Clang. Shlk. Thud.
Leon twisted, dropped low, and swept the legs out from under the next goblin. The creature shrieked, rolled, and met the dagger in its throat before it could finish screaming.
Two.
Another goblin lunged from the side—sloppier, younger. Leon ducked the overhead slash, pivoted in, and jabbed twice.
Stk. Stk. It dropped.
Three.
He breathed hard, scanning the chaos. Around him, guards were finally showing up—working together to fight the goblins, pushing them back. It wasn't organized, but it was working.
Looks like I'm not the only one fighting back.
Then something changed.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up—pure instinct.
Leon moved. Fast.
FWOOSH—
A fireball roared past his head, missing by inches. It slammed into a cart behind him with a violent explosion, sending wood splinters and flames everywhere. The acrid smell of burning cloth and wood filled his nose.
Leon spun toward where it came from.
A goblin—different from the others. Taller, darker skin, eyes glowing with hatred. A crude wand crackled in its hand, and beside it stood a larger brute—nearly twice the size of the others, scarred, armored, and holding a rusted sword like it knew how to use it.
Oh. Magic is real. This just got worse.
The wand-wielding goblin raised its hand again, arcane light flickering at the tip.
Leon moved—but the brute moved faster.
CLANG!
Leon blocked just in time, steel screaming as sword met dagger. The brute snarled, yellow teeth snapping close to his face.
No time. No space. No help.
He ducked under a wild swing—whoosh!—and countered with a slash to the ribs.
Shnk.
The blade hit—but barely cut through. The brute grunted and barely flinched.
What? That should have hurt!
Leon jumped back, breathing hard. The brute followed, relentless. Heavy swings, precise and brutal.
"Who taught you to fight?" Leon gasped. "A brick wall?"
The brute didn't answer. Just kept attacking.
CLANG. SHHK. CLANG.
Leon dodged left, rolled right, slashed—hit—but his blade skidded off thick hide. He almost dropped it from the recoil.
Its skin's like armor. Slower, but way stronger. This thing's built like a tank.
And all the while—behind the brute—the wand goblin stood untouched, magic crackling between its fingers. Watching. Smiling.
Leon realized then:
This isn't a random raid. It's a hit squad. And I'm the target.
The brute swung with murder in its eyes.
He noticed that if he dodged, he'd run straight into the fireball, so he had no choice but to take the attack head-on.
Leon raised both daggers to block—CLANG!
It felt like getting hit by a falling building.
His arms screamed. His vision blurred. And then—
WHAM!
The sheer force blasted him backward. He crashed into a wooden cart, the impact splintering crates and knocking the wind out of him. His spine lit up with pain. The taste of blood filled his mouth. His ears rang so loud the world went silent.
Ow. Okay. Breathing hurts. Don't puke. Don't puke.
But then—the warm pulse from the red ring surged through his hand, flowing into his limbs like a lifeline. Pain dulled. Bruises faded. Clarity snapped back into place.
Leon sucked in a breath and pushed himself up.
Right. No time to lie here dying.
The brute came again, sword raised, grinning wide like it could already taste victory. But Leon wasn't going to play punching bag again.
He dodged left—barely avoiding being split in half—then pivoted around its side.
I can't overpower it. I can't outrun fireballs. So… precision it is.
He didn't bother slashing its thick arms or chest—he'd already seen his blades barely scratch.
Instead, he dropped low, slipping under its swing—whoosh!—and struck at the joint behind its knee.
Shhk!
The goblin roared in pain, stumbling to a halt. Its leg buckled. Perfect.
Leon moved fast.
Before it could recover, he leaped—clinging to its back like an angry backpack. The brute thrashed, trying to shake him off. His grip slipped once, almost flinging him free, but he snarled and held tighter.
"Lights out," he hissed.
Shhkt!
The first dagger sank deep. The brute reared, flailing wildly. Leon nearly lost his grip, swore under his breath, and rammed the second blade in—messy, not clean, but enough.
Both daggers plunged into its eyes.
The goblin convulsed—then collapsed with a groan, twitching once before falling still.
Thud.
Leon rolled off, landing hard beside it, panting, blades slick with black blood.
He didn't smile.
He didn't celebrate.
He just looked down at the corpse and thought:
I can kill monsters. I'm not helpless.
His knees shook slightly as he stood, heart pounding in the quiet that followed the brute's death. He barely had a second to catch his breath before a hiss of power lit the street.
The wand-goblin. Sparks crackled along its fingertips. Its lips curled in a sneer. Red eyes locked with his.
Okay, great, mage goblin. Fantastic. Please don't explode me, please don't explode me. …Alright. Now let's see how magic tastes.
Leon raised his blades, bloodied but steady.
"I'm going to turn you into a green stain on these stones."
He took a step forward.
Then the sky screamed.
KRZZZAAK!
A flash of light. A sharp sound like reality tearing. And then—
THWUNK!
A spear—no, a lightning spear—came out of nowhere, trailing arcs of energy as it pierced clean through the goblin's chest.
The spell on its fingertips fizzled out mid-cast.
It twitched once.
Then slumped to the ground—dead before it hit the dirt.
Leon froze mid-step, mouth slightly open.
"What?"
The body dropped with a wet thud, and there it was—an expensive-looking spear, still impaled in the corpse, humming faintly with leftover lightning. Elegant gold trimming, polished wood, runic engravings glowing like cooling embers.
Lightning still crawled along its shaft.
Leon blinked at it.
"Okay, who just stole my kill with a lightning bolt from the gods?"
He turned instinctively, scanning the direction the spear had come from, pulse still racing.
That wasn't goblin magic.
And whoever threw that? Definitely not normal.
The crackle of fading lightning gave way to silence.
Leon stood still, eyes narrowed, blood dripping steadily from both blades.
Then came the sound.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
Hooves.
He turned sharply. Beyond the smoke and ruined market, a single figure rode hard through the broken southern gate.
A rider. Silver armor.
She didn't slow down.
The horse galloped through wreckage and corpses with frightening grace, steel hooves cutting a clean path through the chaos. She pulled the reins only when she reached the center of the street—just a few paces from where Leon stood beside the goblin brute's corpse.
The mount reared slightly before coming to a stop.
Leon didn't move.
His knives were still in his hand. His stance—not aggressive, but far from trusting.
The woman dismounted in one swift motion. Her purple hair spilled free from beneath her helmet, eyes the same color—sharp, intelligent, searching.
She took in the scene quickly.
The dead goblin mage was still impaled on the lightning spear.
The downed goblin warrior, its hulking body limp beside shattered crates.
Then her gaze landed on Leon.
A pale boy, white-haired and silver-eyed, his clothes torn and bloodied. His arms bore faint scratches, his eyes calm but alert. Cautious.
She frowned. Not harshly. Thoughtfully.
"You killed that?"
Leon didn't glance at the corpse.
He simply gave her a flat look and replied, "Unless—uh—someone else cut out its kneecaps and stabbed its eyes in the last ten seconds, yeah."
A beat of silence.
Her expression didn't change, but something in the tension around her mouth shifted. A flicker of… acknowledgment.
Leon didn't drop his guard.
He didn't know who she was, what that symbol on her armor meant, or why someone like her would arrive after the fight.
But he knew enough to keep his distance.
And he could feel it in her posture, too.
She was strong.
Trained.
And for the first time in this world, he wasn't sure whether he was being evaluated… or judged.
Either way, he didn't blink.
She had armor.
He had blood.
Let her draw her own conclusions.