Chapters 11 Commander Fallek falls part 1

The next two hours were a blur of excited chatter, loot-sorting, and quiet awe. Everyone had hit level 10, some even pushing into 11. They’d looted 10 gold in raw coin and harvested 450 red crystals—which Benjamin Fauler had promptly bought back for ten silver apiece, netting another 4 gold and 500 silver.

True to her word, Blue let Robin Arrow keep the crystal earnings. She simply pocketed the 10 gold.

No one complained.

Not when she’d just handed them the best start in Thirian.

Blue stood before the auction house, her interface open as she finalized the transfer—Assassin Boots and a pair of finely crafted silver daggers. She'd bought them earlier, and now she was sending them off to Frost. A familiar ping echoed.

Not long after, her phone rang.

She picked up, smiling the moment she saw the name flash across the screen.

“Mom! Thanks a bunch!” Frost’s voice came in fast, almost tripping over itself. “The daggers are OP! I’ll make it to Falkenhide by tomorrow, for sure! Where are you?!”

She laughed, her chest warming at the excitement in his tone. “I’m here already, waiting for you. Found that rare herb quest we got from Mr. Hubert—turned out the reward was full citizenship.”

“No way!” he whined. “I could’ve been in the city by now!”

She chuckled. “Maybe, but the game’s more fun with your friends. You’ll enjoy the journey more than just teleporting straight to the end.”

Frost grumbled, then sighed. “Yeah, I guess. But I miss you. When I get there, we’re questing together, deal?”

“Deal,” she said, smiling. She could hear the longing in his voice—and her own heart pulled a little at it.

In the background, a second voice chimed in, dramatic and loud.

“Miss Dawson, we’re starving! Help! Send candy!”

It was Charlie.

She burst out laughing. “Fine, you little gremlins.”

Opening her wallet, she sent over 2 silver to Frost’s account.

“But,” she added, her tone shifting with maternal weight, “if any of you ever consider joining a guild or adventure group—you send me the contracts first. Understand?”

A chorus of groans erupted on the other end.

“Promise us you won’t let us get cyber-kidnapped,” Frost muttered with a laugh.

“I’m serious,” she said, though she was still smiling. “Thirian’s going to change fast. Too fast. Morals won’t always matter to people who want power, and you’re kids. I just want you to stay safe.”

“Okay, okay,” they chorused. “Yes, Mom.”

She said her goodbyes and hung up—heart lighter, but mind already spinning.

The next objective was too important to delay.

Helping the dark elf tribe push back the ogre rebels wasn’t just a side quest—it was the start of something critical. The ogres had been raiding supply caches and trade routes for weeks, weakening the dark elves’ territory. But if Blue and her party could help uproot the ogre commander, the rebellion would crumble. Without leadership, the remaining ogres would scatter—and the elves would finally have room to rebuild their defenses.

Completing the mission wouldn’t just earn them XP or coin. It would forge likeness with the dark elf race and open up exclusive trade channels—offering rare elven goods in exchange for basic human items. The profit margin alone made this one of the most lucrative diplomatic quests in early Thirian.

This wasn’t one she could put off.

Now that she had steady income through the mine, her next step was future partnerships. Trade networks. Supply deals. Resource monopolies. Then—when the timing was right—a guild base.

In two weeks, the Robin Arrows would be off chasing their own goals. They were loyal, but she couldn’t monopolize their time forever.

The rest window passed like a dream. Blurred laughter, glinting coins, the rustle of looted packs, and weary warriors stretched across tavern beds.

And then—it was over.

As the sun dipped low and painted the treetops in shades of molten amber, the Robin Arrows gathered at the North Gate, where cobblestone gave way to a frost-lined road and the scent of pine hung crisp in the air.

Blue waited astride a pale-grey mare.

Upon seeing them, she hopped off, her cloak fluttering lightly in the breeze. The last rays of sun bathed the ground in the warm light of early evening, pooling at her feet like spilled magic. She looked up just in time to see Happy Riddler sprinting ahead of the others, waving both arms with wild excitement.

“Blue! We’re here!” he yelled, his grin stretching wide.

She laughed, raising an arm lazily in greeting. “I see that.”

He skidded to a stop beside her, breathless but still beaming. “I bought it. Like you said. The poison sling belt.”

Throwing open his cloak with theatrical flair, he revealed a leather sling strung diagonally across his chest. Glass vials of colored venom were tucked snug into each loop—greens, purples, even a viscous gold. His whole body buzzed with pride.

“Cool,” Blue said, genuinely intrigued. She leaned over, inspecting the setup. “Very cool. Honestly, I’m a little envious of the ranger class. Utility and drama—great combination.”

Happy Riddler flushed and shook his head vigorously. “Don’t be! You’re the best mage I’ve ever seen. Like—how do you cast that fast? And why’s your mana bar twice the size of ours? Are you even the same level as us?!”

