The goblin hunting party returned in triumph.
Dragging their squirming prey behind them, they passed through the creaking wooden gates of the village—gates guarded by two snarling F-Rank goblins whose eyes widened with pride at the sight.
The bound and terrified women, bruised and dirtied from their capture, were hauled like trophies.
Around them, the rest of the goblins began to gather, their beady eyes glinting with savage delight as growls of admiration echoed across the crude settlement.
The goblin village, though barbaric in origin, was not without structure.
It was encircled by a tall, jagged wall made of sharpened logs, reinforced with crude bindings of rope and bone.
The gate itself was heavy but poorly constructed, creaking open and shut with a groan each time it moved.
Inside, the ground was bare and trodden, and crude tents lined the dirt pathways—haphazard dwellings made of animal hide and scavenged wood, stained dark from blood, smoke, and rot.
The deeper one walked into the village, the more the chaos gave way to hierarchy. The outer tents belonged to the F-Ranks, weaker goblins who fought in packs and died in droves.
But closer to the heart of the camp, the tents grew in size and strength—reinforced with bone frames, stitched with dyed leather, even adorned with trophies like broken weapons or human skulls.
These were the domains of the E and D-Rank goblins who were stronger and more cunning than an F rank goblin.
At the center, nestled beneath a twisted totem of skulls and branches, stood the largest tent of them all.
Woven from thick beast pelts, dyed in dried blood, and laced with bone charms, it was unmistakably the Chieftain's lair.
The returning hunters, chests puffed with pride, marched straight toward it, prepared to offer their hunt to their brutal leader.
Unbeknownst to them, death was already walking their way.
Outside the village, Leon Kael moved forward.
He walked not in haste, but with the calmness of a reaper. His sword hung loose in his right hand, the tip brushing against the earth with each step.
The wind whispered through the trees, stirring his silver hair like a banner of war, and in his sharp blue eyes glimmered something cold—something merciless.
The two F-Rank goblins guarding the gate caught sight of him.
They snarled, saliva dripping from their crooked fangs, muscles tensing under thin green skin. Clad in nothing but stained loincloths and gripping rusted swords, they bared their teeth and barked in challenge.
Leon didn't slow down.
Neither did he blink.
He didn't need to.
As the goblins charged with a savage howl, blades raised high to tear him apart.
But they never even saw him move.
He passed between them like a phantom. One moment they were mid-swing, the next—they were still frozen in place, arms held high.
Then came the wet sound of two heads thudding against the ground.
Their bodies stood for a beat longer, blood spurting, before collapsing in lifeless heaps.
Leon didn't look back.
It was easy because Leon far outclassed them not just in stats, but in class; a Warrior against mere goblin grunts was no contest.
His feet carried him forward as a horn blared from within the village.
And then—it was chaos.
From the scattered tents came a rush of goblins. Dozens of them. At least fifty, all F-Ranks, each armed with crude weapons and snarling like cornered animals.
The stronger ones—E and D-Ranks—remained further in, surrounding the Chieftain's tent. But the fodder had come.
And they came with fury.
Leon didn't speak. He didn't break stride.
As the goblins roared and surged forward like a green tide.
And Leon welcomed them.
Because this wasn't just a trial anymore.
It was a massacre in the making.
****
The moment the horde surged, Leon became a storm of steel and death.
The first goblin that dared to leap toward him never even saw the blade—it only felt the searing flash of steel cleave through its torso, bisecting it in a single, merciless stroke.
Blood sprayed into the air like rain, but Leon was already moving, his body a blur of brutal elegance.
With a swift pivot, he spun on the ball of his foot, forming a perfect horizontal arc with his sword. Three goblins fell in unison, their upper halves sliding off their bodies before they even hit the ground.
The strike was clean, efficient, and terrifyingly fast.
One tried to be clever, lunging from behind with a rusted dagger.
But Leon sensed it—his senses honed to a razor's edge. Without looking, he twisted sharply, sword whipping through the air to sever the goblin's arm at the elbow.
The creature screeched in agony, but Leon gave no pause. He drove his blade into its skull with such force that the point cracked into the dirt below. The goblin twitched once, then went still.
More came, but it didn't matter. They tried swarming him from all sides, flanking him, lunging from shadows and angles—but it was like throwing twigs at a hurricane.
Leon's sword danced through the chaos with cold precision, each slash backed by monstrous strength and unshakable calm.
Heads rolled, limbs flew and the ground became slick with blood and trampled bodies.
It wasn't a fight.
It was a massacre.
No tactic worked.
No distraction succeeded.
Even when a goblin tried to blind him by throwing dirt into his eyes, Leon struck with such instinct that the attacker was split in half before the dust ever settled.
At last, only three remained.
Their wide, red eyes stared in disbelief at the pile of corpses that had once been their kin.
The pain of their shared link—primitive as it was—seeped into their bones as they watched Leon slowly withdraw his blade from a dying goblin's gut.
Then he looked at them.
And they felt it—something deeper than fear. A primal, soul-shaking dread, like prey before a predator that had long since grown tired of the hunt.
They broke.
The three goblins screamed and fled, their steps frantic, weapons forgotten, survival the only thought in their small minds.
Leon didn't chase them.
He simply exhaled, his eyes still cold, his sword dripping with red blood, as he resumed walking forward—into the heart of the village.
He wasn't here to scare them.
He was here to exterminate them.
****
F-Rank Goblin stats
Strength: 65
Speed: 55
Vitality: 55
Stamina: 45
Senses: 40
Blood Power: 40
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A/N: Please send power stones and leave reviews.
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