Throughout his many years as Cynthia's Royal Messenger, Goblin Halleck had never so desperately craved the surface and the sweet rush of fresh air in his lungs. He emerged slightly off his intended mark, but still within the front lines. Spitting out a mouthful of soil, he anxiously awaited his brother's arrival. Having depleted his golden powder supply, he had deliberately widened the tunnel three or four times its usual dimensions to facilitate Idaho's connection. "Where are you hiding, my good brother?" he muttered, scanning the battlefield anxiously, periodically ducking below ground with only his eyes visible when thundering hooves approached. Roughly ten yards ahead, the earth heaved upward—Idaho's head suddenly erupted through the mound of dirt. "Did you make the connection?" Halleck called out nervously.

  "Yes, I linked with your golden powder trail," Idaho responded, one hand pressed firmly against his chest to suppress an asthma attack while the other wiped pea-sized sweat droplets from his nose. "This tunnel of yours is a fair bit wider than usual."

  "To facilitate your connection," his brother replied smugly. "Curious coincidence—my thinking mirrored yours," Idaho drawled deliberately. "My tunnel exceeds yours by twofold."

  "I hope such extravagance didn't deplete your magical reserves," Halleck remarked with a disapproving frown. "The Primal Source here is nearly exhausted. If the headmaster hadn't discerned the truth, the Wall of Cynthia would now be nothing but rubble, brother."

  "His intelligence matches my expectations. We needed only to fulfill our responsibilities; excessive elaboration serves no purpose." He recognized his brother's lingering resentment over their interrupted historical narrative regarding goblins in Cynthia. "We should signal Patrick that preparations are complete." Halleck pivoted toward the walls, waving vigorously. "You must emerge completely, stand upright, wave and leap simultaneously. We've deviated from our designated position—with half your body entombed in soil, who in the nine hells could possibly notice you?"

  "I harbor no objection to performing as a roadside dancing monkey," Goblin Halleck declared as he extracted himself from the earth. "But please moderate your language, brother. You've maintained verbal propriety for twelve years."

  "Only because you weren't within earshot," Idaho murmured. Halleck missed the comment. He bounded from his earthen confines, brushed accumulated dirt from his clothing, and commenced an energetic combination of jumping and arm-waving. "You could scream your lungs out and the headmaster wouldn't hear you. Don't draw any more eyes to us."

  While maintaining vigilance, Idaho worried whether Patrick would detect their signal, but his concerns dissipated moments later. The ground between them began fracturing, accompanied by rising sand, corpses, weapons, and brilliant golden particles suspended in the air. "Finally," Idaho exhaled profoundly with relief. "We've completed this accursed, challenging assignment. Can you identify any discontinuities where golden powder might be absent?"

  "None apparent," Halleck replied, surveying their surroundings. Even from considerable distance, the undulating golden waves extending through the air remained clearly visible. "Our performance was exemplary." He turned toward his brother's protruding head, hands positioned triumphantly on his hips, diminutive belly protruding beneath his simple tunic. "Not since the Dark Era itself have we goblins worked such a miracle. We have raised another wall—a Wall of Gold to stand against ten thousand horse."

  "Hmph." Idaho's derisive snort contrasted with his expression of unmistakable pride and satisfaction. He reclined comfortably, adopting a sun-bathing posture. "Perhaps Patrick's assessment was accurate—perhaps we goblins truly possess a measure of greatness." He closed his eyes, missing Halleck's expression of sudden horror. "Idaho."

  "Speak, beloved brother."

  "The headmaster specifically instructed that upon witnessing his signal—the rising golden powder—immediate battlefield evacuation becomes imperative."

  "Theoretically accurate, but currently irrelevant," he responded dismissively. "We're positioned adjacent to the magical barrier, Godman forces have initiated retreat, and Cynthian pursuers are absent. The immediate danger has subsided substantially, making brief delay inconsequential. Besides, surely you desire to witness the inaugural manifestation of the Wall of Gold you helped establish?"

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  It stunned Halleck that his brother, always so level-headed and reserved, could harbor such a streak of vanity. "Idaho, I must emphasize—you're directly opposite me."

  "Your point being?" Idaho opened his eyes. "Oh, bloody hell."

