They spent about an hour meditating. His wounds had fully healed, though his shoulder still lacked proper mobility. At least he could stand up on his own now.
The goblins kept dragging people away from the other cells, so they had to remain alert at all times. Sure, he could bend the bars and escape, but that would take time and alert the guards. That's why they had decided to wait for a goblin to open the cell from the outside.
Finally, after a few tense minutes, heavy footsteps echoed down the stone hallway.
They stopped right in front of their cell. Someone stood before the door and opened it.
"There are people who fake their injuries," said a human voice—low, somber, and oddly robotic.
"Humans?" he thought. "Are they here to rescue the survivors?"
But what happened next gave him the answer.
He slowly opened one eye to see who it was. The tall, bald man who had been taken away about an hour ago now stood there, a massive hammer in hand. He stepped forward, heading straight for the ones lying motionless on the ground. And then...
He began to bring down the hammer, crushing the heads of those pretending to be unconscious.
First one.
Then another.
The third opened his eyes and tried to fight back, but it was no use. The hammer smashed his skull and hands without mercy.
It was a horrible sight.
And it rattled him even more when the bald man turned and started walking in his direction.
The hammer was raised high above his head, ready to fall.
But before it could turn him into paste, a long, black, razor-sharp blade emerged from the hand he had kept hidden across his chest and pierced straight through the man's skull like it was butter.
It was the skill Will of the Blade, gained after defeating the knight from Camelot.
In the next second, he pulled the blade free, and the tall body collapsed to the floor—crushed beneath its own weapon.
A familiar voice echoed:
[You have slain a shapeshifter goblin]
"That was a goblin?" he wondered, confused.
There was no further explanation. He stood up.
"What happened?" asked Svend behind him, also rising. He stared at the corpse with wide eyes—the gaping hole in its head and its own hammer resting on top.
"We're getting out of here," came the grim reply, as the dark blade vanished from his hand.
They walked through the narrow corridor, where small torches flickered along the stone walls.
The cells they passed caught their attention, each one filled with wounded people—men, women... and children. All motionless, barely conscious.
He suppressed the urge to help or protect them. Setting them free would only hasten their deaths. He wasn't strong enough to shield them from what awaited outside.
"I'll make sure those grey bastards take a real hit."
He already had a plan. All they had to do was get out first.
They opened a heavy black metal door. On the other side stood three goblins, their backs turned, watching the main cave entrance.
The creatures noticed their presence almost instantly. But before any of them could react, a black dagger materialized in his hand and slit the throat of the first goblin, staining the blade red.
The others charged. One was intercepted by Svend, who blocked the attack with his bracer. The second came at him with its claws, but he dodged the strike and countered with a quick slash—severing its arm and driving the dagger into its temple.
He turned to assist Svend, but there was no need—the goblin's head was already bouncing off the stone floor, leaving smears of blood behind.
They continued deeper into the massive cavern, dimly lit at the edges by sparse torches. Small holes lined the walls, just the size of a goblin. Probably their dens, he thought.
And he was right. As they advanced, countless tiny eyes began to turn toward them.
Like a wave of bloodlust.
He didn't flinch. On the contrary—he kept walking, with Svend close behind.
They only needed to make it outside. After that, the little bastards would know what hell was like.
But it wouldn't be easy.
Suddenly, one of the goblins screamed, breaking the silence.
Others followed, shouting and leaping. Their eyes gleamed like predators spotting prey.
A low chuckle escaped his lips as he glanced around—the two of them were already surrounded.
He summoned two long daggers and rolled his shoulders.
Mana surged through his body as he cast a cold, piercing glare at the crowd.
"What are you waiting for? Or would you rather I come to you?"
There was hesitation—but only for a moment. Then one of them lunged, dagger in hand.
He didn't need to dodge. The goblin was far too slow.
He just stood there and let it come.
Before the blade even touched his neck, the goblin's arm was sliced off, spinning through the air.
Blood splattered across his cheek. He didn't flinch.
The creature winced in pain—but only for an instant. Its expression froze as its head was severed next.
In less than a second, the first goblin was dead.
The rest faltered for a heartbeat. But then they stepped forward.
He glanced back—Svend was already gripping a dagger with his one good hand, ready to fight. That gave him a bit of comfort. At least he wasn't alone.
Turning back to face the horde, he grinned widely.
"Come on, you filthy little freaks!"
And with a roar, the goblins hurled themselves forward, claws and weapons raised high.