The outline of the village grew clearer in the darkness. The troop halted behind a gentle slope dozens of meters away from the outskirts, and the archers took up crouching positions.
Roger then drew a standard arrow and aimed at the distant watchtower.
With a soft twang of the bowstring, the arrow flew silently through the air. The goblin on the watchtower suddenly stiffened and tumbled off the platform.
“Points +40. Balance: 340.”
Over the next few moments, each archer was handed ten specialized arrows.
These arrows were clearly different from their usual ones. Several wraps of linen rope were tied tightly behind the arrowhead, thoroughly soaked in the accelerant brewed that afternoon, emitting a pungent odor.
A few camp servants quietly brought several braziers to the front of the archers' line, their grates piled with coal and dry kindling.
As the servants lit the contents of the braziers one by one with torches, Stine ordered:
“Light them.”
Roger held an arrow wrapped in linen over the brazier. The moment the soaked linen touched the flame, it caught fire.
“This whole ‘magic potion’ concept is incredibly convenient,” Roger silently grumbled to himself.
“Ready!” Stine commanded again. The archers nocked their fire arrows, drew their bows to full extension, and angled their arrowheads upward.
“Loose!”
Dozens of arrows tipped with dancing flames soared into the night sky, carving bright orange arcs across the darkness. They then curved downward, turning into a dense shower of glowing red embers that rained down upon the village.
Several fire arrows landed on the thatched roofs, and flames quickly spread outward from the impact points.
Right on their heels, a second and third volley of fire arrows rained down, scattering across all corners of the village.
The fire began to spread.
The blaze lit up half the sky, painting the darkness above the village a deep, crimson red. Waves of heat and thick smoke billowed upward, and even from a distance, the crackle of burning thatch was clearly audible.
Before long, swarms of goblins scrambled out of the burning huts in a panic. Some, with flames clinging to their bodies, rolled on the ground in a desperate bid to extinguish themselves. The entire village fell into utter chaos.
The horn of attack sounded, and Stine charged forward at the head of the line.
As he neared the village entrance, he unleashed several waves of sword qi to shatter the barricades blocking the path, then led his dozen or so cavalrymen to breach the village.
An hour later, the village was captured.
The assault had gone relatively smoothly. The fire attack had completely stripped the goblins of their ability to organize a defense. Most were scattered by the cavalry and left to fight individually, only to be systematically cut down by the infantry arriving close behind.
Aside from a few unlucky souls who were wounded by friendly fire or accidentally cornered and beaten to death by goblins, casualties were kept within an acceptable range.
Of course, Roger knew very well that the primary reason for the low casualties wasn't brilliant tactics, but rather the complete absence of any magically empowered goblins in this village.
If there had been enemies on the level of the goblin warriors back at Fort Morris, the casualty count would have easily doubled.
During the battle, he managed to secure eight kills using his remaining standard arrows, easily pocketing 320 points.
Once Stine officially declared the village reclaimed and allowed the soldiers to freely scavenge the battlefield, Roger collected two bone chains and four swords, earning another 400 points.
Combined with his previous balance, his total points reached 1,060.
For him at this stage, such a harvest was incredibly bountiful.
Returning to his tent, Roger eagerly opened the system shop. This time, his objective was clear: exchange his points for a suitable offensive skill.
Adhering to his combat philosophy of “ranged first, melee second,” Roger temporarily set aside melee skills once again.
“Empowered Shot should still be useful for a while. What I lack most right now is a magical attack,” Roger muttered.
Empowered Shot could indeed serve him well for a bit longer, but what he currently lacked most was a means of magical offense.
Heal could only mend wounds, and Arcane Hand could only pick up items at the moment, incapable of any delicate tasks.
Using that giant blue hand to slap someone across the face amounted to physical damage with a side of psychological humiliation at best; it didn't count as real offensive output.
Thus, without any hesitation, he chose the most classic spell: Fireball.
【Name: Fireball
Description: Fires a fireball condensed from mana forward. The explosive power depends on the skill level and the amount of mana infused. It has an extremely simple spell structure and a fast casting speed, making it highly versatile in combat.
Max Level: Lv5
Learning Requirement: Magic Lv1
Exchange Points: 700】
The system's description of the skill was as brief as ever, but Roger knew very well that the potential of this spell far exceeded what was written.
The simple casting process meant he wouldn't need to spend long periods chanting in the middle of a battle.
Furthermore, it was highly versatile. It wasn't just for dealing damage; it could also be used for lighting fires, illumination, and various other purposes.
In many of the web novels he had read in his past life, the protagonists had developed all sorts of creative tricks with Fireball. Although he had forgotten the exact mechanics, he still remembered the general direction.
