The dragon carriage swept low over the hills, its wings kicking up waves of air that bent the grass flat. The rider shouted to steady the beast, guiding it in a sharp arc just above the treetops.
Darrion gripped the side rail, eyes fixed on the clearing below. The village wasn't far now. He didn't wait for a landing.
In one smooth motion, he vaulted from the carriage. Wind tore at him as he dropped the short distance—twenty feet at most. He bent his knees on impact, boots striking hard soil with a thud that rattled up his legs. His gauntlet brushed the ground to steady himself, then he rose, composed, brushing dust from the polished edge of his armor. Not reckless—controlled.
He exhaled once, surveying the land around him. The dragon carriage circled overhead with a guttural roar, but Darrion's attention was already southward.
"That carriage was fast," he muttered, voice low, steady. "On foot, it would've taken me five days. This way—three hours."
His hand settled against the hilt of his longsword, grip firm. The weight of anger pressed against his chest. "Still… they're heartless fiends. Slaughtering innocents without hesitation." His eyes flicked toward the circling dragon above, narrowing. "And the Union keeps them as pets. As allies. How can we restore peace to the world if monsters still walk among us?"
Turning sharply, he set his eyes on the treeline to the south. A faint column of smoke stretched thin against the sky. His voice dropped to a mutter. "The village is close. Just a short walk from here."
He started forward, each step slow and deliberate. The forest swayed gently in the wind, yet the silence was unnatural—no birdsong, no insects, nothing but the whisper of leaves.
Darrion's jaw tightened. His fingers brushed the hilt of his blade.
The path dipped into a shallow clearing, where the forest opened just enough to reveal a ragged circle of trampled earth. The silence broke—low guttural chuckles rippled through the trees. Then, one by one, shadows emerged.
Green skin glistened in the fading light, stretched tight over wiry muscles. Their yellowed eyes gleamed with animal cunning, sharp teeth bared in twisted grins. Seven of them stepped forward first—smaller, hunched creatures with mottled skin and crooked spines. Rust-pitted short swords trembled in their clawed hands, yet the malice behind their sneers was unmistakable.
And then the last appeared. A larger one—human-sized, shoulders broad for its kind. Its grin was wider, crueler, two jagged blades clutched with unnatural confidence. Its steps were heavier, its posture upright, as if mocking human discipline.
Darrion stopped in his tracks, hand on his sword, eyes cold.
"So," he muttered, voice steady, carrying across the clearing. "You're not even hiding. Already showing yourselves, are you, fiends?" His lips curled faintly, though no humor reached his eyes. "Fine by me. You'll only be a warm-up. I'll slaughter every last one of you—and purge this village of your evil."
The goblins hissed, shoulders jerking in eerie unison. Then one broke forward with a screech, short sword raised. It lunged clumsily, slashing toward Darrion's chest.
Darrion sidestepped with a single, precise step, the blade grazing harmlessly through the empty air where he had been. His hand moved to his hilt—swift, seamless. With a hiss of steel, his longsword left its sheath. One flash, one clean arc.
The goblin froze mid-stride, a faint gurgle escaping its throat. Then it split apart at the waist, top half tumbling one way, legs buckling the other. Blood sprayed, soaking the dirt.
Darrion let the blade hang loose at his side, his eyes scanning the rest of the horde. "Next." His tone was flat, as if the outcome was already decided. He tilted his sword, flicking it clean. Blood scattered in droplets, sliding down the strange surface of the weapon.
It was no ordinary blade. The metal was dark, almost blackened, etched with markings that pulsed faintly as if alive. At its center, just above the crossguard, a single orb glowed faintly with deep violet light—an eye-like core that shimmered hungrily with each kill.
The other goblins shrieked and rushed him all at once.
The first came from the left, its jagged sword stabbing low. Darrion shifted weight to his back foot, letting the blade pass, then brought his sword upward in a vertical slash. Steel whispered through flesh, and the goblin split from hip to shoulder, body collapsing in two twitching halves.
Another lunged from behind, shrieking, short blade raised for a downward strike. Darrion pivoted without even glancing back. His sword carved upward in a brutal arc, catching the goblin under its chin. Its head separated cleanly, spinning through the air before thudding into the dirt.
Three more came together, snarling, blades flashing with wild speed. Darrion exhaled calmly, steps measured, blade held in a steady guard. The first swing met his sword—he deflected it effortlessly, sliding the strike away before cutting across the goblin's chest in a swift counter. The creature screeched once before falling silent, throat split wide.
The second goblin's slash glanced off his gauntlet, sparks flying. He stepped in close, driving his sword up through its sternum. The markings along his blade flared faintly as the violet orb pulsed.The goblin sagged down the length of his blade before he kicked it free.
