The sight of the smoke billowing from Sharwood sent a jolt of adrenaline through the group. With very few people knowing about the mission to Lumenar, it was unlikely this was a trap, but Roland, ever the cautious leader, knew that blindly rushing into the unknown could jeopardize their entire mission, and potentially their lives. Sharwood was important, but the alliance with the elves was paramount.

  "Jett," Roland commanded, his voice sharp and decisive, "scout ahead. Assess the situation. Determine the source of the fire and the extent of any fighting. We'll follow at a safe distance, ready to react, but we won't commit until we know what we're facing."

  Jett, without a word, melted into the landscape. He seemed to vanish into the terrain, a testament to his skill. He was their eyes and ears, their first line of defence against the unknown.

  William, meanwhile, turned his attention to the ominous plume of smoke. It wasn't just a visual cue; it was a source of information, a story written in the wind. He activated EMMA, focusing his senses and feeding the data into his mental construct. The size and density of the smoke, the direction and strength of the wind, the ambient temperature, the distance to the town – all these data points were fed into EMMA's calculations.

  EMMA's results, presented as a series of overlaid visualizations, quickly yielded a preliminary assessment. The fire, based on its intensity and the volume of smoke, had likely broken out several hours ago. However, the smoke column wasn't diminishing; it was, if anything, growing thicker. This suggested a sustained fire, one that wasn't being effectively contained.

  William relayed his findings to the group, his voice calm and measured, despite the urgency of the situation. "From looking at the smoke and the fact it is growing thicker, we can assume two likely scenarios. Either there was an accident, a fire that started unintentionally, and the townsfolk have been unable to control it. Given the size of the fire, that seems unlikely, as Sharwood is a big enough town with sufficient manpower to control a fire of this size quickly if there was no other hindrance."

  He paused, taking a breath. "The more probable scenario is that there's fighting in Sharwood. A skirmish, most likely. The scale of the fire suggests it's not a full-scale assault by the Dark Legion, but a smaller engagement, perhaps a raiding party."

  Roland listened intently, his brow furrowed in thought. He was surprised at William's analytical abilities, the way he could extract meaning from seemingly insignificant details. It was a skill that complemented Roland's own experience and tactical acumen. But even if William's assessment was accurate, caution was still warranted.

  "Your logic is sound, William," Roland acknowledged, "and your abilities continue to impress. But even a 'skirmish' can be deadly. We don't know the enemy's strength, their tactics, or their potential reinforcements. We wait for Jett's report." William acknowledged the reasoning with a simple nod, impressed with Roland’s ability to remain calm even when under pressure.

  The minutes stretched into an eternity, each tick of the clock amplifying the tension. The distant crackle of fire, carried on the wind, served as a constant reminder of the potential chaos unfolding in Sharwood. Finally, a flicker of movement in the distance signalled Jett's return. He reappeared as silently as he'd vanished, his face grim, his bow still strung and ready.

  "Fires in several buildings – looks like they're beyond saving. A small band of goblins, less than ten, I'd estimate, are engaging the Sharwood militia. They're trying to spread the fire, keep the defenders occupied. It's a hit-and-run, not a full siege."

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  Roland absorbed the information, his mind racing. Less than ten goblins. A manageable threat, especially with the ranged firepower from Julia and Jett. The Sharwood militia, depleted by the previous attack and likely focused on containing the fires, would be vulnerable.

  "We move," Roland declared, his decision made. "Jett, you and Julia take the lead. Pick off any goblins you can from a distance with your bow or with Julia’s spells. William, you're with me. We'll engage directly, support the militia, and try to end this quickly. Caspian, follow us but from a safe distance."

  The plan was simple, direct, and ruthless. They would use their superior training and firepower to overwhelm the small goblin force, minimizing further damage to Sharwood and rescuing its defenders.

  As they spurred their horses forward, Jett and Julia, their bows nocked and spells ready, began their deadly work. Arrows whistled through the air, finding their marks with unnerving accuracy. Spells of force blasted any goblins Julia could see. Goblins, caught off guard by the sudden assault, fell with surprised yelps, their crude weapons clattering to the ground.

  William, riding alongside Roland, felt a surge of adrenaline mixed with a strange sense of calm. This was his first real taste of combat, a far cry from the controlled environment of the training yard. He saw a goblin, separated from its companions, that neither Jett nor Julia had targeted. It was an opportunity, a chance to test his newly acquired magical skills in a real-world scenario.

  Focusing his mind, William visualized the runes for mana, power, and arrow, the components of the Magic Missile spell he had diligently practiced. He whispered the incantation, a low murmur under his breath, channelling his mana into the visualized construct. A bolt of pure magical energy, a shimmering projectile of light, shot forth from his outstretched hand, streaking across the distance with unerring accuracy.

  The missile struck the goblin in the back of the head. It wasn't a killing blow, not as powerful as one cast by an expert like Julia. But it was enough. The goblin staggered, its senses reeling, and collapsed to the ground, unconscious. William, his heart pounding, spurred his horse forward, drawing his longsword. He dispatched the stunned goblin with a swift, clean thrust, a brutal but necessary act in the heat of battle.

  The fight was short and brutal. The combined force Jett’s archery and Julia's magic plus the element of surprise proved too much for the small band of goblins. Outnumbered, outmatched, and caught completely by surprise, they were quickly overwhelmed.

  With the tide turning decisively, the few remaining goblins, realizing they were facing defeat, broke ranks and fled, disappearing into the maze of narrow streets and alleys. The Sharwood militia, bolstered by the arrival of the reinforcements, cheered their victory, a mixture of relief and exhaustion etched on their faces.

  Their immediate priority shifted to containing the fires. The buildings that were already ablaze were beyond saving, consumed by raging infernos. But the militia, aided by the townspeople, worked tirelessly to prevent the flames from spreading, creating firebreaks, dousing nearby structures with water, and doing everything they could to limit the damage.

  As the chaos began to subside, a weary figure emerged from the smoke and debris. It was Captain Oswald, his face blackened with soot, his armour dented and scorched, but his eyes still burning with a fierce determination. He recognized Julia and William almost immediately.

  "Julia? William? Whatever reason brought you here, it's good to see you," Oswald said, his voice hoarse from smoke and shouting. He quickly took in the rest of the group. "And you brought help. Thank you. We were hard-pressed."

  Quick introductions were made, establishing the identities of Roland, Jett, and Caspian. The immediate camaraderie of shared battle, of facing a common enemy, instantly forged a bond between the newcomers and the weary defenders of Sharwood.

  Roland, ever the pragmatist, cut to the chase. "Captain Oswald, what happened here? We thought the main battle was at Oakenfall. Why are goblins attacking Sharwood?" He gestured to the burning buildings, the lingering smoke, the evidence of the recent skirmish. "This wasn't a full assault, was it?"