The air in the Leader's inner cave felt different. Colder, still, with a faint, bitter smell of the leftover stink from whatever made this monster on the throne. Edward Vistro stepped inside, his boots leaving dark, wet marks on the stone. He looked like a walking nightmare. His clothes were covered in goblin blood, and the grey stuff of his body was peeling off like a snake shedding, showing skin that was healthy in a scary way.
The rusty blade he'd used to kill eight hundred goblins broke in his hand. It snapped against the floor with a dry, metallic sound, turning into junk. Edward didn't even glance at it. He just dropped it in the mess.
Two hundred more were waiting for him.
Not the skinny scavengers from the outer tunnels. These were the Elites—goblins fed with the leftovers from the Leader's weird meals. They were bigger, with sickly grey-green skin, and they had real weapons: pointy short swords and iron pikes. They stood around the black throne in a half-circle, their yellow eyes darting around with a mix of old fear and the desperate anger of an animal in a trap.
Edward didn't slow down. He kept walking.
He didn't need a weapon. He knew martial arts like a guy who had taken over whole lands. To him, two hundred goblins weren't a threat. They were just the last thing he needed to get started.
The first line of the elite guards jumped. They moved with some training, their pikes stabbing all at once.
Edward weaved through the pikes like they weren't moving. He was like a shadow, his body moving with a smooth, creepy grace. He grabbed the first pike, using the goblin's own power to shove the iron point into the throat of the goblin next to it. At the same time, he punched the first goblin in the chest.
The sound of the chest caving was like a crate being crushed.
"Extract!"
A purple thread shot out, grabbing the 801st essence. Edward took it in as he moved, his muscles tensing up with the sudden power.
He became a fast-moving machine that broke bones. He didn't need to cut; he used his hands like hammers and his fingers like spears. He hit the guards' weak spots, making their arms go limp or their hearts stop. Every move he made killed someone. Every breath he took added another essence to the stream of energy flowing into him.
850.
900.
The goblins started to pile up around him. He moved without feeling. A flick of his arm broke three skulls. A sweep of his leg broke the backs of four more.
The fighting was a blur of violence. He caught a sword in mid-air, snapped the goblin's wrist, and used the sword to chop the heads off the next five in one swing.
Flick. Ten down.
Flick. Fifteen more gone.
He was at the 950th extraction. He could feel his bones shaking, his skeleton getting so heavy he felt like he weighed three times as much, but he still moved like a feather.
Finally, the 1000th goblin—the last guard—fell at his feet. Its essence was the biggest, a bright flash that Edward pulled into his chest.
Click.
One thousand extractions. To those unfamiliar with the path of power, the number might not seem significant, but the reality was staggering. Simply put, Edward Vistro—a fifteen-year-old boy—had slaughtered a thousand goblins and utilized an epic-ranked extraction spell to harvest their marrow essence. He had accomplished it all in less than four hours.
Now seated cross legged, Edward began forming runes that circled him in a blur. Every movement happened in such a frantic instant that the Goblin Leader, despite its intelligence, could not comprehend the unfolding scene. The runes flew violently toward Edward's body, synchronizing with the massive store of marrow essence he had absorbed. He was refining his very being; after mere seconds of this intense process, he stood up with a completely transformed bodily constitution.
By utilizing advanced techniques learned throughout his many lifetimes, Edward had forged a physique that could be crowned among the elite. While it wasn't the absolute pinnacle—as he had certainly achieved superior forms in previous lives—it was the strongest foundation he could manage using only goblin marrow.
Edward stood in the quiet cave, surrounded by dead goblins. The only other living thing was the Horde Leader.
For comparison, the horde leader possessed strength equal to the peak of the Adept stage. But just as in every other of Edward's countless lives, the beast would fall to nothing more than a single blade.
Now staring at him, the Leader looked as gross as Edward had remembered. He was almost seven feet tall, his muscles huge from the Marquis's alchemy. He didn't yell like the other goblins. He watched Edward with smart eyes.
Edward picked up a sword—a long, curved blade from one of the fallen goblins. It was a Commander's Blade, balanced and sharp. He wiped the blood off the tip and looked up at the throne.
"I have to say," Edward said, his voice smooth and cold. "My father's hobbies have gotten... interesting. To waste good time on something that still smells like sewer? What a loss."
The Horde Leader's eyes narrowed. He moved his jaw for a moment before speaking, his voice rough like rocks.
You... little human... talk too much, the Leader said, his language rough but clear. "You came into my home. You killed my people. You stand there in your blood and speak as if you own the world."
Edward laughed shortly. He started to walk in a slow circle, the blade dragging on the floor, making sparks. "Owning something is a matter of opinion, beast. To you, this is a home. To me, it's nothing more than an underground sewage. You weren't meant to be a king. You were meant to be a weapon for a coward. You're just a failed experiment waiting to be thrown out."
"Arrogant!" the Leader roared, his massive hands gripping the arms of his throne until the stone cracked. "You have no mana! You are a small, hairless thing! My guards were weak, but I... I am the peak! I am what the Great Man made me to be!"
"The 'Great Man'?" Edward chuckled, his eyes flashing in the dark. "You mean my father? The man who hides behind his manor? If he is your god, then your religion is as pathetic as your race."
"I will eat your heart!" the Leader growled, standing up. He was huge, the mana he had been fed beginning to leak out in a sickly green aura. "I will crack your bones and suck the marrow you seem so fond of! You think your little tricks with the blade make you a master? I have the strength of a hundred men!"
Edward stopped his pacing. He looked the Leader up and down with a look of profound boredom.
"Strength is a crude metric," Edward said, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt heavier than the Leader's roar. "You speak of my arrogance? It isn't arrogance when it's simply a statement of fact. You are weak. Nothing more. The fact that you can speak only makes your death slightly more entertaining."
Edward raised the sword, pointing it at the Leader's throat.
"You complain about my arrogance," Edward said, smirking. "But in a moment, you'll realize it wasn't arrogance at all. It was a mercy. Because if I truly valued you as an opponent, you wouldn't have lived long enough to finish your sentence."
The Leader screamed, the sound shaking the cave and the mansion above. He jumped from the throne, a mountain of green flesh lunging towards Edward.
Edward didn't move. He gripped the blade tighter, his stance was that of the legendary swordmaster, one of the titles he bore in his countless lives.
"Come on, then," Edward whispered. "Show me if my father's work was worth the money."