The third was already swinging, but Darrion anticipated it. He turned smoothly, his sword whistling upward in a rising arc. Flesh and bone parted like paper—the goblin's body flung backward, lifeless before it hit the ground.
The last of the smaller ones hesitated, trembling as its brethren's corpses lay scattered in pieces across the clearing. It shrieked in panic, but before it could flee, Darrion's blade lashed out in a clean diagonal slash. The goblin's torso tore open, its lifeless body collapsing face-first into the blood-soaked earth.
The clearing stilled. All of the smaller goblins lay broken, the soil dark with fresh blood.
Only the largest remained.
It stepped forward, twin blades raised, sneer spreading across its sharp face. Unlike the others, it didn't charge recklessly. It moved with rhythm, almost like a trained fighter—circling, testing, its twin swords cutting faint arcs through the air.
Darrion adjusted his stance, watching calmly. "You're bigger than the rest," he muttered. "Smarter too, I suppose. But it won't matter."
The goblin roared and attacked.
Steel clashed against steel, sparks flying as its twin swords met his blade. It struck again, again, in a flurry—fast, relentless, blades snapping forward from every angle. For a moment the forest echoed with ringing steel, the goblin driving forward with shocking ferocity.
Darrion's expression never changed. He blocked each strike with minimal effort, his blade turning aside blow after blow, his footwork precise and economical. When the goblin overextended with a high strike, Darrion ducked under, slipping inside its guard.
With one smooth motion, he swung upward.
The blade cut clean through flesh and bone, shearing the goblin's head from its shoulders. The body twitched once, dropping its blades before slumping to the dirt. The head landed several feet away, eyes still wide, grin frozen in death.
Darrion lowered his weapon, the faint glow of the orb pulsing before dimming again. He let out a slow breath and shook the blood from the blade.
He exhaled slowly, sliding the blade back into its sheath. "As expected.
The clearing was silent again, save for the faint crackle of leaves overhead. He glanced around once—no movement, no survivors.
"There's no one here," he muttered, scanning the treeline. His eyes narrowed toward the faint column of smoke drifting higher into the sky. "Looks like I'll have to go to the village square."
His boots crunched over bloodied soil as he stepped past the corpses, eyes fixed southward. He didn't look back.
He walked steadily down the dirt path, boots crunching over dried leaves and the faint splatter of blood that trailed from the clearing behind him. The forest pressed tighter around the road now, branches arching above like twisted ribs. A faint mist clung low to the ground, blurring the roots and stones underfoot.
Then—movement.
The air split with a shriek as another goblin burst from the brush, lunging with a crude spear.
Darrion's eyes snapped toward it, his shield already sliding from his back. The goblin's thrust struck hard against the polished steel, but instead of yielding, the shield's surface flared. A ripple of heat surged through his arm. Sparks crackled, and with a roar of energy, the rim of the shield ignited his sword in his opposite hand.
The blade flared to life, markings glowing brighter, the violet orb pulsing like a living heart.
Darrion twisted his stance, using the shield to shove the spear aside. At the same instant, he brought his sword down in a brutal counter. The flaming edge carried the force of the blocked strike back into the attacker. The goblin's torso split wide open, fire and steel ripping it apart in one motion. Its charred remains crumpled to the dirt, the stench of burned flesh curling into the air.
The forest quieted again, though only for a moment.
Darrion lowered his shield slowly, exhaling as the sword's glow fade back to its usual, eerie shimmer. "Well… that's to be expected," he muttered. His eyes swept the treeline, lips curving faintly—not in amusement, but cold recognition. "But still… a fair fight to me."
He resheathed the blade with a hiss once more, and hooked the shield back into place at his shoulder.
His gaze lingered on the fallen goblin, then narrowed. Something about it gnawed at him. The crude spear still smoked where it had split, but its grip had been clumsy, untrained. Different from the earlier pack.
"I wonder," he said under his breath, voice edged with suspicion. "Why are some of these goblins weaponless… while others wield human steel?"
The memory of the first horde flickered through his mind—their short swords, their practiced movements. He scowled faintly. "They have the intelligence to wield human weapons. That much is certain. So why send unarmed fodder…?"
The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint, acrid scent of smoke and something worse—blood, thick and coppery. Darrion's jaw tightened.
"Whatever," he said at last, turning south again. "A few steps more to the square. I'll have my answers soon enough."
He started forward, his silhouette cutting through the mist, every step steady, every sense sharpened. The village lay ahead—silent, waiting.
And if goblins were this organized… then something far worse was waiting in that square.