Three days had passed since the parting with the wandering merchant Henry.


    During this time, Vitald hardly stopped: he galloped forward, taking brief


    breaks only to let his mare rest and to stretch and have a bite himself. At


    night, he slept under the trees, as he hadn''t encountered a single village


    along his path.


    Finally, after several days of travel, he spotted a village in the distance.


    The sun was beginning to set, and Vitald felt a wave of relief: at last, he


    could rest on a bed or at least something soft. After all, his back was


    starting to ache from the nights spent on the cold ground.


    Moreover, ahead lay the promise of a proper, cooked meal. Over the past few


    days, he had made do with whatever he could find: the dried meat he had bought


    at the tavern had run out on the first day, leaving him to hunt hares and


    birds. Thankfully, his crossbow was always within reach.


    As he approached the village, however, Vitald felt a vague unease. Everything


    around him was eerily silent. There were no children''s voices, no women by the


    river washing clothes. Only an oppressive, absolute silence.


    “Maybe it’s an abandoned village?” he thought, dismounting from his horse.


    But upon entering the village, he realized he was wrong. Gifted with a keen


    sense of smell and hearing from birth, Vitald immediately caught the heavy


    stench of rotting flesh lingering in the air. It felt as though eyes were


    watching him from every shadowy window.


    “Goblins,” he muttered, gripping the hilt of his sword but leaving it


    sheathed for now. “Not just a couple—but an entire settlement.”


    Approaching the nearest house, he kicked the door open with a powerful


    strike and rushed inside. There were three goblins in the room: short creatures,


    with swampy, dark green skin, long ears, hooked noses, and small malicious


    eyes. One wore a helmet—likely taken from an unlucky warrior—another held an


    old, rusty sword, and the third, one-eyed and unarmed, glared menacingly. In


    the corner of the room lay the lifeless body of a woman clutching a child in


    her arms.


    With a howl, the unarmed goblin lunged at Vitald. The swordsman reacted


    instantly, drawing his blade, pivoting to the side, and letting the creature


    miss its mark. While the goblin stumbled to regain balance, Vitald turned his


    attention to the one wielding the rusty sword. The creature attempted to block


    his attack, but its weapon shattered on impact. Vitald was about to deliver a


    killing blow when he felt the one-eyed goblin leap onto his back, while the


    helmeted one clung to his leg.


    “Damn pesky pests!” he cursed, fumbling for the bloodied rose medallion


    hanging around his neck. Gripping it tightly, he shouted, “Da cuadro!”


    A surge of magical energy erupted, flinging the goblins into the corners of


    the room. Before they could recover, Vitald dashed toward the one with the


    broken sword and drove his blade through its neck. The one-eyed goblin,


    regaining its senses, prepared to jump again, but Vitald swiftly pulled a


    dagger from the sheath on his thigh and hurled it straight into the creature’s


    chest.


    The remaining goblin, still wearing its helmet, shrank into a corner,


    trembling. It whimpered in its guttural tongue, covering its head with its


    hands. Vitald stepped closer, crouched down, and with an icy glare asked:


    “Do you want me to spare you? Did you spare that woman and her child?”


    The goblin turned its head toward the mutilated bodies of the woman and her


    child before glancing back at Vitald. It began to sob.


    With a soft hiss, the sword’s blade slashed through the goblin’s neck. The


    creature gurgled, clutching its wound, and within moments fell silent.


    Vitald rose to his feet and glanced out the window.


    “There must be a cave nearby; otherwise, they couldn’t have gotten here,” he


    mused, wiping the blood from his blade. “The sun’s still high. I need to take a


    look around.”


    Emerging onto the street, he began his search, moving quickly, knowing that


    goblins loathed sunlight and would likely remain hidden.


    “Goblins are weak creatures, but in numbers… even a skilled swordsman could


    be overwhelmed. And if their group is led by a shaman—or worse, a Goblin


    King—even I might not survive,” he thought, scanning every corner of the


    village for signs of an entrance to a cave.


    After scouring the entire area, he found nothing. The sun was already


    dipping toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and red. Returning


    to the first house where he had fought the goblins, Vitald noticed an open


    trapdoor in a neighboring room leading downward.


    “So that’s how they got here… The villagers must have dug this passage and


    accidentally stumbled upon the goblins’ lair,” he speculated, drawing his


    sword. “Another damn headache.”


    Deciding not to risk exploring in haste, Vitald chose to postpone his


    investigation until morning. He spent the night behind a hill, away from the


    village. Though he despised goblins, his sense of caution told him that


    nightfall was not the best time to delve into dangerous places.


