The goblins, their eyes glowing red with unnatural fury, charged at the remaining humans.

Their movements were erratic, faster than before, their sharpened claws gleaming under the moonlight.

The humans, armed with whatever tools they had, braced themselves.

A man wielding a pickaxe gritted his teeth, raising his weapon high as a goblin lunged at him.

He swung with all his strength.

The goblin, unnaturally quick, dodged at the last moment.

The pickaxe struck the dirt with a heavy thud, burying itself deep into the ground.

The man yanked at it desperately, but it wouldn’t budge.

Before he could react, the goblin pounced, snarling.

He barely managed to throw himself backward, abandoning his weapon.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he scrambled away.

But the goblin didn’t stop.

It chased after him relentlessly, its dagger glinting under the torchlight.

The man turned to flee, but his foot caught on a loose stone.

He stumbled—then fell, his back slamming against the hard earth.

His breath hitched.

The goblin stood over him, dagger raised.

This was it.

But before the dagger could strike—

Clang!

A sharp metallic sound echoed through the night.

A blade had intercepted the goblin’s attack.

The man’s wide eyes darted to his savior.

It was Kenta.

The boy stood before him, gripping a short sword—no, a large dagger—his small frame trembling, but his eyes filled with resolve.

“Kenta?!” the man gasped.

Kenta had slipped away from the villagers, running straight into the battlefield.

The goblin snarled, momentarily surprised, but then it shoved Kenta back with a growl.

The boy stumbled, barely keeping his footing.

The goblin’s dagger gleamed as it prepared to strike again.

But before it could—

Slash!

A blade cut through the night.

The goblin’s head rolled before its body even hit the ground.

Asael stood behind it, his sword dripping with green blood.

His golden eyes locked onto Kenta.

"Good job." His voice was steady, but there was no praise in his tone.

Only urgency.

"But leave now."

Before Kenta could protest, the village chief’s voice rang out.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Kenta! Come back this instant!”

Kenta hesitated, his fists clenched.

But as he glanced at the man he had saved, then at Asael’s serious gaze, he finally nodded and ran back, helping the injured man retreat.

Asael turned his attention back to the battlefield.

The villagers were fighting bravely, but they were struggling.

The goblins’ enhanced speed and strength were overwhelming them.

And the goblin shaman was also attacking them.

More men were injured, their makeshift weapons unable to match the monsters’ relentless assault.

He couldn’t let this drag on any longer.

He took a deep breath.

Then he raised his sword high.

“Everyone, let’s finish this!” Asael roared.

His voice was like a battle cry.

The villagers, though exhausted and wounded, found renewed strength.

With a collective shout, they charged.

The goblins shrieked, but they weren’t as organized as before.

The villagers, working together, managed to overwhelm them.

Some villagers used torches to keep the goblins at bay, while others wielded farming tools to strike whenever an opening appeared.

Asael moved like a whirlwind among them, his sword cutting through goblins with precision.

One goblin tried to jump on him from behind.

Without turning, Asael drove his sword backward, impaling the creature mid-air.

Another swung its club at him, but he ducked, slashing its legs before finishing it with a stab through the heart.

One by one, the goblins fell.

Soon, only one remained.

The goblin shaman.

The hunched creature, seeing its forces annihilated, screeched in desperation.

Its hands moved quickly, forming strange symbols in the air as it muttered an incantation.

Asael dashed toward it, sword raised—

But just before he could reach it, a thick, dark mist erupted around the goblin.

Asael slashed through the air, but his blade met nothing.

By the time the mist faded, the goblin shaman was gone.

A heavy silence settled over the battlefield.

The villagers, battered and exhausted, looked around in disbelief.

They had won.

Asael wiped the green blood from his blade, his expression unreadable.

The goblin shaman had escaped.

And that meant trouble would come again.

But for tonight…

The village was safe.

The scent of blood still lingered in the air as the villagers worked together to clear the battlefield.

The bodies of fallen goblins were dragged into a pile outside the village, their twisted forms illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

Some villagers muttered prayers, others spat at the corpses, cursing the creatures for the havoc they had wrought.

The wounded were carefully carried back to their homes, where their wounds were tended to with whatever herbs and bandages the village had.

Some winced and groaned in pain, while others sat in silence, exhausted but relieved to have survived.

Inside the village, the mood was completely different.

Laughter and cheers filled the air.

The villagers, though weary, had gathered to celebrate their survival.

Makeshift tables were set up, and food was prepared in honor of their victory.

