A New Friend

The battle had ended, but the air still carried the lingering scent of blood and burning wood. The goblin shaman and the goblin lord, their bodies weary and their hearts heavier still, turned to Hans—the stranger who had felled the demon beast. There was hesitation in their eyes, but also something close to respect.

"Come with us," the goblin lord said. His voice was hoarse, not from age, but from the burden of leadership in such dire times.

Hans nodded and followed without a word.

The path to the goblin village was a trail of destruction. Trees had been split in half, their trunks blackened with claw marks. The ground was torn as if a great beast had rampaged through, which, of course, it had. But the true horror awaited at the village gates.

The once-thriving settlement was now a wasteland of broken huts and shattered lives. Goblin bodies lay scattered across the ground, their small forms twisted in unnatural angles. Straw houses, once offering shelter, now stood in ruin—roofs collapsed, walls torn apart. The dirt beneath Hans's feet was soaked with blood.

The goblins who had survived walked in silence, their gazes filled with grief as they took in the devastation. Some dropped to their knees, whispering names of the fallen. Others clutched their weapons, their sorrow slowly hardening into something darker.

Hans observed them, saying nothing. He was no stranger to destruction, but the weight of loss was always the same.

They moved deeper into the village until they reached a large hall, built entirely of woven straw. Faint murmurs came from within.

The goblins who had survived outside perked up at the sound, their eyes widening with hope. Were there others? Had some managed to escape the slaughter?

The goblin lord wasted no time. "Inside. Now."

But the moment his knights stepped forward, their bodies locked in place. A powerful force gripped them, rendering them motionless. Their eyes darted around in panic as they tried to fight against the invisible restraints.

The shaman's sharp eyes flickered with understanding. He pulled back those who were unaffected, his wrinkled fingers tracing symbols in the air. His mind worked quickly, analyzing the spell's structure.

"This is the work of my disciple," he muttered, his voice tinged with both frustration and admiration. "A protective enchantment."

The goblin lord's brow furrowed. "Explain."

"A spell that forbids entry and exit," the shaman clarified. "Whoever cast this is inside, and unless they allow us in, we cannot enter."

The goblin lord exhaled sharply. "Then how do we break it?"

"We don't." The shaman's voice was grim. "This is not a simple spell, my lord. There is no brute force solution. The only way to undo it is to speak to the caster inside. But that… is impossible. They cannot hear us."

A heavy silence followed.

"So we wait," the goblin lord finally said, frustration simmering beneath his tone.

But as they deliberated, they failed to notice Hans walking past them.

He approached the motionless goblins, studied them briefly, then, without hesitation, grabbed them by their armor and pulled them free. The moment his hands made contact, the spell shattered like fragile glass.

Gasps erupted around him.

Even the shaman, a man of ancient knowledge and magic, could only stare in disbelief.

"This is…" He swallowed, eyes flicking between Hans and the now-freed goblins. "Impossible."

The spell had been designed to halt even creatures as powerful as a demon lord. And yet, Hans had walked through it as if it were nothing more than a gust of wind.

Unfazed by the awe surrounding him, Hans continued toward the hall. The goblins, now freed from the spell's effect, followed cautiously, treating every step as if the ground itself might betray them.

When he reached the entrance, Hans pushed open the woven straw door.

Inside, more than twenty goblins huddled together, eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. Their bodies tensed at the sight of him, some clutching makeshift weapons—daggers, broken spears, even farming tools.

They assumed the worst.

Outside, the goblin lord and the shaman exchanged stunned glances.

"This spell has layers," the shaman murmured, realization dawning on him. "Most goblins struggle even with the weakest tier… But Hans… He walked through every layer as if they did not exist."

Inside the hall, the spellcaster stood frozen. A young goblin, dressed in ceremonial robes, eyes filled with shock.

Hans took another step forward, and the air itself seemed to thin. A suffocating tension filled the room.

The goblins inside shrank back, their fear palpable.

They had lost everything. Their home, their kin. And now, standing before them was a being unlike anything they had encountered before. A man who could do what even the strongest magic could not.

Their fear turned into something deeper. Despair.

Was this their end?

But before that fear could consume them entirely, the door behind Hans swung open again.

A powerful voice rang out.

"Do not be afraid!"

The goblin lord strode inside, his warriors flanking him. His eyes scanned the room, then fell upon the young spellcaster.

"He is our ally," the goblin lord declared, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

The shift in the room was immediate.

Gasps of relief. Exhaled breaths. The goblins, who had moments ago prepared to fight for their lives, now let their weapons fall to the ground.

Hans watched as their expressions softened.

Until now, they had assumed he was the master of the demon beast that had ravaged their home. But as the goblin lord and the shaman recounted their encounter with him, their fear gradually gave way to understanding.

Though goblins belonged to the demon faction, their dialect was different. They could not speak or understand the ancient demon tongue. Even if Hans wished to communicate, he could not.

But then, the goblin lord stepped forward.

Locking eyes with Hans, he spoke in the language of the ancients, a language rarely heard in these lands.

"Thank you, my new friend… for saving me and my people."

Silence filled the hall.

Hans stared at the goblin lord, understanding the words perfectly.

And for the first time since he had set foot in this village, a flicker of something crossed his face.

Not emotion, but recognition.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he had found something worth staying for.