The two of them burst from the hill like arrows loosed from a divine bow.
Wind howled against their faces. Grass split beneath their feet.
And in the next instant—steel met flesh.
SHWING—!
Daryl's saber carved through the first goblin cleanly.
One step, one breath — his blade flickered in silver arcs, too fast for mortal eyes.
Another goblin lunged, swinging a crude club. Daryl vaulted high, cloak snapping behind him, twisting midair.
He landed squarely atop the creature's head, boots crushing its skull with a sickening crack.
The others screeched, their yellow eyes wide.
They charged, weapons raised, stabbing upward — but their own strikes hit the goblin Daryl was standing on.
"Fools," he muttered.
He drove his saber downward, impaling all three in a single thrust.
Meanwhile—
"HYAAAH!"
David swung Sticky like a madman. His form was sloppy, wild, completely untrained—
—but every strike had desperation behind it.
The first goblin he hit spun into another. The second hit cracked bone.
But he was surrounded.
One blade grazed his back, and a white-hot sting ripped through his spine.
HP: 15 → 12.
"Ah—damn it!" he grunted, stumbling forward. Blood soaked through his torn jacket.
A goblin shrieked, lifting a tiny vial glowing orange-red.
Its grin was wide, manic—
David's eyes widened. "Oh, hell no—"
He shoved the nearest goblins aside and dove sideways just as the vial shattered.
FWOOM!
Liquid flame splashed over the goblins, igniting them in an instant.
Their screams echoed across the field, twisting into a sickening chorus.
The smell of burning flesh hit David's nose, and he gagged.
"What the hell—fire?! These things can use FIRE?!"
Daryl landed nearby, his boots cracking the dirt.
He wiped goblin blood off his cheek with a thumb, face grim.
"So it's true…" he muttered, eyes narrowing as another flame vial arced past him.
"They've learned. They've evolved."
The next second, he moved.
Daryl's saber flashed once—
then twice—
then again and again, until the air itself hummed with steel.
He spun low, severing legs; pivoted high, slicing through necks.
Each motion was deliberate, disciplined, beautiful.
A deadly dance of precision.
He stomped down—THUD!
The ground cracked beneath his boots, a shockwave rippling outward.
Goblin bodies flew into the air, spinning like ragdolls.
David barely had time to admire it.
Three goblins pounced on him from behind, their claws raking at his coat.
He screamed, swinging Sticky in every direction, but there were too many—
HP: 12 → 11 → 10 → 9 → 8 → 7 → 6.
"GET OFF ME YOU GREEN DEMONS!"
He smashed one in the jaw, then took another to the ribs. Pain exploded through his side.
Still, he didn't stop swinging. Every hit was fueled by panic and sheer will.
Daryl's voice cut through the chaos like a blade:
"Keep your stance low! Watch your blind spots!"
David shouted back, "You think I KNOW WHAT A STANCE IS RIGHT NOW?!"
Daryl sliced through three more goblins and shouted, "Then LEARN IT, DAMN YOU!"
The goblins roared, circling them, dozens upon dozens tightening the ring.
The air shimmered with heat, the sun glinting off crude blades and saliva-dripping teeth.
David gritted his teeth, heart pounding.
His whole body ached.
Every nerve screamed.
But when he glanced at Daryl—blood-slicked, calm, standing tall even as monsters swarmed—
something inside him burned hotter than fear.
A single thought crossed his mind.
If he can keep standing… then so can I.
He lifted Sticky again, blood running down his knuckles, and roared,
"COME ON THEN! LET'S GO, YOU LITTLE FREAKS!"
The goblins screeched back, charging as one.
And once more, the field exploded into chaos—
saber flashing, wood cracking, and flames scattering across the open plain.
The battlefield fell silent—
only the heavy panting of two men echoed across the open field, mingled with the stench of blood and smoke.
David and Daryl stood atop a mountain of corpses, their shadows long against the dying sun.
Goblin blood dripped down their arms, painting the grass crimson.
The air shimmered with heat.
The breeze carried a metallic tang.