A fire crackled at the center of the village square, casting warm light over the people as they clapped each other on the back and shared stories of the battle.

But amidst the celebration, one person wasn’t smiling.

Kenta.

The boy sat quietly on a wooden stool, his hands clenched into fists on his lap.

His head was lowered, and his face was red—not from exhaustion, but from the scolding he was receiving.

His grandfather, the village chief, stood in front of him, arms crossed, his usual kind expression replaced with disappointment.

“Why did you run into battle, Kenta?” The chief’s voice was firm, but not angry.

"It was dangerous. You could’ve been killed!”

His mother knelt beside him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

Her voice was softer, but filled with worry.

“What if something had happened to you?” she asked. “I—” Her voice wavered, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

“You’re my only child. I can’t lose you too.”

Kenta’s lips trembled, but he clenched his fists tighter.

“I just… I just wanted to protect everyone,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Asael, who had been silently watching, finally spoke.

“You’re still young, Kenta,” he said, kneeling to the boy’s level.

His brown eyes, usually soft and warm, was a little cold.

“There will come a time when you’ll have to fight. But not yet. You don’t need to pick up a weapon now.”

Kenta hesitated, his small hands still clenched.

Then, after a long pause, he exhaled.

“…Okay. I’m sorry.”

His mother sighed in relief and pulled him into a hug.

“Fine,” she said, gently stroking his hair.

“I’ll forgive you this time. But don’t ever do it again, okay?”

“Yes, Mama,” Kenta whispered, his voice small.

The village chief nodded, his expression relaxing.

“Good. Now, let’s get back to the feast. Everyone has already started celebrating.”

With that, they all rose and returned to the village square, where the laughter and music continued, filling the night with warmth.

---

Deep within the forest, where moonlight barely reached, a lone figure limped forward.

The goblin shaman’s breath was ragged, his legs weak.

His hands trembled as he pushed through the thick undergrowth, his body aching from exhaustion.

His robes were torn, stained with dirt and blood.

He had barely escaped with his life.

The village was supposed to be easy prey.

Instead, he had barely survived.

After what felt like hours, he stumbled across a cave entrance hidden within the thick trees.

A cold, eerie presence seeped from within, sending shivers down his spine.

He hesitated.

Then, swallowing his fear, he stepped inside.

The cavern was dimly lit by small, flickering torches.

Shadows danced across the jagged walls as he walked deeper, his footsteps echoing.

And then, as he reached the center of the cave, he dropped to his knees and bowed.

A deep, rumbling voice filled the air.

“What happened?”

A figure stepped out from the darkness, his towering form illuminated by the torchlight.

It was a goblin—but unlike any normal goblin.

He was massive, nearly twice the size of a regular goblin.

His muscles were thick and powerful, his greyish skin covered in scars.

His sharp teeth gleamed as he scowled down at the shaman.

It was the Goblin Chief.

The shaman trembled.

“C-Chief! Please forgive me! The others… they’re all dead.” His voice shook with fear. “Only I managed to escape.”

The Goblin Chief’s yellow eyes narrowed.

“So you failed,” he growled.

The shaman flinched. “Chief, I—”

A heavy footstep echoed through the cave.

The Goblin Chief stepped closer, towering over the smaller goblin.

His presence alone was suffocating.

“How many were there?” he asked.

“A-Around twelve humans,” the shaman stammered. “B-But there was one… one really strong human. He killed them all.”

The Goblin Chief’s eyes darkened.

“One human?” His voice was low and dangerous.

“You’re telling me you lost to just one human? And yet… you have the audacity to crawl back here?”

The shaman’s breath hitched.

“N-No, Chief, please—”

Before he could finish, a massive hand clamped around his head.

The grip was like iron.

Cold. Unyielding.

"You should’ve just died there!"

The shaman’s eyes widened in terror.

“C-Chief—!!”

A sickening crack echoed through the cave.

Blood splattered onto the stone floor as the Goblin Chief crushed the shaman’s head in his palm.

His lifeless body dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

Silence filled the cavern.

The Goblin Chief wiped his bloodied hand on his furred cloak and stepped outside.

A cold wind howled through the trees.

In front of him stood his horde—hundreds of goblins, waiting in the darkness.

Their beady eyes gleamed under the moonlight, their twisted smiles growing wider.

The chief took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the night.

Then, raising his clawed hand, he roared.

“Everyone… it’s time for the hunt!”

A chorus of shrieks and howls erupted from the goblin horde.

The ground trembled beneath them as they surged forward, their hunger insatiable.

The village thought they had won.

But this…

This was only the beginning.