Chapter 9: Goblins?!

The fence shut behind Emil with a soft clunk of the metal lock as he stepped outside. 

Emil stood all alone, facing the vast plain of fields that stretched far beyond his periphery. The wind blew steady, not strong, but enough to brush his hair back. The tall grass hushes and whispers as the wind hits them. He took a deep breath, while taking the first step in this unknown world. 

Email's first few steps were slow. He's not used to jogging in this body. The dirt was too stiff, yet it felt wet. His limbs adjust to his pace, while trampling the damp dirt. But with each step, muscle memory kicked in, it finally felt like his body, Lugira's body coordinates with his thoughts. His foot falls firmer to the ground. Firmer.

One-two. One-two.

He wasn't running, no. That wasn't his goal. This was supposed to be a jog, to build his stamina and endurance. But every step he takes takes a toll on his breath. He felt the barrier where Lugira's body lacks. Although it seems strong, it's still weak inside. Emil encountered a few trails of animal foot, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. 

His gaze swept side to side as he moved. Trees in the distance. The towering fig trees Conrad mentioned. 

At roughly the 2-kilometer mark, as instructed, the smell changed.

Faint. Moist. Like algae. Riverbed.

He slowed to a stop, sweat clinging to the back of his neck. The sky was blue and clean above, the plains open and vast. But it was the silence out here that struck Emil hardest.

He knelt, touching the ground with his palm. It was softer here. Wetter. Not quite mud, but close. His eyes scanned the terrain until he found a trail—the barely-there one the guard pointed out.

Emil followed it.

It didn't take long before he arrived at the first clue.

The giant fig trees stood like old sentinels from the past, their twisted roots spread like exposed veins of humans. Between the large roots, hidden beneath the shadow casted by the sun, Emil spotted a thin, and pale root. It appeared like threads of dried hair.

He knelt and grabbed the root.

Fenroot.

It looked exactly how Conrad described it. Thin and wiry, but when Emil held on to it longer, it had this strange elasticity. There was a scent that followed the root, bitter, earthy just like ginger and burnt ash. 

He got up and walked away, satisfied.

The path grew to be more narrow. The grass grew taller and thicker. The wind shifted once more, becoming damp and cooler. Then he heard frogs croaking softly. There, at the edge of a shallow marsh, beneath a willow-like shrub, was a bluish-green shimmer. Moss. But not like any he had seen back on Earth. It shimmered faintly, but weak with the daylight. It let out a slow, breathing pattern.

Azure moss.

He approached carefully. One step after another. The moss wasn't alone—nearby, small, insect-like creatures flitted about, long-legged and thin-winged. He swatted them away gently, then used the edge of a flat stone to scrape off a portion of the moss.

His heart pounded.

The quiet of the day made his exploration unnerving. He felt the soft hush of the wind across his face. When he looked to the sky, the sun was already dipping from the horizon. He hurriedly stepped out of the tall grass. He remembered the warnings Conrad gave him. What if those were true?! He rushed. He ran straight into the path. Trying to locate where he jogged earlier. 

Just as he thought the coast was clear, two tiny green humanoids stood before him. It was shorter than him, they both had wide smiles that showed their uneven sharp teeth, their noses were long, and their ears were pointy. 

GOBLINS?!

The two goblins were holding a wooden bat with sharp spikes. Emil held his mouth shut. What the hell? They were real?! His eyes frantically moved across the field. Then, suddenly, another goblin popped out of the tall grass beside him. The goblin screeched. It was nothing like Emil has ever heard before. It was like a cry, but it nearly broke his eardrums.

The other two goblins were alerted. They looked straight to where Emil was standing. He froze entirely. It felt like the world paused within the boundaries of time. Emil instinctively ran away. Not in the direction where the fence was, but entirely different.

Emil's legs kicked against the dirt like a machine running on survival alone. The weight of his breath caught in his throat, shallow and dry, and each step made the world blur. He didn't look back. The shrill screech from the goblin still rang in his ears.

His panic sharpened his senses. The trees were still distant, and so was the damned fenced town. His lungs burned. His knees threatened to buckle. His hand still clutched the cloth bundle holding the herbs.

Eventually, the footsteps were quiet. No more shrieks, just his heavy breathing, and the grass around him.