  "Extract yourself immediately!" Halleck shouted hoarsely. "Run! Jump! You addlepated fool!"

  Goblin Halleck struggled desperately to escape the earth, but the glass vial suspended around his neck became entrapped, its cord constricting his throat. "Abandon it!" his brother commanded, stamping furiously. Idaho flung the vessel aside and launched himself toward Halleck. "Jump!" Halleck gestured frantically at the fissure, slightly exceeding one meter in width. "Jump! NOW!"

  Idaho should feel profound gratitude that the bottle's entanglement consumed precious seconds—otherwise, the Goldbrick Wall would have bisected him instantly. As he leapt, the magical barrier erupted from the earth with explosive force, propelling Idaho fifty feet through the air. Though consciousness remained intact, every nerve in his body tingled excruciatingly, accompanied by blinding cranial pain. Halleck stared in absolute despair at the semi-transparent golden barrier flickering with electrical discharges, shouting his brother's name repeatedly, interspersed with colorful profanity.

  Never again would he criticize Idaho's occasional linguistic impropriety.

  Patrick Fort found himself surprised by his visual acuity. Despite the goblins' deviation from their designated emergence point, he located them with remarkable efficiency. "Have you identified your objective?" inquired the corpulent archer while diligently repairing his bow. The headmaster nodded affirmatively, returning the corroded spyglass. "Successfully confirmed, praise the divine. Their diminutive stature initially suggested significant difficulty."

  "From this elevated vantage, all terrestrial entities appear minuscule," observed the rotund soldier. "Perhaps battlefield perspective contributes to this phenomenon."

  Patrick Fort positioned his staff firmly upon the stone, elevated both hands ceremoniously, and commenced his arcane incantation. The yellow diamond adorning the staff's apex radiated brilliance—not in intermittent pulses but with sustained, intense luminosity resembling combustion. "Has the procedure initiated?" the supply soldier inquired excitedly, rising to his feet while embracing a longbow, his expression betraying profound admiration. The headmaster articulated his spell with meticulous precision—these linguistic constructs remained unfamiliar, their memorization from academic texts requiring considerable effort. A rapturous smile spread across the pimply youth's face. He planted his longbow in the ground and began to mouth the words himself, imagining that he too was a sorcerer, weaving magic at this very moment. On this occasion, even moderate seismic activity would prove insufficient to disrupt his fascination—he had become entirely engrossed in the magical spectacle unfolding before him. When the Goldbrick Wall erupted from the earth, encompassing a half-circle with a radius of a full league beyond the gate, he was struck completely dumb.

  "Your assessment?" the headmaster inquired with evident satisfaction. "It's... magnificent beyond articulation, sir," stammered the corpulent youth, nearly severing his tongue. "I... lack adequate vocabulary to express my impression, please accept my linguistic inadequacy..."

  "When words fail, you need only watch. No commentary is needed," Patrick responded, clearly pleased with this reaction.

  "Does it possess substantial structural integrity?"

  "Exceptional resilience."

  "Sufficient to repel Godman forces?"

  "Precisely its designed purpose."

  "Even against cavalry charges?"

  "It would withstand Riftjaw Dragon fangs, Green Lizard Dragon acidic secretions, and Griffin talons."

  "Merciful deities."

  "Indeed, divine intervention comparable."

  "We possess genuine opportunity for triumph?"

  "Assuming we maintain defense until reinforcement arrival, I believe that assessment accurate."

  "Sacred heavens. I... verbal expression fails me entirely. I had resigned myself to perishing here, atop these frigid stones suspended in the firmament..."

  "Simply observe."

  The rotund youth nodded silently, swallowing audibly. His thoughts raced frantically, reviewing his entire existence from earliest consciousness, contemplating the barrier, its electrical manifestations, and the triumphant mage before him. His resolution crystallized—upon conflict resolution, he would petition for apprenticeship to master the arcane disciplines.

  Patrick Fort surveyed his creation with profound satisfaction. He remained oblivious that his barrier, while effectively containing Godman forces, had simultaneously separated the goblin brothers. His joy swelled into pride, and that pride began to curdle into hubris. Only three hours hence, when Godman magical practitioners—under Lostya's coven leadership—successfully breached the Goldbrick Wall, would he encounter genuine challenge.