His awe was innocent, hungry. The kind of admiration that comes from someone watching a master without yet understanding how far they still have to go. His voice alone drew the attention of nearby teammates—several of whom leaned closer, pretending to adjust their gear or stretch, really just hoping to catch Blue’s answer. She noticed none of it.

“My mana is very much average,” she replied simply, as casually as if discussing groceries. “I just don’t waste it the way most mages do. Half your power drains from drawing too much or chanting too slow. Every second and syllable adds up. Precision matters.”

Happy blinked, absorbing the words like gospel.

“But don’t compare yourself to me,” she added, her tone gentler now. “You’re all talented. A few of you even surprised me.”

His eyes went wide. “Wait—really? Who impressed you the most? Come on, tell us!”

Blue sighed. “You. Now stop pestering me.”

He lit up, half-certain she was joking, half-desperate to believe she wasn’t.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Before he could press his luck, a shadow stepped between them.

Fireblade.

Her posture was sharp, chin tilted just enough to make her point without saying a word. Her dark coat flared in the breeze, and her gaze—intense, unblinking—met Happy’s with all the warmth of a lit match held to dry straw.

He shrank back with a sheepish grin. “So… did I impress her or not?”

No one answered.

Blue used the moment to regain command.

“Everyone but Fireblade, Poison Fang, and Riddler—onto the wagon. You three,” she said, nodding toward the trio, “take a horse each. You’ll be riding into battle. Use the trip to get familiar with the mechanics.”

The three blinked.

Then grinned.

The others groaned from inside the carriage, some pressing their faces to the slatted windows like kids jealous of a theme park ride. Horseback travel wasn’t just faster—it was stylish.

Blue mounted her horse smoothly, casting a look behind her. “The ride’s short. An hour and a half through willow trails. Listen close—I’ll explain the op as we go.”

With a flick of the reins, the group moved out—hooves crunching over moss-lined roads, trees whispering in the wind above.

It was peaceful—eerily so.

As they rode deeper into the forest, the sky behind them turned orange-pink. The air was cool in their lungs, edged with that early-night chill.

Blue rode at the front, her voice calm and certain as she outlined their plan.

“There’s an ogre commander reinforcing the rebel line near the dark elf border. Poison Fang and Riddler—your job is to kill him.”

Both blinked.

Us? Not you or Fireblade?

Poison Fang gaped. She knew her role in the group—at the top stood Blue and Fireblade. That she and Happy had been tapped instead… baffled was putting it lightly.

Blue shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal and kept going. “You’ll infiltrate the ridge and get close. Fireblade will run at your flank. Poison, your job is to thrust your dagger into the ogre. Cut deep. Or—land a poison vial directly into an open wound.”

“If you can poison him, we may drop him before the fight even begins,” she added.

“What if we fail?” Poison Fang asked, voice low.

Blue met her eyes. “Then Team Tango—me and Riddler—clean it up. We’ll use the chaos of your failed assassination to strike from a different angle at range. Either way, he dies. Understood?”

Both nodded.

“Good,” Blue said.

Fireblade gave a dry laugh. “Admit it. Me and Poison are the meat shields. This plan hinges on your ranged attacks.”

Blue side-eyed her and passed over a small bag. Fire checked the contents, then raised a brow.

“These are… exploding snappers?” she asked. “As in, if you shoot them—”

“They explode,” Blue confirmed.

That was the only reply she got.

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At the end of their ride, Blue dismounted and approached the sealed elven fort.

A handsome, dark-skinned man with pointed ears stepped forward. His voice boomed across the clearing.

“Halt! This area is restricted. Turn back—or my arrows will show no mercy!”

Blue raised both hands peacefully and toggled her public title:

Holy Soldier, Slayer of the Dark.

“Humble guard of your tribe,” she said. “I’m Blue, a soldier who fights in the light against all that threatens nature and its beautiful creatures. I want to offer our help in safeguarding your fort tonight. In return, all I ask is shelter from the cold.”

The guard eyed them carefully.

Then nodded.

“What luck. The gods shine on us tonight. I am Alrek, dark knight-captain. I shall grant you stay and shelter.”

📜 Notice: You have discovered one of the Elven Kingdom’s stronghold towers, tasked with keeping enemies at bay.

The system prompt flashed, and Blue swatted it away.

The gates creaked open, and Blue watched the wagon roll in while she and the three riders peeled off, heading toward where she knew the ogre camp to be.

Fireblade, beside her, spoke up. “You think the others will be okay in there?”

Blue nodded. “They’ll get food, alcohol, and siege weapons. First mission starts after the elves throw a welcome feast. Then we’ll all get the mission to defend the elven stronghold—five nights. Each night, the attacks grow in scale.”

