The goblin charged at Gerhart with nothing but a loincloth covering it and a frenzied roar. It raised its clawed hands, but its diminutive stature, which also lightened the tone of its roar, prevented the goblin from reaching the tall Gerhart’s face.

The goblin was the size of a large child, but it was far too ugly, and Gerhart’s hesitation toward slaughtering a humanoid with a striking resemblance to humans started to fade.

However, it was no longer a matter of whether he wanted to kill the goblin. It was a matter of whether he could kill the goblin or not.

Despite seemingly losing all rationality, the goblin knew to avoid Gerhart’s flimsy and clumsy attempts at attacking it. The only experience Gerhart had fighting was when he got drawn into a brawl in town or when he was playfighting with Talia. He didn’t know what he was doing with the knife.

But he still somehow managed to nick the goblin’s green arm, thanks to his greater reach and physicality.

After a short while, Gerhart managed to loosen up a little and become more comfortable with the knife. He didn’t squeeze his shoulders together from tension, and his movements became smoother.

He was still horribly unpracticed and couldn’t control the dagger with the same precision he wanted to. The blade didn’t go exactly where he wanted it to. But as long as Gerhart could cut the goblin, he was satisfied.

And eventually, Gerhart caught an opening.

The goblin had jumped back to avoid a wide horizontal swing from Gerhart. But in doing so, the goblin had lost part of its balance. It was barely more than a stumble.

But with its arms fumbling to the side to keep itself upright, the goblin’s torso was unprotected.

Gerhart shouted a battle cry as he lunged forward and pushed the knife into the goblin’s chest.

The knife’s blade sank all the way up to the hilt with a wet slicing sound, and Gerhart’s momentum pushed the goblin to the ground.

Gerhart straddled the goblin and frantically withdrew the knife, and stabbed the goblin again and again as the adrenaline coursing through his body found an outlet.

Gerhart’s mind blanked as his arms rose and fell with all the power he could muster until he belatedly realized that the goblin had stopped struggling some time ago. He rose unsteadily and looked down at the green-tinted red blood splattering his clothes. As soon as he snapped out of the murderous rage triggered by his survival instinct, the smell of the goblin and its blood filled his nose, which, combined with the blood on his face running into his mouth, made Gerhart puke.

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The acidic vomit forced its way out through Gerhart’s mouth and splattered on the ground next to the goblin’s corpse. He rested his hands on his knees as he emptied his stomach of what was left of the few berries he had eaten.

It might have been a disgraceful fight that he only won by a fluke. And it was shameful that he threw up after killing a single, measly goblin. But Gerhart still held onto a semblance of pride and dignity as he refused to go down on all fours while hurling his guts out.

Eventually, Gerhart told himself it was enough.

He had let himself take the time he needed before entering the village. He had also been lucky enough to fight only a single goblin. And after killing the goblin, he threw up.

“Fuck…!”

That was it. Enough wimping around. If he continued like this, he would never be able to save Talia.

The last he saw, Ritzy’s summons had been doing a lot of work. But he couldn’t rely on them to do everything. They were, after all, Ritzy summons.

Gerhart stood up and took a deep breath, which he didn’t regret, despite the foul odor from the corpse and the vomit. He did regret trying to wipe his mouth with a blood-stained sleeve, however.

Gerhart gripped the knife tightly and realized it was slick with blood, so after tearing a strip of his shirt and tying his hand and knife together, he set off deeper into the village. He knew he could at most deal with a single goblin, so he was careful and only looked for lone goblins who had yet to go to the center of the village where Hotes and Fotes were rampaging.

As soon as Gerhart disappeared behind a hut, Ritzy’s head poked up out of the grass. He still had Talia within sight, but he wanted to see how Gerhart would do, so he followed him. He also wanted a piece of the action. Just sitting back where he couldn’t even see his summons tear through the goblins was no fun.

“He… probably doesn’t need my help yet.”

Ritzy pocketed a folding knife and pulled forth his bag, retrieving another stick of Bone Chalk. It was his last one. He considered whether to use it and summon another creature to help clear the village. But the glimpses he caught of Hotes and Fotes between the houses told him it wasn’t needed, at least not at the moment.

Although his quick summoning had been a smashing success, especially when compared to when he tried to summon stuff the first time, Ritzy didn’t let down his guard. All the skeletons he had summoned had at first appeared to be ordinary skeletons. But they had turned out to be some weird things that did whatever they wanted.

Hotes and Fotes had already shown their peculiarities with the hands and feet being swapped like they were. But there was nothing to tell whether that was the only thing that was weird with them.

If they decided they had enough and went back to Storage of Darkness’ embrace, Ritzy would need a backup. He put the Bone Chalk back in his bag and moved to the side so that he could get a clearer view of what happened in the village.