Emil slumped in the shade of a massive rock, beneath a fig tree. He peeked over the ridge, back the way he came.

Nothing.

He waited. Half a minute. Then another.

Silence.

He was alone again. Emil leaned forward, spotting a fallen branch nearby. Thick, solid, nearly the length of his arm. He crawled to it, dragged it back under cover. His hands moved with the memory of field improvisation drills. Make it blunt, thick, and swingable.

A makeshift bat. Not elegant. But deadly enough if wielded. The sun slowly sunk, giving its way to the twin moon in the sky. Shadows thickened across the field. From the tall grass ahead, one goblin emerged. Alone. It was turned away, walking slowly, as if scouting the area. The same uneven teeth. The same foul stench. The same spiked club in its hand.

Emil didn't think.

He moved like a shadow. His heartbeat drowned out every other sound. The bat gripped tightly in his fingers.

Step. Closer. Step.

Then—

CRACK.

The bat smashed into the back of the goblin's head. It dropped instantly. But Emil didn't stop. He brought the bat down again.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

Until the blood stained the soil. His hands grew heavy from all the swinging. He stood over the goblin's corpse, his breathing wrecked. Then, he knelt down, gritted his teeth, and grabbed the corpse by its wrist. He wasn't sure why. Proof? Evidence? 

He began walking across the fields. More careful each step he took. In the distance, movement. Dozens of goblins, grouped together, their silhouettes jagged against the dying sun. I can't go straight. Or else I'd die.

So then, he took a turn instead. Although it would make the distance grow, he can't just swing his bat just like he did earlier.

About an hour passed, maybe more, Emil had finally reached the fence. The big gate appeared to be bigger this time, maybe it was fatigue eating Emil's body. He knocked over the gate. 

KNOCK.

Nothing, his eyes grew heavier. Then, he knocked once again. Then again. And again.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. 

"Open up…" He grunts softly. The gate creaked open, slowly. was the one who opened it. 

"What in God's name—" He paused at the sight of Emil. He stepped through the gate, bruised, filthy, and clutching the limp body of a dead goblin by the wrist.

And behind him, the field kept breathing.

Quiet.

The gate shut behind him with a hollow thunk.

Emil stood under the pale glow of the fence's sigils, blood-streaked, dust-smeared, his eyes locked somewhere far beyond the horizon. The goblin's body dangled from his grip, limp and grotesque.

For a moment, the guards around him said nothing.

Then—rapid footsteps thundered from the right.

"LUGIRA!"

Demio's voice.

Emil turned just as his father stormed down from the side path beside the guard tower, eyes wild, breath ragged. He wasn't wearing his usual uniform jacket, only a tunic hastily thrown over.

Demio halted mid-stride, gaze falling instantly to the bloodied creature in his son's hand.

The man froze.

It was like time dropped dead between them.

His gaze flicked from the corpse to Emil's face. Then to the bat, soaked at the end. Then back to Emil's face again.

"You…" Demio stepped forward. "Where the hell did you go?"

Emil's throat dried. "I ran past the trail. Lost track of the markers. Got too far out… I was heading back when they found me."

Demio was still staring, eyes unreadable. "They?" His voice lowered.

"There were three," Emil said. "I outran two. Killed the third."

Demio looked like he wanted to shout, or curse, or maybe drag Emil back into the house by the ear like a child, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the stiffness in Emil's posture. The steadiness of his eyes. The blood on his shirt wasn't his own.

"You're lucky," Demio finally muttered. "Gods above… you're lucky it was only three. Goblins don't hunt alone, not anymore."

The guards exchanged wary glances. One of them stepped forward. "We've been seeing more, captain. Just this morning, we spotted tracks near the waterline."

Demio didn't look away from Emil. "Get rid of the body. Burn it."

"Yes, sir," the guard said, grabbing the goblin by the leg and dragging it toward the far pit beyond the wall.

The smell hit iron and rot. Emil wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and nodded weakly.

Demio stepped closer, his voice now low, serious. "What the hell were you doing outside the trail, boy?"

Emil paused. "Looking for herbs. Some from the wetland. For a… journal."

Demio's stare lingered. "You're not a soldier. Not yet. Don't act like one." His voice was gruff, but there was a tremor beneath it. A father's fear, poorly disguised beneath a soldier's tone.

Emil said nothing.