The party stopped before the mouth of what appeared to be an unremarkable cave.

  "Are you sure this is the goblin settlement?" Vincent asked, skeptical.

  "Don't be fooled, V," the Hero replied, her eyes fixed on the darkness within. "It's because this cave looks so unassuming that the villagers never thought to report it."

  "I see."

  "Remember the formation. V and Rykard, you stay in the middle. I'll take the front. Meryl, you guard the rear."

  They entered, the darkness swallowing them whole. Torches flared to life, casting flickering shadows on the rough stone walls.

  After several minutes of quiet, tense walking, they encountered a small patrol of goblins. There was no hiding—the torchlight gave them away. The fight was quick, brutal, and silent. They pressed on.

  More patrols fell. Deeper they went.

  Finally, the tunnel opened into a larger chamber—a crossroads with four passages branching off. The area showed signs of use: crude bedding, bones, the detritus of goblin habitation. They cleared it quickly and regrouped in the center.

  The Hero turned to Meryl. "Check the passages for traps. Fast."

  Meryl closed her eyes, concentrating. After a long moment, she spoke. "Three of these lead to smaller chambers. The fourth continues deeper, to a much larger room. I believe the smaller chambers all connect back to that main hall."

  Vincent blinked. "How did you get all that so quickly?"

  "I release my mana and let it flow through the passages," Meryl explained without opening her eyes. "It returns to me with an understanding of the layout. A basic mapping technique."

  "Interesting." Vincent filed that away. "So how do we proceed?"

  "Same plan," the Hero said firmly. "Hostages first. Goblins second."

  "That's too dangerous." All eyes turned to Vincent. "They'll notice the bodies eventually. If we're deep inside with hostages to protect when they do, we'll be surrounded with no escape."

  A beat of silence.

  "He's right," Rykard admitted. "We split into three groups. Each takes a smaller room simultaneously, then we converge on the main hall."

  The Hero's gaze shifted to Rykard. "Can you and V handle a room alone?"

  "They will," Meryl answered for them, her confidence absolute.

  The Hero looked at Meryl, then at Rykard. He gave a single, firm nod.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Then that's the plan." The Hero turned to Vincent. "You okay with that, V?"

  "Sure."

  Vincent studied the three passages, then pointed. "We'll take the leftmost one."

  "Understood." The Hero nodded. "I'll take the one to its right."

  "Well then," Meryl said, already moving, "that leaves the rightmost for me."

  They split without another word.

  It didn't take long before Vincent and Rykard encountered their first group of goblins—three of them, shuffling toward the duo in the narrow tunnel. Vincent raised a hand. Three icicles materialized in the air, sharp as daggers, and flew forward in quick succession. Each struck a lethal spot. The goblins crumpled without a sound.

  Rykard blinked, then glanced at Vincent. "If you could do that the whole time, why didn't you help the others with the patrols earlier?"

  Vincent met his gaze, a small smile playing at his lips. "They were more than enough. My interference wouldn't have made things any quicker."

  "I see." Rykard's eyes drifted to the weapons on Vincent's back and hip. "With all that steel, I figured you were more of a close-range fighter."

  "I do that too."

  "I see."

  They continued. More small groups fell—some to magic, some to the quiet efficiency of Vincent's blade. Finally, they reached the chamber's entrance. Inside, the orange glow of crude fires and the guttural noises of goblins at rest.

  Vincent snuffed out his torch. In the sudden darkness, he whispered, "I have a plan. I'll cause chaos—be as loud and visible as possible. You hide, pick off any you can, but your priority is staying alive."

  Rykard studied him in the dim light filtering from the chamber. "You know that being the center of their attention means you'll be in the most danger, right?"

  "Don't worry about me."

  "If you say so." Rykard's voice was flat. "But don't expect me to come rescue you."

  "I won't."

  Vincent slipped into the chamber, a shadow among shadows. He moved with predator's patience, weaving between crude shelters and oblivious goblins until he reached a central point. There, he raised his hand and willed stone to rise. A jagged spike erupted from the earth with a grinding rumble.

  Goblins turned, confused, toward the sound. A few approached to investigate.

  Vincent chose one. His short sword heated in his grip—not glowing, but hot enough. From behind, he drove the blade through the creature's left heel, through the tendon, deep into the foot. The metal seared flesh as it traveled.

  *"KYAAAAAAAAAAK!"*

  The scream was inhuman, piercing, perfect. Heads snapped toward the sound. All across the chamber, goblins rose, weapons in hand, eyes locking onto the figure now standing over their writhing comrade.

  Vincent grabbed the screaming creature's lower jaw with his left hand, its upper with his right. He pulled. Muscle tore. Bone snapped. The scream cut off abruptly as the head split apart in a wet, brutal crack.

  The body went limp. Vincent let it fall.

  He sheathed his sword, slow and deliberate, and only then noticed the corners of his mouth pulling upward. A smile. Unbidden. Unwelcome.

  "At this point," he murmured to himself, "I might as well do this for the love of the game."

  He tried to shrug off the feeling—the unholy enjoyment curling in his chest.

  *"Gyuio?!" *

  A goblin nearby noticed him. The guttural sound cut through the red haze, clearing Vincent's mind for just a moment.

  *Now's not the time.*

  He moved. His hand shot out, clamping onto the goblin's forearm. With a single, brutal twist, he snapped the limb—bone punching through skin at the inner elbow, jagged and white. In the same fluid motion, Vincent grabbed the creature's head and drove the exposed bone through its skull. The goblin went limp.

  He didn't pause. Two more goblins lunged at him. His short sword took the first in the throat. a quick thrust. The second died to a spike of earth erupting from the ground to impale it through the chest.

  Three kills. A handful of seconds.

  The remaining goblins surged toward him, but he was already moving. Icicles materialized and flew, piercing three more. His great sword swept from its sheath in a wide arc, cleaving through two others in a single, devastating slash. Five more dead.

  Those further back hurled crude, makeshift knives. Vincent twisted between them, the projectiles whistling past as he closed the distance. The ones in melee range died almost instantly—throats crushed, spines broken, skulls caved. Each movement efficient. Each kill final.

  In the periphery, he was aware of Rykard's work—the silent hunter picking off those who tried to flee or flank, one by one.

  Minutes passed. The tide turned. What remained of the goblin force broke, scrambling for exits, for shadows, for anywhere away from the slaughter.

  They didn't make it far.

  Vincent caught them. One by one. And when he caught them, they died in ways that would haunt dreams—if any survived to dream.

  When the last body hit the ground, silence descended on the chamber. Blood pooled in uneven puddles. The air stank of iron and voided bowels.

  Vincent stood among the corpses, breathing evenly, his sword dripping of the dark almost green colored blood of the goblins.

  "This..." Rykard was the first to break the silence, his voice flat as he surveyed the carnage. "Didn't take as long as I expected."

  Vincent wiped his blade clean on a goblin's rag. "Goblins are weak. Why would you expect us to take long?"

  "Weak as they are, they have numbers."

  "Numbers mean nothing if they can't coordinate for shit." Vincent sheathed his sword and started looking around the chamber. "Let's not waste time. We need to meet the others."

  "Sure. Follow me."

  Vincent paused. "You know the way?"

  Rykard's lip

  twitched—almost a smirk. "I got a rough estimate of our surroundings while you were slaughtering the poor bastards."

  "Lead the way."