The Pitch-Black Goblin.
From the moment it was born, an endless dread filled its mind. It feared that white-haired boy. The reason was unknown even to the monster itself. That strange, deep fear was enough to smother its violent instincts.
Without warning, a strange vision kept flashing before its eyes— the white-haired boy, surrounded by many, cleaving through a calamity of pitch-black darkness. It couldn't make out what monster lay beneath the blade. Only fear grew and spread, lingering deep within.
Soon, the Pitch-Black Goblin realized it wasn't its own fear. It was the Dungeon that birthed it, trembling before the boy's very existence. Malice swelled and boiled, giving rise to fury and killing intent. In its crimson eyes, one thought remained.
Kill that boy.
The Dungeon feared the [Hero]. And it was the embodiment of that malice. Everything existed solely to prevent the [Hero] from being born.
...
The roaring didn't stop.
"Gahhh!!!"
The echoes rumbled endlessly. As the third mutant fell, every goblin surged forward at once. Fangs, blades, claws, clubs... Countless weapons pointed toward the boy. Their grotesque forms overlapped into one storm of chaos.
The passageway was packed tight. The last giant Goblin stomped over the bodies of its kin, charging straight ahead.
Chaos. That was Bell's first impression.
The goblins could no longer tell friend from foe. They used their own bodies as weapons, desperate to break through the narrow entrance. It was nothing like the organized assaults from before. But Bell had no time to think about it.
Even though he could easily cut them down amid the chaos, the endless waves still pulled his focus. The giant Goblin stopped a short distance away. Bell caught it in the corner of his eye, and a chill ran through him. From the start, this mutant had never planned to attack.
Airmid, standing behind, saw it too—an eerie, terrifying sight. The giant Goblin opened its right hand and grabbed a monster from underfoot. Raising its arm high, it hurled the creature at him.
The next instant—
BOOM!
The impact shook the entire passage.
"Bell!"
Airmid cried out.
Black mist rose. The side wall of the tunnel burst open, splattered with vile green blood. Bell lay flat on the ground, barely dodging the attack. Had he reacted a second later, he would have been blown away.
A monster cannonball. That bizarre, horrifying attack was far too deadly for the two of them in their current condition.
"Hide!" Bell shouted.
The giant Goblin snatched up several more monsters. Its thick arm drew back, muscles bulging, face twisted in rage. The goblins in its grasp shrieked—or perhaps roared in madness.
"Gaaaah!!"
At this moment, both the youth and the Dea Saint faced a choice.
Airmid lacked sufficient strength. Her combat experience was scarce, each engagement meticulously prepared. If the concocted potion were destroyed by that cannon blast, she, as a healer, would be utterly useless.
The youth had fulfilled his promise, achieving a heroic feat. Even if it meant a single extra second, she would offer him Dia Fratel.
The bombardment came only seconds apart. Airmid had no time to find a container for the potion. Flames raged fiercely, but faced with this choice, the Dea Saint did not hesitate for a moment.
For the boy.
For herself.
For their shared future.
The Dea Saint placed her hands on the rim of the cauldron. For a moment, she couldn't tell whether it was scorching heat or bitter cold. Intense pain surged through her body, and she reflexively let go.
The agony numbed her mind. That cylindrical pot had become a terrifying monster in her eyes. Was this the extent of her resolve?
Leaving the boy to face the monster alone—he was still just a novice Adventurer. How much courage did it take for him to smile in such a situation? One saved by a hero must never become a cowardly deserter.
Move.
Steam stung her face as sweat and tears fell together.
Move, Airmid Teasanare.
Don't make me despise myself again.
If you don't move now, how can you show him your true feelings? If you cower now, how could you ever face him again?
Move, dammit!
Airmid clenched her teeth, ignoring her already festering skin, and pressed her arms tightly against the pot's wall. The heat quickly burned through her clothing.
It was like a beast, tearing through her skin, ripping at her blood, wrenching at the marrow deep within. Her brain screamed.
Let go.
Let go.
Let go.
But the Dea Saint did the opposite, gripping even tighter.
Amidst pain beyond imagination, Airmid lost consciousness for a brief moment. Through tear-filled eyes, she looked at the youth as if seeking courage, then lifted the entire scalding pot and ran toward the edge of the room.
With every step, her numb arms screamed in agony. The heat felt like claws plucking at her brain's nerves.
In just a few seconds, endless pain consumed her entire body. Yet the Dea Saint held on, her arms never loosening, as if she were clutching the boy's hands.
…
The boy she adored was also facing a trial.
Long-range bombardment.
Such an extraordinary tactic was far too deadly for the two of them now. Neither the boy nor the Dea Saint possessed any means of long-range attack.
If they had to fend off the bombardment while holding back the goblins, it was only a matter of time before they slipped up. Could they really withstand that impact head-on, even with the aid of healing magic?
The walls were already cracking apart. Bell knew the answer all too well. He had fallen into a true dead end. Under that barrage, defending this entrance was no longer possible.
The boy's mind turned to a single decision: advance or retreat.
Retreat into the room and escape with Airmid? With all the monsters flooding in—and the mutant species among them—that choice was sheer folly. Only one path remained before him: fight to the death and push forward.
"I'll take care of that big one. You hold the line!"
Before Bell's words had even faded, he leapt onto a goblin's head and charged ahead.
To abandon the one he was meant to protect was no act of a knight. Yet there wasn't a shred of doubt in him. Only by taking down that mutant species could they grasp even a sliver of hope.
A thunderous roar echoed as the giant goblin hurled another monster, obliterating a swath of its own kin. Bell darted through the sea of creatures.
And a song rose for him.
Airmid watched as more monsters poured into the passage, feeling neither fear nor resentment toward the youth's choice. She understood this was the turning point of the battle—the moment that would decide both their fates.
The song grew louder, more resolute. The Dea Saint stood in the corner, shielding the potion behind her.
Claws ripped into her flesh, blood spraying before her wounds sealed in an instant.
That boy would surely defeat the giant goblin and return to save her.
The song echoed through the corridor.
Airmid stood in the corner of the room, unable to see the boy's figure.
What she didn't know was this:
An arrow had already pierced through the boy's body.