Oh Dear

The blood ran down his spear.

He watched as the life faded from the goblin's eyes.

I just killed an intelligent creature. No—No, stop thinking about it.

Focus, Noah. You can't dwell on this. You have to move on.

Shutting down his thoughts, Noah jumped behind Mark, taking the position he had left, guarding Mark's left flank.

As he stood behind Mark, Noah gripped his spear, resetting himself into an athletic stance.

His eyes locked onto another scrappy goblin clawing its way up the wall.

Left, right—shuffle. Noah repeated the footwork drill in his mind. He struck forward, driving the spear straight into the goblin's eye socket. The sharpened tip pierced through bone and brain matter, killing the creature instantly.

Noah leveraged his weight, yanking his spear free with a sharp twist. The motion sent the goblin's lifeless body tumbling to the right, knocking another goblin off the wall along with it.

To his right, Mark was holding his ground, slashing and blocking against two goblins at once. He was managing—surprisingly well—but he was clearly in danger. He needed help.

Noah stepped forward, brandishing his spear.

"On your left, Mark!" Noah called out as he lunged.

His spear struck toward one of the goblins, but the creature reacted instinctively, raising its wooden club to deflect the attack. Noah pulled back, adjusting his stance, then struck again—feinting this time. The goblin hesitated, just for a second.

It was enough.

Mark capitalized on the opening. He parried the other goblin's attack and slammed his shoulder into it, forcing it backward. Then, with a powerful upward slash, he buried his blade into a goblin's armpit, lifting the creature off the ground before throwing it into the air.

Mark steadied himself, the tide of battle shifting in their favor.

Turning, he pivoted to help Noah, who was still keeping his goblin opponent distracted.

Noah swept his spear low, slicing across the goblin's collarbone. The creature hissed in pain, jerking back—just as Mark stepped in, driving his sword deep into its chest from behind.

With a wet gurgle, the goblin sagged against the blade, lifeless.

Both Noah and Mark staggered back, panting. Their bodies were heavy, their arms aching, exhaustion creeping in.

Holy shit, Noah thought. His heart still pounded; his body still surged with adrenaline—but even that wasn't enough to mask the sheer exhaustion weighing him down.

Fighting like this—staying at peak performance at all times—it was brutal.

And it wasn't over yet.

Just as Noah was internalizing his thoughts, a glint caught his eye from the corner of his vision.

His head snapped toward the source—a goblin, sprinting toward him, a rusted dagger glinting in its grip.

Shit—!

With no time to think, Noah reacted on instinct. He swung the butt of his spear at the goblin's head.

But the creature was fast—far faster than he expected.

The goblin ducked low, deftly slipping under the swing. Before Noah could adjust, it was already within his arm's reach, lunging upward with the dagger aimed straight at his throat.

Noah barely twisted in time. The blade skimmed his chin, slicing a shallow cut across his skin.

His heart pounded. Too close.

Realizing his spear was useless at this range, he dropped it without hesitation. Instead, he rammed his shoulder into the goblin, knocking the creature off balance. It stumbled back, tripping over its own feet, and crashed onto the ground.

Noah didn't hesitate.

He threw himself onto the goblin, grappling for the dagger.

The creature shrieked, its scrawny limbs thrashing as it fought back. Its bony fingers clung desperately to the weapon, refusing to let go.

Then—sharp pain.

A searing agony tore through Noah's arm.

The goblin had sunk its jagged teeth into his forearm.

Noah howled, the sensation like nails stabbing straight into his bones. The pressure built, crushing his arm like a steel vice.

"Asshole!" he hissed through clenched teeth, his muscles screaming in protest.

But he couldn't let go.

Ignoring the pain, Noah gritted his teeth and fought on, twisting the goblin's wrist with every ounce of strength he had left.

The dagger wrenched free.

Noah barely had time to breathe before he seized the handle, flipped the blade, and drove it straight into the goblin's throat.

A sickening schlk filled the air.

The goblin's body jerked. Its beady yellow eyes widened in shock, its shrieks choking into gurgles as dark blood poured from its mouth.

Noah didn't move. He just watched as the life drained from the creature's eyes.

Then—finally—the goblin went still.

Noah exhaled, his breath ragged, his body trembling. His arm throbbed where the goblin had bitten him, the wound raw and bleeding. But he was alive.

