The battlefield was still. Smoke drifted in lazy trails across the broken ground. Goblin bodies and strange metal scraps were scattered everywhere. A weird silence hung in the air—like the world had paused to breathe again.
Jack lay on the ground, arms stretched up to the sky like he had just won the biggest video game boss fight of his life.
"I'm alive!" he shouted, grinning. "Someone write that down. Jack Craneson: Goblin Slayer, Professional Button Presser, and Certified Genius."
Arabella was the first to reach him, hair messy from running, but her eyes wide with worry.
"Jack!" she dropped to her knees beside him. "Are you hurt?"
Beatrice, Howard, and Harold weren't far behind. They all crowded around him, helping him sit up. Beatrice inspected his face like a strict nurse. "You idiot… you scared us."
"I scare myself sometimes," Jack replied with a smirk. "Honestly, I thought that last one was going to blow me to the moon."
Howard shook his head. "What the hell did you even do?"
Jack pointed to the burning heap of metal nearby. "You see that? That, my friend, is what happens when you mix mana crystals, copper wire, and pure desperation."
Harold blinked. "That's it?"
"Well… I also whispered sweet nothings to it before pressing the button. For luck."
Arabella laughed softly, covering her mouth. Beatrice tried to stay serious, but even she cracked a smile.
"You're insane," Beatrice said. "But thank you."
"Anytime," Jack said, leaning back against a rock. "Now if anyone has snacks, water, or a really soft pillow… that'd be great."
There was a short pause.
Then Arabella, brushing dust off her skirt, knelt beside him and smiled. "You can lay on my lap."
Silence.
Beatrice, Howard, and Harold all stared at her like she had just spoken in dragon tongue.
Even Jack opened one eye slowly. "Huh? Wait, for real? Like, your actual lap?"
Arabella giggled and gently tapped his forehead. "Yes, dummy. My actual lap."
Jack grinned wide. "Well… who am I to refuse such royal hospitality? I mean, if a beautiful lady insists, it would be rude to say no, right?"
He shifted slightly and rested his head on her lap with a dramatic sigh. "Ah, five stars. Excellent service. Warm lap, slight smell of flowers. Would recommend."
Arabella chuckled, running her fingers through his hair without thinking twice.
Jack closed his eyes. "I can't stand up anyway, so I'll just stay like this 'til someone brings a stretcher or a sandwich. Whichever comes first."
Beatrice crossed her arms, glaring down at him. "You're really a pervert, you know that?"
Jack opened one eye again and smirked. "Hey, I just got done frying a goblin army with science and luck. Let me have my moment of comfort."
He glanced up at her. "Besides, you had your chance. Now you've been out-rizzed."
Beatrice scoffed, turning away with a swish of her cloak. "Hmph. Keep talking, and I'll let the goblins come back just to drag your smug face away."
Howard leaned toward Harold and whispered, "Should we leave them alone or…?"
Harold just shook his head. "Honestly, I'm kinda invested now."
----
The ground trembled.
From beyond the city gates came the rhythmic thunder of hooves and the echo of marching steel. Birds scattered from the trees as a long shadow stretched over the quiet aftermath of battle.
A horn blew once—deep and commanding.
Jack tilted his head from Arabella's lap, squinting toward the road. "Oh great, more goblins?"
Beatrice shook her head, eyes narrowing. "No… that sound belongs to Porthaven's elite guard."
And then they saw them.
Armored knights, polished and shining despite the dust of the road, marched in unison behind a wall of cavalry. Banners bearing the golden lion of Aurumnhart flew high above them, fluttering proudly in the morning wind. At the front rode a young man clad in silver plate armor trimmed with deep royal blue. His blond hair was swept back, his eyes sharp like a hawk's, and his posture straight as a spear.
He bore the crest of the Duke's House on his chest, a massive greatsword strapped to his back.
This was Liam Aurumnhart—youngest son of Duke Greysen Aurumnhart, brother to Arabella, and Commander of the Porthaven Knights. Known across the region by his moniker: The Lion of Porthaven.
Or, as some whispered in the barracks, The Silver Lion of the South—a name earned from his brutal efficiency on the battlefield and his unshakable leadership.
