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Goblin Chapter 203: Repulsion Phase
🕑 Added 2025-08-28 23:07:23 +0000 UTCWith the challenge trial over, everything fell silent. The raucous insectfolk phantoms vanished, and the air no longer thrummed with wing-buzz and chitter.
Only the three of them remained, standing in the middle of the empty, moss-stained ruins of an ancient arena. On the stone terraces around them you could still make out the scars of ages.
“Is that it?” Alia looked around, still a little dazed; the pretty Powderwing settled on her shoulder.
After such a fierce, exhilarating battle, the stillness—and the generous rewards—felt almost dreamlike.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Gauss said, shaking his head, thoughtful. “I wonder if anyone else can trigger the trial later?”
When the phantoms vanished, it felt like whatever force was sustaining this place had burned out. If the trial was a one-off, then they’d really cleaned up.
After the fight, they did what they always did: combed the arena and the surrounding stone stands. Aside from dust—and moss clinging to their clothes—they found nothing. The Briar Behemoth’s remains had dispersed into black smoke; every trace was gone.
With nothing extra to discover, they picked a fairly level, open patch of ground to make camp and rest. Serandur briskly put up a simple tent; Alia washed wild greens and other food they’d picked along the way. Their storage bags held some meat and emergency rations, but the cooler space was limited, so they didn’t carry many vegetables. If you want vitamins and fiber, the best way is to keep an eye out for wild greens and fruit on the road. That job was usually Alia’s.
While she cleaned the food, Ulfen lay quietly at her feet. The recent battle had drained it; for once it behaved, flopping down to rest.
Gauss sat cross-legged on a broad stone and took out the steel longsword that had seen him through so many fights. The edge was still keen, but the clash with the Behemoth had inevitably left tiny chips and scratches. He lowered his head, examining the damage by the light of a nearby Light spell, then drew a whetstone and oil from his kit and set to work.
Scrape… scrape…
The steady rasp sounded loud in the hushed arena. His hands were sure and even, patiently erasing the flaws until the cold blade smoothed back to true beneath the stone.
Nearly a year as an adventurer had taken him from rank novice to practiced hand at weapon care. At first it was novel, then dull; now he’d found its quiet pleasure. The familiar rasping never failed to settle his mind.
First you see the mountain as a mountain; then it’s no longer a mountain; then it’s a mountain again.
Adventuring isn’t all blood and steel. Most of it is the ordinary routine: traveling, foraging, exploring, resting, maintaining gear. The heart-stopping battles are only a sliver of the time. That’s true whether you’re low-tier or already professional. Gauss even suspected that the top-tier adventurers—the ones who seemed born to save cities and civilians—lived much the same way. If you never stop rushing, you can’t breathe.
By the time he finished the maintenance, Alia had the ingredients ready. Gauss walked over. The three of them took turns cooking; today was Alia’s turn.
“What’s on the menu?” he asked, leaning down a little, hands on his knees. In her basket was a plant glowing faint blue.
Seeing his curious face, Alia hummed proudly. She couldn’t match Gauss’s knowledge of edible monsters, but when it came to wild greens and plants, she was the expert. She held up a blue frond that looked like a miniature fern.
“This is leyline fern. The rhizome’s crisp and sweet—you blanch it and toss it cold. You often find them in damp rock cracks near water in the labyrinth.”
Then she picked up a handful of thick, finely serrated, deep-purple leaves. “These are rock-ear greens. A bit astringent, but rich in nutrients. Best in soup. Taste-wise… like spinach that’s been boiled too long.”
He admitted that, compared to meat, he sometimes neglected vegetables. The little lecture taught him plenty—but it didn’t matter; with Alia around, he didn’t need to sweat it.
Before long, with Gauss helping as sous-chef, they had a meal ready—something between afternoon tea and dinner: chilled leyline fern salad, rock-ear soup, smoked jerky, and fine bread with a malty aroma.
Simple fare. The three of them sat around the small campfire and ate quietly.
“This rock-ear soup tastes a little odd, but it warms you right up. Feels great.” Gauss mopped the last of the broth with bread. “Serandur, how about you?”
The serpentfolk adventurer chewed his jerky. “It’s fine. I still prefer meat.”
Alia rolled her eyes. Honestly… a double standard, right? He’d never turned his nose up at Gauss’s veggie soups, but with her carefully made one he’d taken a token sip and gone back to bought jerky and bread. She could feel her fists clenching.
Gauss smiled at the scene. The soft sounds of chewing and quiet chatter, the occasional clink of spoon on bowl, the campfire’s crackle—peace settled over the moss-green ruins of the arena. A place that once meant death, frenzy, and combat now, after almost tens of millennia of weathering, was nothing but great silent stones and a hush that felt nearly sacred. Blood and glory alike had vanished; for Gauss’s team it was just a brief stop along the way.
He let himself relax against the cold stone wall, feeling the solid pressure at his back. He wondered whether the builders, rulers, and gladiators of old could ever have imagined this scene playing out on the same ground.
…
Fed and rested, they checked the time and discussed their next move. It was an awkward hour: not yet time to bed down, but if they kept exploring, they’d only go an hour or two before needing to camp again.
As they hesitated—keep going or call it a day?—a strange, grand sound rolled up from the depths of the labyrinth, and the surroundings began to tremble.
“What’s happening?” Alia braced herself with a hand on the ground.
Gauss rifled his memory and quickly found a matching description in the Labyrinth Guide. “Might be the labyrinth’s ‘Repulsion Phase’!” he told them.
In its growth stage the labyrinth occasionally enters a peculiar repulsion phase. During it, spatial flows become wildly complex—the most dangerous time for outsiders, strong or weak. Anyone can be shredded by turbulent space-time currents.
“But don’t panic—we should still have a buffer before it really starts,” Gauss said, steadying them. Even so, he was puzzled. The books said repulsion phases usually happened during transitions between growth stages. This labyrinth hadn’t been around long; why was it coming so soon?
“Let’s head out for now,” Gauss suggested. He’d calmed them, but it was his first time facing this too; he wasn’t entirely sure.
“Agreed.”
“Then let’s move.”
Just as well—the second run had yielded plenty, and they’d searched most of what they meant to. Pulling out now was a solid haul.
They packed fast, and under Gauss’s lead, followed the map in his head toward the exit. On the way they passed other parties also hurrying along. No one knew the details, but everyone knew now wasn’t the time to linger.
Their withdrawal went smoothly. The mental map did work, and while entrances to lower levels were hard to find, the exit path was fixed. Even in unfamiliar ground, Gauss could judge their position and the lit exit marker to keep the team moving in the right direction and save time.
Night was ink-dark. At last the trio, with the stream of other adventurers, stepped out onto the surface washed in bright moonlight.
