The little boy lay limp in the hero's trembling arms, his pale face like that of a ghost, his closed eyes shadowed by exhaustion and hunger.

Each shallow breath the little boy took seemed weaker than the last, his small body growing colder against the hero's warmth.

“Hey! Wake up! Wake up!” the hero shouted desperately, shaking the boy gently.

His voice cracked, the panic rising in his chest.

But the boy didn’t stir, his breathing slowing with every passing moment.

The hero’s mind raced, his thoughts a chaotic whirl.

He couldn’t lose him—not like this.

Without a second’s hesitation, he turned and bolted through the forest, the little boy clutched tightly in his arms.

“Saintess! Saintess!” he yelled as he neared their resting spot, his voice loud and urgent.

The Saintess, startled by his cries, jumped to her feet.

“What happened?” she asked, her golden eyes widening as the hero emerged from the trees, carrying the boy.

“Please!” the hero pleaded, lowering the boy gently onto the soft grass.

“Take a look at him. What’s wrong with him? Can you help him?”

The Saintess knelt beside the boy, her heart sinking at the sight of his frail form.

His cheeks were sunken, his skin pale and clammy.

“It looks like he’s been starving for a long time,” she murmured, her voice heavy with sorrow.

She placed a hand gently on his forehead.

“Let me try to heal him.”

Closing her eyes, the Saintess took a deep breath and extended her hands over the child.

A radiant golden light began to emanate from her palms, soft and warm, bathing the boy in its gentle glow.

The light shimmered like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, bringing with it a sense of peace.

The hero watched in silence, his heart pounding as he clutched his sword hilt nervously.

Slowly, the boy’s breathing steadied, his color returning as the light worked its miracle.

His eyelids fluttered before opening halfway, revealing tired but alive eyes.

“Who…?” the boy whispered weakly, his voice a fragile thread.

The hero crouched beside him, a relieved smile breaking across his face.

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“Hey, are you okay?” he asked softly.

The boy blinked, his small body trembling as tears welled in his eyes.

“Mama… Please… save Mama!” he cried, his voice breaking with fear and urgency.

“Calm down,” the hero said, his tone soothing but firm.

He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, trying to steady him.

“Take a deep breath and tell me what happened to your mama.”

The boy sniffled, his small fists clenching as he tried to speak through his sobs.

“Small green monsters… they attacked our village! They hurt everyone!”

His voice wavered, the trauma in his words striking both the hero and the Saintess deeply.

“Goblins,” the Saintess said quietly, her expression darkening as she realized the nature of the threat.

“Please… help my village,” the boy begged, his tear-streaked face looking up at them with desperate hope.

“What’s your name, little one?” the hero asked gently.

“Kenta,” the boy replied, his voice trembling.

The hero gave him a reassuring nod.

“Don’t worry, Kenta. We’ll help you.”

The Saintess frowned, concern etched on her face.

“But what if the goblins report back to the Demon King? If he learns about us, it could be disastrous.”

The hero stood, his expression resolute.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t use all my powers right now anyway, and… I’m tired of running. Tired of hiding. If helping this boy and his village means risking everything, then so be it.”

The Saintess hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

She could see the fire in his eyes, the determination that had always defined him.

“Okay. Let’s go,” she said, her voice steady.

Before they could move, a loud rumbling interrupted them.

Both the Saintess and Kenta froze, their faces flushing with embarrassment as their stomachs betrayed their hunger.

The hero chuckled softly, the first light moment amidst the heavy air.

“Alright,” he said with a smirk, shouldering his sword.

“Let’s find something to eat on the way. I’ll pluck some fruits as we go.”

The Saintess smiled faintly, and Kenta managed a small nod, though his eyes still carried the weight of his plea.

With purpose renewed, the three of them rose, setting out toward the village that awaited salvation.

As the hero, Saintess, and Kenta walked through the dense forest, the earthy scent of moss and damp soil filled the air, mingling with the occasional rustle of leaves above.

The sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor.

The faint chirping of birds and the gentle hum of insects added a rhythm to their steps.

They stopped by a sturdy tree with branches heavy with ripe fruit.

The hero glanced up, then leaped gracefully, his boots crunching against the bark as he climbed.

He plucked several fruits, their vibrant colors standing out against the greens and browns of the forest, and dropped them carefully into his arms.

“Here,” he said, handing one to Kenta and another to the Saintess. “Eat up.”

Kenta eagerly bit into the fruit, its juices running down his chin.

The Saintess smiled softly, watching him, before taking a bite herself.

“By the way, Kenta,” the Saintess said, wiping her hands on her robe.

“Do you remember where your village is?”

Kenta nodded, his small hands clutching the half-eaten fruit.

“Yes, my village is at the southern end of this forest.”

The Saintess frowned slightly, concern flickering in her eyes.

“That’s quite far. How did you end up all the way here?”

Kenta’s expression darkened, his hands trembling slightly.

“The goblins… they kidnapped me. But on the way, they ran into another monster. There was fighting, and… I ran away.”

The Saintess placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her golden eyes soft.

“You did well, Kenta. That was very brave of you.”

A small, shy smile tugged at Kenta’s lips, though fear still lingered in his gaze.

After finishing their fruits, the three continued southward.

The sound of their footsteps brushing through the tall grass was accompanied by the occasional crunch of twigs beneath their boots.

The forest felt alive around them—branches creaked softly in the wind, and the distant rustle of unseen creatures reminded them they weren’t alone.

Suddenly, the hero halted mid-step, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

The air shifted, and the subtle sounds of the forest seemed to fade, replaced by an eerie silence.

“Stop,” he said firmly, his voice low but commanding.

The Saintess paused, her brow furrowing. “What is it?”

“They’re here,” the hero murmured, his eyes scanning the shadows ahead.

Before she could ask further, the sound of guttural snickers and the crunching of leaves broke through the quiet.

From the undergrowth ahead, five goblins emerged, their green skin glinting in the scattered sunlight.

Their yellow eyes gleamed with malice, and their jagged teeth were bared in cruel grins.

Each carried crude weapons—rusty daggers, splintered clubs, and makeshift spears.

“Humans… kree…” one of them hissed, its voice raspy and sharp, sending a chill through the air.

“Little human… and female human… kree!” another cackled, its gaze flickering hungrily between Kenta and the Saintess.

“The chief will be happy… very happy… kree!”

They snickered and advanced, their movements jerky but purposeful.

Kenta froze, his small body trembling as he clung to the Saintess’s robes.

The faint scent of fear lingered in the air, and his breaths came in shallow gasps.

The Saintess placed a protective arm around him, her gaze hardening as she looked at the goblins.

“Saintess,” the hero said, his voice calm but filled with an undercurrent of steel.

“Take Kenta and stay back. I’ll handle this.”

The Saintess hesitated for a moment, glancing between the hero and the advancing goblins.

She then nodded, her grip tightening on Kenta’s shoulder. “Come, Kenta. Stay close to me.”

She guided the boy a few steps back, the crunching grass beneath their feet seeming deafening in the tense silence.

The hero stepped forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

The goblins cackled louder, their jagged weapons glinting as they shifted into offensive stances.

“Just five of you?” the hero muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a grim smile.

“This won’t take long.”

As the goblins charged, the sound of their guttural cries mixed with the rustling of leaves and the faint rustle of the wind.

The hero unsheathed his sword with a sharp metallic ring, its blade catching the sunlight as the battle began.