A goblin slashed at his torso with its claws, but before it could land the blow, Bill brought a dagger down on its arms, releasing a spray of blood.
Another one appeared, leaping toward his face in an attempt to blind him. He shifted his weight, spun, and drove the blade into the goblin's skull.
He had chosen daggers for a reason: they allowed for agile maneuvers and speed, perfect for fighting in cramped spaces.
One after another, the creatures kept coming. Alone, they posed no real threat. Easier than humans, in fact. But the sheer number of them made the battle suffocating. Fortunately, he had a trump card if things went wrong.
He kept cutting. Any goblin that lunged at him was met with steel. There were too many—his movement grew limited.
Behind him, Svend was struggling too. Fatigue showed on his face. Bill, on the other hand, remained focused, but maintaining the summoned weapons was steadily draining his mana. He could last the fight… but could his body?
One would fail first—mana or muscle. If both gave out together, he was done for.
With that in mind, he took the lead. No more waiting for the enemy. He moved past Svend and attacked head-on.
The first went down.
Then the second.
And so on.
The robotic voice he called "System" echoed in his mind:
[You have killed a shapeshifter goblin.]
[You have killed a goblin…]
[You have killed…]
[You have…]
He didn't let it finish. He killed faster than the system could speak. With each step forward, more corpses piled behind him. Small wounds opened across his body, blood slowly dripping from them.
He avoided fatal blows by sacrificing non-vital spots, killing each attacker in return. But there seemed to be no end. All he wanted was to reach the exit. But five minutes passed, and they still came.
The floor was slick with blood. He didn't care. He kept cutting like a reaper. Striking harder, thinking of nothing but the path forward.
Any obstacle was erased. Some were torn to pieces, others mutilated. He blinded a few. One slipped past and dug its claws into his side.
He grunted, but didn't falter. Pain meant death—so he ignored it and buried his dagger in its skull.
More swarmed him.
"They're endless," he muttered, gritting his teeth.
He split them open from head to toe—necks, arms, torsos, feet.
He kept cutting.
His mind blurred.
He advanced. He cut.
He advanced. He cut.
His arms were swollen, his body soaked in crimson. But his eyes stayed forward. He would survive.
Not out of arrogance—but certainty. Doubting would kill him.
So he didn't hesitate.
A thousand goblins, a whole kingdom—it didn't matter. He moved forward, decapitating everything in his way, leaving a hellish scene behind.
At last, after what felt like eternity, he saw daylight.
He nearly smiled—but goblins still clung to him. He kept killing. Let a few slip by so Svend could handle them. He trusted the other boy. But more were crawling out of holes.
The light grew stronger. He moved fast. Finally, sunlight hit his face.
He looked up at the calm, blue sky—peace, for just a moment. Then turned back. Svend emerged, breathless and disheveled.
"Are you really going to do it?" he asked, his voice shaky.
Bill met his gaze and frowned.
"Yeah… Wasn't that the plan? You sealed the cell door. Once this is over, we'll go back for them."
Svend looked worried. For good reason. They were about to burn every corpse—and any goblins left alive. Those who didn't run would be forced out by smoke, and they'd finish them off.
But the prisoners in the back… they were a problem. The thick metal door was sealed tight to keep the goblins—and smoke—out. That meant they'd need to go back inside to save them, even if it meant pushing their exhausted bodies further.
Leaving them to suffocate or starve… was a line neither was willing to cross.
Bill sighed and looked into the dark cave. More goblins were coming.
He extended his arms. The black daggers vanished.
A warmth ignited under his chest, where a small core pulsed. Ambient mana flowed into it.
Black flames erupted from his palms—hotter than any normal fire.
He poured most of his mana into the flames. Sweat trickled down as he fused them into a baseball-sized orb.
Then—
A pillar of black fire roared into the cave, incinerating corpses, devouring those still hiding in the shadows.
None survived. And the few who did would soon die—burned, choking.
A faint smile appeared on his lips, masking the exhaustion.
Until a voice spoke:
"Having fun? Mind if I join?"
The smile vanished.
Standing beside Svend was a boy, same age, black hair, sharp gray eyes—grinning as he wrapped an arm around the other's shoulder.
Bill didn't know him.
But from the terror in Svend's eyes…
He understood enough.
They had to run.