Border Town was a place of endless noise, wheeling and dealing, and the occasional bar fight that no one really remembered starting. Positioned right at the edge of the kingdom of Utopia, it was a melting pot of merchants, mercenaries, and enough questionable life choices to fill a history book. The streets smelled of grilled meat, unwashed adventurers, and broken dreams, but it was home—at least for the Mercenaries of Mayhem, the most competent group of warriors money could (regrettably) hire.
Which is why, naturally, they were the last ones called for the job of dealing with some goblins.
"Easy money," Bob, the group's fearless (and slightly brainless) leader, declared as they stomped toward the forest just outside of town. His massive hammer rested on his shoulder, and his even more massive shield clanked against his back. "We go in, bash some goblin heads, take the reward, and feast on the town's best ale."
"First of all, that's not how you feast," Derek, the ever-serious swordsman, muttered. "Second, goblins are fast. This won't be—"
"Blah blah blah," Jim, the perpetually drunk martial artist, interrupted. "Less talking, more smashing." He cracked his knuckles, his iron gauntlets glinting in the sun.
Marcus, the genius craftsman, adjusted his custom-made crossbow. "Technically, if we just burn down their camp, we don't have to fight at all," he suggested.
"I like the way you think," Bam, the fire mage, chimed in.
"No. No burning," Derek snapped. "That's unnecessary."
Bam sighed. "There are always exceptions."
As they reached the clearing, the goblins were exactly where the merchants claimed—loitering near the road, stealing whatever wasn't nailed down (and sometimes what was).
"There they are," Bob whispered. "Let's be sneaky."
The entire group took a moment to process this.
Then Jim yelled, "CHAAAAARGE!" and sprinted forward.
"Gods damn it, Jim," Derek muttered before following.
Bob barreled into the fray like a wrecking ball, his hammer sending goblins flying. Derek slashed through the air with practiced precision, cutting down any goblin that got too close. Jim, half-drunk and grinning, dodged arrows with the grace of someone who absolutely should have been hit by now.
Then there was Bam.
Who, as a responsible magic user, aimed carefully, chanted his spell, and—
Threw a fireball directly into the nearest tree.
The tree exploded into flames.
Then another tree.
And another.
"Uh… oops?" Bam muttered.
Bob, in the middle of crushing a goblin's club with his bare hands, turned just in time to see half the forest catch fire.
Jim paused mid-punch, watching the flames spread.
Derek's sword hovered above a cowering goblin as he sighed in exhausted disappointment.
The goblins, upon realizing that fighting was no longer the issue, screamed and scattered in all directions. Some ran into the burning trees, some fled toward the river, and some just kept screaming because that seemed like the thing to do.
The mercenaries stood in silence, watching the inferno they had absolutely not been hired to create.
"Well," Bob finally said, dusting off his hands. "I'd say job well done."
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "How exactly is this 'job well done'?"
"Think about it," Marcus said. "Goblins live in the forest, yeah?"
"…Yeah?"
"The forest is now on fire."
"…Yeah."
"No forest, no goblins."
The group stared at the roaring flames.
"…That checks out," Bob concluded.
"Agreed," Jim said, cracking open his emergency flask.
Bam shrugged. "There are always exceptions."
Derek exhaled slowly, as though his soul was leaving his body. "We are so getting banned from this town."
With the job "complete," the group casually strolled back to Border Town, leaving the fire—and the presumably doomed goblins—behind.
The guild official barely looked up as they reported back. "Did you kill the goblins?"
"They're not gonna be a problem anymore," Bob assured him.
"Good enough. Here's your pay."
Coins exchanged hands. The group left.
Somewhere in the distance, the forest continued to burn.
And thus, another successful mission was in the books.