“Points -700. Balance: 360.”
His points had plummeted once again, his balance returning to three digits. Roger closed the shop interface, leaned back onto his bedding, and began to map out his next steps.
The village occupied by the goblins had been reclaimed, but the higher-ups had yet to give a clear answer on when they would head into the woods to clear out the beasts controlled by the cultists.
According to Stine, Baron Raymond had simply told him to “wait for further notice.”
If he had heard those words during a job interview, Roger would have assumed the job was as good as gone.
He decided to wait a day or two. If nothing came of it, he would simply slip in on his own.
Early the next morning, after finishing his breakfast, Roger found an isolated spot to practice his Fireball.
A moment later, an egg-sized fireball manifested in the palm of his hand. He tried infusing a small amount of mana into it, and the fireball swelled slightly, growing from the size of an egg to the size of a fist.
He continued to channel mana bit by bit, carefully testing the current limits of this fireball.
By the time it grew to the size of a basketball, Roger could clearly feel the fireball's structure becoming unstable. Its current state was like a fully inflated balloon—any more, and it would burst.
He decided to cut off the spell.
Watching the fireball gradually dissipate in his hand after losing its mana supply, Roger recalled the scene from the battle of Fort Morris, where the mage under Count Nigel's command had used a fireball to collapse the city wall.
That fireball had been over two meters in diameter, and the power of its explosion had torn a breach in the stone wall wide enough for several people to walk through side by side.
The exact same spell in the hands of people of different levels was an entirely different beast.
Once he recovered a bit of his mana, he resumed casting.
This time, he didn't aim for maximum size. Instead, he chose to repeatedly practice the process of condensing and releasing, controlling the fireball at different sizes, testing the explosive power corresponding to various mana inputs, and attempting to maintain its stability for short periods after it formed without releasing it.
After every release, he would immediately sit down to recover his mana, standing right back up to continue practicing once it reached halfway.
When Fireball reached Lv2, the size of the fireball he could stably maintain became a full size larger than a basketball.
Nodding in satisfaction, he massaged his temples, which were throbbing slightly from the repeated depletion and recovery of mana. At the same time, he began to imagine how much power the fireball would unleash once this spell reached its maximum level of Lv5, and his own magic level reached Lv10.
“Though that still seems a long way off.”
Over the next day or two, Baron Raymond neither ordered the march to resume nor approved entry into the woods.
Roger was neither anxious nor impatient. Since he had nothing better to do anyway, aside from exchanging casual banter with Irene and a few other companions during meals, he poured all of his time into practicing his skills.
If Baron Raymond truly ended up forgetting about it, the worst-case scenario was that he would pick a suitable night to slip into the forest on his own, so long as he avoided the patrolling sentries.
By the third day of camping, Fireball had risen all the way to Lv3, and the difficulty of casting it had decreased further.
At the same time, another noble's army arrived in the vicinity and set up camp to the south. From the chatter of others, Roger learned that this noble was Baron Barton.
That afternoon, Roger saw Baron Raymond from afar mounting his tall steed, taking Stine and another knight along to pay a personal visit to Baron Barton's camp.
Roger had no idea what kind of deal the two had struck, but not long after Baron Raymond returned, Stine sent someone over to notify him to prepare to enter the woods and clear out the beasts.
The higher-ups had finally approved it.
Upon receiving the notice, Roger spent twenty points to exchange for twenty standard arrows from the shop. After confirming everything was ready, he lifted his tent flap and stepped out of the camp, preparing to depart.
Just as he stepped out of the camp gates, he saw three people already waiting outside.
One of them was Irene, while the other two were unfamiliar faces.
One was a young man wielding a greatsword. He looked slightly older than Roger and carried a two-handed greatsword that was nearly half his height on his back.
The other was a young female mage holding a staff, dressed in dark mage robes, with a rough, unpolished crystal embedded at the tip of her staff.
Looking at this four-person lineup, Roger immediately realized that Baron Raymond had probably worried a bit too much.
They had clearly agreed it would be a scouting mission, yet they had sent four entire people.
A Rank Four warrior, two unfamiliar faces who looked to be at least Awakened, plus himself—this was already the standard composition of an adventurer party.
For a lousy forest like this, did a scouting mission really require mobilizing four Awakened?
Arranging for a single front-liner who could tank damage would have been more than enough, yet they had sent three. He had originally hoped to make a fortune in silence inside the forest, farming points by solo-kiting a few more beasts. Now, he had three more people to share the kills with.
Roger sighed inwardly, but his face remained completely expressionless. He nodded to the three of them, said, “Let's go,” and took the lead, walking toward the woods.
At the same time, he began to scheme in his mind on how to ditch these three.
Rate on N.U.