"Ha… ha… ha…"
David bent over, chest heaving, Sticky dangling weakly from his hand. His entire body screamed in pain.
He had bruises where he didn't even know he had skin.
Beside him, Daryl wiped his blade clean with the edge of his sleeve, exhaling slowly through gritted teeth.
Even his breath trembled.
Mistay's voice broke through the silence, soft at first—then trembling with relief.
"You… you did it…"
Her hooves clacked against the dirt as she ran toward them, tears streaming down her face.
"You saved my farm! You actually saved it!"
David turned, barely standing. His knees wobbled, his lungs burned—but still, he managed a crooked grin and lifted his arm halfway.
A weak thumbs-up.
"Y… yeah," he wheezed. "Piece of cake."
Daryl gave a tired smile, sheathing his saber with a satisfying click.
"No problem, Miss Mistay. It was our duty."
Mistay nearly leapt onto them, her tail swishing with excitement.
She reached into her satchel, pulling out a small leather pouch that jingled with a sweet metallic chime.
"Here—your reward! Twenty coins, like I promised!"
David blinked, eyes sparkling like gold itself.
"Oh… my favorite sound," he whispered.
Mistay pressed the coins gently against his stomach, smiling through happy tears.
"I was so wrong about you, Mr. Hawk—no, God Hawk!"
David puffed his chest slightly despite nearly collapsing.
"Of course, of course. Happens to everyone. You know, people meet me, think I'm just a bum—then I save the day. Natural charisma, you see."
He slipped the pouch into his inventory with a flash.
Then turned back to her, a sly grin spreading across his dirt-covered face.
"Now, Mistay… about that other favor I mentioned—"
Her ears perked, cheeks tinting pink.
"Oh my… well, how could I refuse? You saved my life, my farm, and my heart! Tell me… what do you need me to do?"
David's smirk widened.
"Well, I—uh—heh—"
Giggle.
He froze.
That sound—high, guttural, sharp—cut through the air like the laughter of the damned.
Daryl's face drained of color.
"No…" he muttered, eyes narrowing. "No, no, no… not again."
Giggle.
Then another.
And another.
Dozens.
From behind the ruined barn, small green shapes crawled out from the smoke—eyes glowing red in the setting sun.
Their crooked smiles stretched unnaturally wide.
Mistay's voice cracked.
"N-no… it can't be. I—I swear that was all of them! It was supposed to be all of them!"
David's body stiffened. His hands trembled, veins bulging against his neck.
He grit his teeth, every nerve screaming.
"You've gotta be—"
He slammed Sticky into the ground, the grass trembling under the impact.
"—KIDDING ME!"
He pointed his stick at the oncoming horde, voice erupting like thunder.
"THESE LITTLE BASTARDS DON'T STOP! THEY JUST KEEP COMING AND COMING AND COMING—AND I'M SICK OF IT!"
He stomped forward, fury burning hotter than fear.
Every muscle in his body screamed fight.
"Come on then!" he shouted. "I'll end this round myself!"
"Mr. Hawk, wait!" Mistay cried, grabbing his arm.
"Don't—please, you're still injured!"
Daryl reached out, grabbing Mistay by the shoulder, his voice quiet but firm.
"Let him go."
She looked at him, tears pooling again. "But—he'll die!"
Daryl's gaze didn't waver. He drew his saber, eyes sharp as steel.
"If he dies, I'll follow. That's our bond now."
He stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with David.
The two faced the endless tide together once again—one with a saber, one with a stick.
No running. No fear.
And then—
THOOM.
The ground trembled.
Dust rose around them.
Another THOOM.
And another.
The air grew heavier, pressure thick as fog. Even the goblins stopped giggling, turning toward the barn.
From behind the wooden wreckage came a shadow.
Massive.
Towering.
The final stomp made the ground quake so violently that even Daryl stumbled a step back.
David's grin faltered. His throat went dry.
"...What the hell was that?"
The barn wall creaked.
Something huge moved inside, heavy and slow.
And then—
A colossal goblin, twice the size of a man, stepped into the sunlight—its eyes burning crimson like molten gold, a crude crown of bones on its head.
The Goblin giant.