He cut through their ranks with steady movements, disrupting group attacks, breaking their formations, and eliminating them one after another. Even when they surrounded him, his intent field turned their numbers into weakness.
Every step he took carried pressure.
Every strike carried certainty.
The goblins' resistance crumbled.
Some tried to flee, but their movements slowed within the field and Arthur caught them easily. Others attacked in desperation, only to fall moments later.
The camp soon became a field of bodies with only few living goblins remaining.
Arthur stood in the center, breathing steadily, surrounded by fallen monsters. The thrill still lingered in his veins, and a satisfied smile rested on his face.
Blood stained his clothes and blade, yet his eyes remained calm.
Arthur exhaled slowly.
The camp was already collapsing, and the fight had lost its rhythm. What remained was cleanup.
The goblin casters were the last problem.
