The second herb was luckily not guarded by an Alpha. It was, however, guarded by a huge group of goblin sappers. This was because the field was right outside of their home caves.

  ‘How the hell am I going to handle this?’ thought Ren as he stared at the mob, feeling his stomach twist.

  There had to be at least twenty goblin sappers swarming around the field, shrieking, stabbing at the dirt, fighting each other, and generally acting like caffeinated rats.

  With their scrappy group, Ren had been dominating small packs of goblins without too much trouble. Three or four goblins at a time? Easy Peasy.

  But this—this was a full-on miniature goblin army. Literally goblins everywhere.

  And there was no way in hell he was going to be able to kite them one at a time.

  Goblin sappers were weak individually and cowardly in small packs, but they weren’t stupid.

  They wouldn’t charge out one by one like idiots for easy slaughter. In Towerbound, the AI for humanoid creatures was noticeably smarter than for non-humanoids—probably to reflect the idea that creatures with hands, language, and society should act like they had some brains.

  Just like with NPCs such as Widow Shelley and other low-tier mobs, the AI scaled with level. The higher the level, the smarter the behavior—for both humanoid and non-humanoid enemies.

  Right now, Ren was stuck fighting the smartest group of AI-controlled creatures he could face at this tier: Goblins.

  So yeah, no cheesy tactics. No picking off one or two and watching the rest stand around like confused chickens. These goblins would flank you, kite you, fake retreats, and dogpile anyone who got separated.

  This wasn’t going to be a slow bleed.

  No, if one goblin screeched and ran, it would trigger the others into a frenzy.

  The entire nest would empty itself in a horrific green tidal wave, and they’d be swarmed.

  He eyed the green field full of goblins beyond again, scowling to himself.

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  Scattered among the patches of moss and fungus was the reason they were here:

  Frostpetal Blooms.

  Short, delicate blue-white flowers that glittered faintly in the cold air, growing stubbornly between the cracks in the rocky field.

  Each one was crucial for the disease-curing potion for Widow Shelly’s quest chain.

  ‘We’re gonna need a better plan than just charging in,’ Ren thought, already feeling a headache coming on as the group gathered behind him, waiting for orders.

  Looking at the team, Ren said, “All right, I think it’s about time for a small break.”

  His third shift timer was running out fast, and he was already feeling the exhaustion creep in.

  ‘I can barely think straight,’ he thought, rubbing at his temples.

  “I’m gonna take six hours to go sleep,” Ren said aloud. “Me and Kanuka are gonna take a break for six hours. Anybody who wants to keep playing, obviously go ahead. But—” he pointed toward the field of goblin sappers, “I don’t recommend doing the second Frostpetal Bloom part yet. We just don’t have enough manpower for it.”

  The group turned to stare at the field of goblins again.

  There were still at least twenty of the little bastards screeching and darting around the flowers like drunk raccoons.

  Yeah. No one argued.

  “We’ve all gotten a good handle on the area, though,” Ren said. “We know the route to the spawn point now. That’s progress.”

  They nodded in agreement, some yawning, some rubbing at their faces.

  “However,” Ren added, grinning, “like every good adventure, we should end at the inn. And because you guys were awesome—I’m buying everybody an ale.”

  “Hooray!” the group cheered.

  They were happy.

  They should be happy.

  But Ren wasn’t just being generous—or building morale.

  He was setting something up.

  Something important.

  The group trooped back into Greenwild Cross, still joking and chatting among themselves.

  Ren’s sharp eyes flicked over to the auction house as they passed.

  As expected, the prices hadn’t changed much.

  The economy in starter towns moved slow at first—nobody had enough cash to really stir the pot yet.

  So they followed through on their earlier promises, double-checking the appraised values and splitting out the loot properly among themselves.

  There weren’t any arguments.

  There weren’t even any complaints about a few copper pieces difference.

  Everyone was too damn happy after their earlier haul.

  And then—true to his word—Ren led them to the Salvatore Inn, the creaky old building with the painted red sign swinging above it.

  The inside smelled like cheap beer, fried onions, and sweaty adventures.

  They found a big corner table, plopped down into the rickety chairs, and Ren headed over to the barkeep to order a round of Salvatore Ales for everyone.

  Six mugs slammed down on the table moments later, frothing over slightly.

  “To the Alpha Slayers!” the mage toasted, raising his mug.

  “To payday!” laughed the thief.

  “To not dying!” Kanuka said, grinning even though he still rubbed his side where the Shadow Wolf had ripped through him.

  Ren lifted his mug high, feeling that rare hum of energy that came when everything was finally going according to plan.

  ‘Soon,’ he thought, ‘real money, real equipment, real cheese… and maybe even a real future.’

  And he drank deep.