The ancient, gnarled trees grew so close together that their branches seemed to intertwine, creating a dense canopy that choked out most of the sunlight. What little managed to pierce through fell in dappled, shifting shafts, painting the moss-covered ground in a mosaic of light and shadow. The air was thick and heavy, a humid cocktail of damp earth, the sweet cloying scent of decaying leaves, and a faint, underlying musk that spoke of something unwashed and feral. My leather armor creaked softly with each deliberate step, the rhythmic sound a small comfort in the oppressive silence. My hand, gloved in worn hide, rested firmly on the pommel of my longsword, the cool steel a promise of violence.
I am a B-Rank Warrior. This is should not be that hard of a job.
The trail was fresh. A broken fern here, a patch of mud disturbed by a clumsy, three-toed foot there. The goblin I was hunting was careless, arrogant even. It thought this forest was its domain, and for the most part, it was right. But today, a predator had entered its food chain. I paused, lifting my head slightly, my ears straining to pick out any sound from the natural symphony of rustling leaves and chirping insects. There. A faint, wet snuffling sound, accompanied by the snap of a twig. It was close.
I dropped into a combat stance, my feet shoulder-width apart, my knees slightly bent. My left arm came up, the smooth, worn surface of my wooden heater shield held ready to intercept. My right hand drew the longsword in a single, fluid motion, the blade whispering from its scabbard. The steel felt alive in my hand, an extension of my own will. I moved forward now, not with the caution of a tracker, but with the purpose of a hunter.
A low growl echoed from a thicket of thorny bushes just ahead. Then, with a furious shriek that tore through the forest quiet, it burst forth. The creature was a textbook specimen of its kind: short, stooped, and possessed of a wiry, malevolent strength. Its skin was the color of stagnant pond scum, mottled with darker patches of filth. It was draped in a pathetic assortment of scavenged gear—a patchwork of cured hide that looked more like cured disease, and a breastplate of rusted pitted metal that was far too large for its frame. In its grubby claw, it gripped a crude scimitar, its edge chipped and notched from careless use. Its face, a wretched mask of malice, was dominated by a pair of large, jaundiced eyes that burned with a feral intelligence and a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth, currently bared in a snarl
Human! Human in my forest! Kill! Eat its bones! This Human's Skull might be tasty.
The goblin didn't waste a second. It lowered its head and charged, a surprisingly fast bundle of hate and rusted metal. I braced myself, planting my feet firmly. The impact came a moment later, a solid, jarring force as its body slammed into my shield. The wood groaned under the strain, but held firm. The sheer force of the blow sent a vibration up my arm, a dull ache in my shoulder. I could smell its foul breath, a noxious cloud of rot and old meat.
I shoved back hard, using my greater weight and height to my advantage. The goblin stumbled back a few paces, off-balance. Before it could recover, I lunged. My longsword whipped through the air in a horizontal arc, aimed at its torso. With a frantic clatter, it managed to interpose its scimitar, parrying my strike at the last second. The screech of grinding steel was sharp and unpleasant, but the parry was clumsy, its arm buckling under the force of my blow.
I saw my opening. I feinted high, pulling my sword back as if to strike at its head. The goblin took the bait, its scimitar rising to block an attack that never came. In the same fluid motion, I dropped my blade and sliced low. The edge of my longsword bit deep into the goblin's left thigh, cleaving through tough skin and muscle. A gout of impossibly dark, foul-smelling blood sprayed from the wound, staining the forest floor black.
Pain! Burning pain! Human cut me! I will tear its flesh! Hurt! Hurt! Hurt!
It shrieked, a high-pitched sound of pure agony and rage. The wound was grievous, and its leg immediately began to buckle, but the pain only seemed to fuel its madness. It lunged at me again, this time with a desperate, wild swing of its scimitar. I easily deflected the blow with my shield, the crude weapon scraping harmlessly off the wood. Using its own momentum against it, I took a quick step forward and slammed my shield forward with all my strength.
There was a sickening, wet crunch as the hard wood of my shield connected squarely with the goblin's face. Cartilage and bone gave way. It stumbled backward, dropping its scimitar with a clatter as it clawed at its ruined face, thick, dark blood streaming between its fingers. Its shrieks of rage turned into pained, gurgling whimpers.
It was crippled, disarmed, and terrified. The fight was all but over. I gave it no quarter. I advanced, my sword still held ready. The creature tried to scramble away on its one good leg, a pathetic, crawling motion. I stood over it, the tip of my blade pointing down. It looked up, its one good eye wide with a primal fear it had probably never known.
No... no... please.... don't.... kill.... don't...
I raised the longsword one last time. The blade caught a sliver of sunlight, gleaming brightly for an instant. Then, it descended in a swift, final arc. There was a soft, thudding sound
"Nice Job Kid . You have gotten better even though it's a weak goblin"
"Great Job You've improved so much Lihan! Tell me if you're hurt,i will cure you with my spell"