‘em hell, but we started to get overwhelmed. Ern and Roy from the miners and Littlefoot from the dwarves were killed in the battle. And I told you we needed a perimeter wall, if you will consider it now.”

Very well. The events that have transpired give your proposal merit. Construct a perimeter wall. The dragon wagged its tail and puffed out a plume of smoke.

It was nearly dawn, and the miners and dwarves slept as Nightmare watchfully scanned the plains for signs of goblins and other creatures. They woke in the morning and began working on the perimeter defenses.

---

A few days had passed since Forte’s arrival at the Academy. He was slowly getting accustomed to the pomp and prestige of the place, although he still felt uncomfortable after so long away from the noble lifestyle. Nevertheless, he was especially excited for today. Today would be the first day of Basic Combat Magic, and Basic Elemental Magic. Forte walked through the ivory halls towards the enormous courtyard, especially giddy.

He pushed open the mahogany doors, revealing an incredible scene. Rocks and beams of light flew across the courtyard, as students dueled one on one. The level was much higher than what he saw during the tour. Forte guessed that the older students that threw rocks at him were at the bottom of their class, because these fourth years were outperforming them. A lanky, smug looking student in fine black robes slammed his palm on the ground and muttered an incantation, summoning what looked like an earth golem. It charged at another student, who defended with a bolt of red light that hit the golem in its arm, cracking the arm. The golem pushed the student to the ground and raised its fist.

“Oblitio!” someone yelled. A bright streak of white light hit the golem, paralyzing it. “Fantastic, Aaron Blackwater! That makes your record twenty and zero!”

It was the professor, a scholarly looking man with gray streaks in his combed back hair, and a mangled scar on his face. He looked at Forte, who was standing in the doorway to the courtyard. “Ah, the new student. You must be Forte Minot. Welcome to my class, Basic Combat Magic. My name is Professor Armaldo. Do you know how to duel?”

Forte looked at the students, who had stopped dueling to stare at him, as if they were measuring his strength. He decided that he would duel. “Yes, I can.”

“Excellent, excellent. Why don’t we get you started with Molly,” said professor Armaldo. He walked over and stopped a fierce looking red haired girl in the middle of her duel, and beckoned Forte to take the place of the boy she was dueling. The professor clapped his hands, and spoke. “Begin! And the rest of you lot, stop watching, and start dueling!” The students grumbled and began dueling again, and the courtyard was filled with the violent sounds of spells and incantations clashing off each other.

“I might not be the best in the class, but I won’t lose to a new student like you!” Molly jeered. She glared at Forte, and cast an incantation. “Serpentus,” she muttered, and a ghastly apparition of a snake slithered out of her sleeve and shot towards Forte with alarming speed.

Forte dodged the snake two times as it lunged at him, then stood his ground and extended his palm. He muttered one word. “Infernus.” A blast of heat erupted from his body, and the snake dissipated upon contact with the shockwave.

Molly grinned. “You use the fire element...I see.” She muttered under her breath another incantation, looking somewhat faint. “Vasar serpentus.”

“Excellent thinking!” Professor Armaldo applauded as Molly conjured a fat, watery serpent into the air, and with a wave of her hand, it shot towards Forte again. Forte smirked and quickly flicked his wrist. “Ariz infernus serpentus!” He had learned a new word.

He felt the stamina sap from his body as an infernal vortex formed into the shape of a snake in front of his eyes. It lunged out at the water snake, swallowing it whole. The water serpent thrashed about, but the infernal vortex evaporated the water into a hot steam. Forte’s bloodlust began to kick in, as he ordered the serpent to attack Molly. Molly looked shocked and extremely faint.

“Enough!” the professor shouted, and Forte let go of the magic before the professor could dissipate it. “You are talented, Forte, copying magic after seeing it for the first time. Why don’t you have a go against one of the class’s better combat mages, Maximillian Lionheart?”

Forte grinned. “Sure, why not.” He followed the professor to Maximillian’s station. He was a broad shouldered, large boy for his age, with a pudgy face and large nose. Maximillian stood up and shook hands with Forte, before the two stood on opposite ends of the courtyard.

“Begin!” the professor shouted.

Maximillian raised his right arm, hand outstretched. “Saban.” A gleaming light sword appeared in his hand, and he charged at Forte with a roar. Sword fighting was Forte’s prowess. He copied Maximillian’s spell. “Saban,” he muttered. But what materialized was not a sword as he imagined, but a formless long baton. It would have to do, he though, and he parried Maximillian’s first blow, and returned it with a sweeping hit on the arm. Maximillian stepped backwards at the last second, dodging the hit. Forte realized that Maximillian was a classically trained swordsman.

The professor gasped. “Fine battling!” Some of the students stopped their duels and began to stare at the display of swordsmanship.

Forte swung low, and Maximillian parried the blow. His baton was not the best for a sword fight, but it was decent enough. Forte knew that he had butchered the spell, and it should have conjured a pure sword like what Maximillian had conjured. Every parry sapped a bit of stamina from Forte, and he was feeling a bit weary. He pushed on, bringing his baton above his head and smashing downwards. Maximillian raised his glowing sword to deflect the blow, and both boys winced as their stamina took a big hit from the crossing of blade and baton.

Maximillian swung at Forte’s chest, and Forte sidestepped the swing with agility. He returned the blow with a sharp lunge towards Maximillian’s neck, which he deflected with his sword. The blow disoriented Maximillian, and Forte took advantage of the chaos by tackling him to the ground, and knocking Maximillian’s sword out of his hand. The sword dissipated upon contact with the ground. Forte pressed his glowing baton against Maximillian’s neck, and began to press down. The broad shouldered boy began to choke.

“And the winner is Forte! Next week, you will go against the class’s undefeated champion, Aaron Blackwater! Class is dismissed.”

Forte offered to shake hands with Maximillian, but he knocked aside Forte’s hand and headed into the academy. “Che…” Forte mumbled under his breath. He hated to be disrespected. It was why he insisted on the inhabitants of his city of Avalon to call him lord. One of these days, he would have the world at its knees, begging for mercy.

Forte met with Seamus for lunch, and saw the beautiful golden-red haired girl from his History of the Varian Continent class again. He stared at her as she stood in line, curious. She looked like an otherworldly beauty, with delicate, refined features.

“Hey Seamus, you see that girl?” he pointed towards her. “Who is she?”

Seamus nearly choked on his peas. “Her? That’s the princess of Rottheim Kingdom, Scarlett Barron… You have no chance. Don’t even think about it.”

Forte laughed. “I was just curious.”

“Well don’t be curious. You’ll be hanged before you get within a foot of her,” Seamus warned.