The battalion came to a halt. Dust swirled around them as Liam dismounted, his cloak flowing behind him like a storm cloud. His gaze swept the battlefield—burnt goblins, shattered tech, the smell of smoke still lingering.
Without saying a word, he strode forward, boots crunching against the blackened earth.
Arabella stood quickly, brushing her skirt and smoothing her hair.
Liam's eyes locked onto her, and his calm expression cracked just a little. "Arabella?"
She nodded. "I'm alright. I stayed back, like I promised."
He looked her over carefully, then glanced to the side—and froze.
Beatrice.
"...You?" Liam blinked. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the Duke's estate."
Beatrice looked away. "I left. A while ago."
"You... broke off the marriage," he said slowly, like he was just catching up to news from another universe. "You didn't tell me."
"I didn't think I had to," she replied, arms crossed.
Before tension could rise, Liam's eyes moved down—to Jack, still lying comfortably on the grass, head now resting on a folded cloak.
"And this... is?"
Arabella hesitated. "This is Jack Craneson. He's the one who stopped the goblins."
Liam frowned slightly, his gaze narrowing.
He stepped closer.
"I can sense your mana. It's massive. But… there's no trace of it being used."
Jack raised a hand weakly. "Yeah, I didn't go all wizard-mode. I just made some gadgets and scared the crap out of them with science and loud noises."
Liam blinked.
"Science?"
Jack pointed at a half-melted speaker lying in the ash. "Boom box of doom. Patent pending."
Beatrice chimed in, stepping beside Jack. "He rigged a whole mess of things—frequencies, mana amplifiers, explosives. It worked. The goblins panicked and burned."
Liam folded his arms, face unreadable.
After a moment, he gave a single nod. "Unorthodox. But effective."
He leaned slightly toward Jack. "I don't know what you are… but you're not ordinary. That much is clear."
Jack smirked. "I get that a lot."
Liam turned back to his soldiers. "Send scouts. Search the area. Report every detail. I want a full account of what happened here."
Then he glanced back at Jack once more. "The city owes you. But until we understand what you are, you'll be watched."
Jack gave a tired thumbs-up. "Cool. Just let me nap first."
As Liam gave his orders to the soldiers, another figure dismounted behind him—his second-in-command, a knight in blackened armor with a red sash across his chest. The man walked with a permanent scowl and a swagger like he owned every inch of the ground he stepped on.
Sir Dareon Velmire—Liam's right hand and known across the barracks as the Iron Fang. Rumor had it he came from noble blood, but had the manners of a boot.
He surveyed the scene, scoffing as his eyes landed on Harold and Howard—who were leaning on a boulder near the edge of the field, sweaty, dirt-covered, and clearly exhausted.
Dareon sneered. "You two. Soldiers of Lady Beatrice, right? You look like you've just come back from hiding in a bush."
Howard raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
Dareon jerked his chin toward Jack, who was still lying flat on the ground like a fallen hero in a school play. "So, while your 'mage' over there blew up an army with some junkyard tricks, the two of you just stood here? What, praying he'd pull it off?"
Harold took a step forward, clearly annoyed. "We held the line. The goblins were already breaking through—Jack gave us a chance. That's all we needed."
Dareon smirked. "Yeah. And from the look of it, you made the most of it by decorating yourselves with mud."
Howard said nothing.
Instead, he turned toward the distant remains of a goblin carcass slumped against a crumbling wall at least fifty yards out. He nocked an arrow, drew his bow in one smooth motion, and loosed it.
Thunk.
The arrow landed clean between the dead goblin's eyes, pinning it to the stone behind it like a trophy.
Dareon blinked.
Howard turned back, calm as ever.
"I don't miss, though."
He let that hang in the air, then added, "You said we did nothing? Count the corpses with arrows in their skulls. That was me."
Harold grinned, not missing a beat. "And the ones with crushed ribs and broken jaws? That was my sword. I was too busy cutting them down to pose for applause."
Dareon's lip curled, but Liam raised a hand and stepped between them before it escalated.
"That's enough."
Dareon backed off with a grunt, muttering something under his breath.
Liam looked at the pair. "You two did your part. I'll read the reports myself."