And the goblin wasn't.

He swallowed hard, pushing himself off the lifeless corpse. The battle around him still raged on, but for this moment—for just this second—he could finally breathe.

But he knew he couldn't rest.

Not yet.

With his left arm bleeding profusely, Noah grit his teeth. His fingers trembled as he reached for his sleeve.

The fabric was damp with sweat and grime, but he didn't care. He yanked a long strip free, his muscles screaming in protest. The pain burned hot, sharp—but he forced himself to ignore it.

He wrapped the cloth around the wound as tightly as he could, knotting it with his teeth. Blood still seeped through, darkening the makeshift bandage, but it would have to do.

Grabbing his spear on the ground Noah picks it up even though he has one arm as the extra reach is still important.

The adrenaline pumping through his veins dulled the ache in his muscles, but he could feel the exhaustion creeping in, gnawing at the edges of his awareness. He tightened his grip on his spear and turned his gaze toward Mark.

Mark had just finished off another goblin, his blade carving through its shoulder in a messy, brutal arc. The creature let out a gurgling shriek before crumpling, dark blood pooling beneath its twitching body.

But something was wrong.

Noah's eyes snapped to Mark's left arm—blood seeped from a fresh wound, a jagged slash running across his bicep. His fingers twitched where they clutched his sword, his grip weakened by pain.

"Mark, you're hit!" Noah called, stepping closer.

Mark gritted his teeth, rolling his shoulder as if to shake off the pain. "I'm fine," he huffed. "It's just a scratch."

It wasn't. The cut was deep, not fatal but enough to slow him down. And in a fight like this, slowing down was a death sentence.

Before Noah could argue, a thunderous voice tore through the chaos.

"MOVE YOUR ASSES! STOP STANDING AROUND LIKE IDIOTS!"

The instructor.

Noah's head snapped toward the heart of the battlefield.

There—amidst the carnage—stood the instructor, completely surrounded.

Five goblins attacked him at once, their crude weapons hacking at him from every direction. Yet he stood firm, his movements a blur of calculated violence.

His sword danced through the air, every strike a precise, devastating execution. He cut through the first goblin's throat with a single stroke, then pivoted, kicking another in the chest so hard its ribcage cracked.

Another goblin lunged at him from behind.

Without even looking, the instructor ducked low, avoiding the wild swing. With one fluid motion, he rammed his elbow backward, shattering the goblin's nose, then drove his blade into its gut.

And still, magic rained down on him.

Dark energy crackled from above, streaks of violet and black cascading toward him like arrows of pure death. The goblin shaman stood atop a rock in the distance, its bony fingers curled around its staff, chanting in that guttural, vile tongue.

Noah's breath hitched.

A moment later, flames erupted from the instructor's sword.

With a fierce, almost casual swing, he slashed the air—sending an arc of fire roaring upward. The flames collided with the descending magic, detonating in a violent explosion that sent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield.

The goblins hesitated.

The instructor did not.

Seizing the opening, he rushed forward.

The remaining two goblins barely had time to react before his blade carved through them in rapid succession, their bodies collapsing like felled trees.

Noah swallowed hard.

This man wasn't just strong.

He was unstoppable.

But even as the instructor fought, he never stopped barking orders.

"You! With the spear! Cover your wounded! If he dies, it's your fault!" His voice boomed as his sword struck another enemy. "Archers! FOCUS YOUR FIRE ON THAT SHAMAN BEFORE IT BLASTS US ALL TO HELL!"

Noah barely had time to register the words before movement caught his eye.

A goblin was climbing up behind Mark.

It moved low and fast, its rusted dagger aimed straight for the exposed gap between Mark's ribs.

Noah reacted.

His body moved before his mind could catch up.

With a sharp twist, he spun his spear in his grip and lunged.

The spear pierced through the goblin's throat just as it leaped.

Its beady eyes bulged in shock, its screech turning into a wet gurgle as blood bubbled from its mouth. Its momentum carried it forward, but Noah yanked his weapon free, letting the body crumple against the stone.

Mark turned, panting, his eyes wide.

Noah steadied his stance, breathless but focused. He had just saved Mark's life.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

Because at that moment, the goblin shaman raised its staff once more.

And this time—the magic it summoned was even stronger.

A deep, unnatural howl echoed across the battlefield.

Something else was coming.