She glanced at the trees as they rode deeper, her voice quieter now. “Day two or three, I know for a fact they won’t hold out. Not unless they’ve got a thousand players on their side. But if we kill the ogre commander directly, the rebellion crumbles—and we pass.”

Poison Fang groaned. “Damn it. They get food and siege weapons, and I’m the bait.”

Her response earned a few chuckles—but it unnerved her how no one denied it.

She swore softly at her luck and her lot in the mission.

Still.

She’d do her best either way.

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Another hour passed in slow, nerve-prickling silence. The trees grew denser, the air thicker. Shadows stretched long across the dirt path, and even the birds had gone quiet—like nature itself was holding its breath.

Then, the notification hit:

🔻 ALERT: Hostile Environment Detected

⚠️ You have entered: Camp of Commander Fallek

Affiliation: Envoy of the Dark Allied Forces

→ Recognized Enemy of All Human Players

🩸 Recommended Level: 12

🛑 Status Effects Applied:

• Debuff – Stamina Drain (due to proximity to higher-threat enemies)

• Debuff – Concentration Impairment (caused by ambient fear aura)

A deep chill seemed to settle into their bones, even though the air remained dry and warm.

“I’m actually losing stamina just standing here,” Fireblade muttered, checking her stats. “That’s bull.”

“Same,” Poison Fang whispered. “This is messed up.”

“Quiet,” Blue snapped, her voice low but sharp. She and Riddler turned their horses off the trail, riding silently toward higher ground. “Split. We’ll do recon first. Stay sharp.”

Poison and Fire dismounted quietly, slipping into the brush on foot and circling the perimeter of the camp. They crouched low, moving beneath the gnarled roots of ancient trees. Their breaths came soft but ragged.

The camp emerged through the mist like a bruise against the forest—brutal and ugly, built from bone-reinforced timber and blackened hide. It sprawled in crooked rings, the largest tent looming in the center like a tumor, stitched from red-dripped leathers and ribbed with warped metal beams.

And the sounds…

The creatures inside didn’t just grunt—they spoke.

Rough, throaty snarls that slurred into something almost like language. Words built of broken consonants and wet vowels, like pigs trying to mimic speech. It was hideous. And loud.

“Gruurkt vaash,” one orc hissed, its tusks twitching, voice thick with mucus and hate.

A lumbering ogre responded with a choking laugh and slammed its club against a stone, sending a shock through the ground.

Another pair of goblins scuttled by on all fours, chattering like rats in a wall, hunched and twitchy. They dragged something behind them. Flesh. Unmoving.

The stench of blood and boiled rot clung to the air.

Patrols were organized in a mockery of discipline—three orcs with war cleavers marching together, flanked by two horned goblins baring sharpened teeth. Every few minutes, a hunched figure cloaked in shadow passed between tents, dragging chains or muttering to itself in that same sickening, squealing tongue.

Happy Riddler, crouched on his overlook perch, activated his Ranger’s Sight. His vision sharpened, heat and aura signatures flaring into focus like streaks of colored flame across the dim camp. He scanned the spread.

Twenty, maybe twenty-five hostiles total.

But the readout was worse than expected.

🐾 Ogre Knight – Level 13

🐾 Hench Goblin – Level 9

And then…

One more.

One that stood out.

Near the central tent, towering over the rest, stood a grotesque creature—easily eight feet tall. Its skin was mottled grey-blue, crusted with callouses and strange boils. Its arms were thick as tree trunks, and its breath steamed in the air, foul and heavy. Yellowed tusks jutted up from its lower jaw, cracked and chipped, while drool gleamed off its tangled, beard-matted chin.

Its armor was mismatched—iron plates, fur scraps, and even bones lashed together by rusted chain.

The helmet it wore was a human skull, hollowed and scorched black from fire.

Commander Fallek.

🐾 Ogre Commander – Level: ??? (Unknown)

The beast raised a hand, barking a slurred, guttural order in its foul tongue.

Patrols shifted. Lines rotated.

Tension rippled across the camp like a coming quake.

Happy’s pulse spiked. He swallowed hard.

He’d found the target.

But now that he’d seen it up close?

He wasn’t sure how the hell they were supposed to kill it.

At level 11, his Appraisal skill could identify enemies two levels above him. For the commander to still register as “???” meant at least level 14, possibly higher. That alone made his hands tremble slightly.

He was about to relay what he’d seen when he noticed a ping from Blue in the team chat. She’d already uploaded a detailed enemy map, complete with movement patterns and patrol rotations. He read the line she just added to their chat, detailing the patroller patterns.

He turned to her, confused.

Since when did mages have Eagle Eye appraisal skills?

Then again, Blue seemed different. If it was her, then it wasn’t out of the question, he surmised—turning back to lock onto his target.

At the signal, he had to be ready to fire three poison-arrow shots.