Howard gave a small nod and slid another arrow into his quiver.
"Good," he said. "Let him count."
Liam stepped forward, eyes locking on Jack, who was still lounging on the ground like he was on vacation.
He exhaled through his nose, half annoyed, half impressed. "Get him up," Liam ordered. "Gently. He's not a sack of flour."
A couple of soldiers nodded and moved toward Jack.
Jack peeked one eye open. "If I say I can't feel my legs, do I get carried like a prince?"
One of the knights paused, confused. "Uh... do we actually—?"
"Just pick him up," Liam muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Arabella smiled, brushing some dirt off Jack's shirt. "Try not to drop him. He's heavier than he looks."
"I'm all muscle and trauma," Jack said with a wink.
Beatrice rolled her eyes. "More like sarcasm and stubbornness."
Liam waved a hand. "Take him to the Duke's mansion. We'll have the healers look at him there. I want a full report by sunset. And someone find out how this 'science' thing works before it blows up the city."
As the soldiers gently lifted Jack, he gave a small salute with his fingers. "To the mansion we go. Do I get grapes fed to me too, or is that extra?"
"No grapes," Liam said flatly. "But we'll keep you alive. For now."
The grand gates of the Duke's mansion creaked open as the soldiers marched in, Jack half-carried by two knights like an injured war hero who talked too much.
Duke Greysen Aurumnhart stood on the front steps, flanked by servants and guards. His sharp eyes narrowed the moment he spotted his daughter—and then locked onto Jack, bruised, dirt-streaked, and grinning like he just won a medal.
"What in Eldoria's name happened out there?" the Duke asked, voice low but urgent.
Liam stepped forward first. "Father. We were too late to join the battle. But somehow... they held the line."
The Duke's eyes widened slightly as Jack was gently lowered onto a cushioned bench. "Get the best healer in Porthaven," he snapped to his butler. "Now."
Arabella walked up to her father, brushing dust off her cloak. "We were attacked. Goblins. Hundreds. Maybe more. Jack stopped them… with some kind of machine and a frequency weapon. He saved the city."
The Duke blinked. "Goblins? That many, this early?" He looked to Arabella. "Are you saying this was… the catastrophe?"
Arabella's expression turned grim. "It felt like it. But… something's wrong. It's not supposed to happen yet. My birthday's still three months away."
The Duke folded his arms. "Then either this was not the curse, or something has changed its timing."
He glanced at Jack, who was now sipping water from a silver cup like a smug patient.
"Still," the Duke continued, "if that was truly it, there's no reason for you to go with him anymore."
Arabella stepped closer, lifting her chin. "I'm still going."
The Duke frowned. "Arabella—"
She cut him off gently. "If this wasn't the real catastrophe, then something worse could still be coming. I have to find answers. And Jack… he's not just involved. He's a part of this."
The room fell silent for a moment. Even Liam was watching quietly.
Finally, the Duke let out a tired breath and nodded. "Very well. But we'll do this properly. With protection. And preparation."
Arabella gave a small smile. "Thank you, Father."
Jack raised his cup. "Cheers to not dying and still getting roped into stuff."
The Duke side-eyed him. "You're lucky my daughter's stubborn."
"I get that a lot," Jack said, leaning back. "Now where's that healer? I think one of my bones is making weird clicking sounds."
A few minutes later, the doors opened again. Three women in long, deep-green robes swept into the room, their boots barely making a sound on the marble floor. All three carried satchels and wore the silver emblem of the Royal Healing Guild.
They looked around, quickly spotting Jack slouched on the bench like he'd paid rent to be there.
The lead healer stepped forward. She had chestnut hair tied in a loose bun, bright amber eyes, and a confident smile that landed straight on Jack like a warm beam of sunshine. "You must be the hero," she said, her voice smooth like she practiced being charming for sport.
Jack blinked. "That obvious?"
She knelt beside him, brushing a bit of dirt from his jaw. "I can feel your mana even from here. It's… intense." Her fingers hovered over his chest like she was checking for wounds, but lingered a little too long.
Beatrice, standing just off to the side, squinted.
"I think your mana's reacting to mine," the healer whispered, almost to herself. "It's... warm. Alive."
"Yeah, it tends to do that when I'm not dying," Jack said casually, though his smirk gave him away.
The second healer, more reserved, started inspecting Jack's arm while the third worked on his leg. Meanwhile, the first one gently placed both hands on his chest, casting a low healing chant.
Arabella watched quietly, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Beatrice muttered under her breath, "She's not here to heal. She's here to flirt."
Jack gave a helpless shrug. "Hey, I'm injured. Let me suffer in peace."
The flirty healer leaned in, far too close. "You'll be just fine, Jack. With mana like yours… you're built for greatness."
Jack glanced toward Arabella and Beatrice. "Why does getting healed feel more dangerous than fighting goblins?"
Harold whispered to Howard, "Should we, uh… save him or something?"
Howard just chuckled. "Nah. Let him cook."
The healing light glowed faintly as the lead healer's hands moved along Jack's chest and shoulders, mending bruises and closing up cuts with a gentle hum. She looked like she was enjoying her job a little too much.
"You know," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "with the mana you've got, I bet you could be a high-ranked battle mage in no time. Ever thought about joining the Guild?"
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Do you flirt with all your patients, or am I just special?"
She winked. "Only the ones radiating enough mana to cook a steak."
Arabella cleared her throat—not loudly, but with just enough bite to turn heads. "He's not applying for any guild. He's recovering. That'll be all."
The other two healers instantly focused back on their tasks. The flirty one lingered for a moment longer, then slowly pulled her hands away. "Right. Of course."
Beatrice smirked. "Guess your charm isn't as effective when the boss is watching."
Jack sat up straighter now, rolling his shoulders. "Okay, okay, everyone chill. I'm still sore in at least five places. Can we argue about my love life after I stop seeing double?"
The second healer gave a polite nod. "Your wounds should fully close by tomorrow. Just rest and don't try anything… magical."
Jack nodded. "No promises."
The Duke re-entered the room just as the healers stepped back, followed closely by his butler, who handed him a scroll. He glanced over it, then looked at Jack.
"You'll be staying in the east wing while you recover. And if you collapse again, I'm charging you rent."
Jack saluted with two fingers. "Noted, Your Grace."
The Duke's expression twitched with the ghost of a smile before turning serious again. "And thank you… for saving my city."
Jack looked at Arabella and Beatrice. "I didn't do it alone."
"Still," the Duke said. "You have my respect. Rest now. There will be more questions later."
As he turned to leave, Jack leaned back against the cushion. "Alright. Anyone else gonna touch me or can I sleep now?"
Howard leaned in from the doorway. "I think the flirty one's still outside if you're feeling lonely."
Jack groaned. "Not helping."
Arabella smirked from the corner, arms still crossed. "Don't worry. I'll guard you."
Jack grinned sleepily. "From goblins or fan girls?"
Beatrice rolled her eyes. "He's back to normal. Can we leave him now?"
Jack finally laid his head back with a satisfied sigh, eyes half-lidded as the ache in his body slowly faded.
Arabella stayed seated beside him, her fingers gently brushing his arm, calm for once. Beatrice leaned against the wall, arms folded but quiet. Harold and Howard had long left to clean up, and the healers had packed up their things.
For the first time in hours, the room was peaceful.
Then—
Boom.
A loud knock echoed from the mansion's main gate—so heavy it rattled the walls.
Everyone froze.
The butler rushed in a second later, breathless. "My Lord! Someone is at the gate. Says he carries a message for Jack Craneson… from Evendale."
The Duke's brow furrowed. "Evendale?"
Arabella straightened. Beatrice stood upright. Jack groaned, pushing himself halfway up.
"What kind of message?" Arabella asked.
The butler hesitated. "He wouldn't say. Only that it's urgent. And that it's from… the King."
Silence fell across the room.
Jack blinked, sitting up straighter. "…The King?"
The butler nodded.
"And there's one more thing," he added, swallowing nervously. "He said… 'Tell the outsider the seer has seen the truth. His arrival was no accident.'"
Jack's breath hitched.
Arabella's eyes widened. "They know."
Beatrice stepped forward. "The capital knows who he is."
Jack leaned back slowly against the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
"…Well, crap."