    “The Hunters’ Guild will surely pay handsomely for clearing this place,” he


    thought, climbing onto his horse and heading toward his makeshift campsite.


    Settling in behind the hill, he decided to watch for any activity at the


    cave entrance. His suspicions were confirmed when a group of twenty goblins


    emerged. Among them were two shamans and an imposing Goblin King. Ensuring he


    wasn’t spotted, Vitald retreated further into cover and lay down to rest,


    knowing he would need his strength for what lay ahead.


    At the first light of dawn, he was already up, contemplating the challenge


    ahead.


    “A Goblin King… His head alone would fetch a fine price. But is it worth the


    risk? That brute may be as big as an orc, but his mind is no better than an


    ordinary goblin’s,” he reasoned, inspecting his gear.


    Arriving back at the village, he tied his horse to a post and retrieved a


    smaller sword from his saddlebag. The weapon was noticeably shorter than his


    usual blade, making it more practical for combat in tight spaces. Strapping the


    smaller sword to his left side and slinging the longer one across his back, he


    approached the house with the trapdoor.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Descending into the underground lair, Vitald cast a spell, conjuring a small


    flame in his hand to light his way. Clutching his sword in the other, he


    advanced cautiously. The tunnel was strewn with bones and the decayed remains


    of humans—undoubtedly the unfortunate villagers. He moved silently, his every


    step measured. Eventually, the passage led to a ledge. Scanning the area, he


    noticed a path spiraling downward.


    At the lower level, he spotted a smoldering campfire and two slumbering


    goblins.


    “Scouts. If they sound the alarm, I’m done for,” he whispered.


    Extinguishing his magical flame, he drew his second sword and crept toward


    them. In one swift motion, he struck both goblins simultaneously, silencing


    them forever. Cleaning his blades, Vitald sheathed the longer sword, reignited


    the flame in his hand, and pressed onward.


    The tunnel eventually opened into a grand chamber. Peeking through a


    partially open door, Vitald saw a vast hall adorned with towering columns


    etched with ancient patterns. At the base of the columns, armed goblins dozed.


    At the far end of the hall, atop a massive stone throne, sat the Goblin King,


    his head resting heavily on one hand. To his left and right, on the throne’s


    steps, lay two shamans, also asleep.


    “If I can take out the King, it’ll all be over. But getting to him won’t be


    easy,” Vitald thought, gripping his sword tightly. Drawing a deep breath, he


    steeled himself and stepped inside.


    He walked down the center of the grand hall, each step calculated and


    silent. Around him, the oppressive stillness was broken only by the faint


    snores of sleeping goblins and the deep, rumbling breaths of the Goblin King.


    Vitald moved carefully, his eyes darting between the columns, the slumbering


    foes, and the massive figure on the throne. He tightened his grip on his blade,


    every sense heightened, ready for the inevitable.


    Suddenly, his foot pressed down on something wrong. A faint click echoed


    through the hall. Vitald''s instincts took over, and he leaped to the side,


    performing a quick roll just as sharp spikes shot out from the floor where he


    had stepped. The loud metallic clatter reverberated through the chamber,


    shattering the quiet.


    Groggy goblins stirred awake, blinking and snarling in confusion. The


    shamans, startled, began chanting, their guttural voices filling the space. The


    Goblin King, with a deafening roar, straightened on his throne, his eyes


    blazing with fury.


    “Damn it, what a stupid mistake!” Vitald hissed through gritted teeth as he


    sprang to his feet. He had no time to dwell on his misstep. The goblins were


    already scrambling to arm themselves, and the shamans were weaving their dark


    magic. He needed to act fast.


    “Za laflit!” he shouted, thrusting his hand forward.


    A dense black fog erupted around him, blanketing the hall and disorienting


    his enemies. Goblins stumbled, their weapons clattering to the ground as they


    coughed and growled, unable to see. Vitald used the chaos to his advantage. He


    turned toward a group of four goblins rushing through the mist. Drawing his


    short sword, he hurled it into the chest of the first. Gripping his long blade


    with both hands, he cut down the second with a single strike. Spinning on his


    heel, he drove the tip of his sword into the third goblin’s chest before


    yanking the shorter blade from the first goblin’s corpse. The final goblin


    lunged at him, but Vitald was faster, slicing through the creature mid-air.


    The fog began to thin, revealing a gruesome scene of lifeless goblins


    scattered across the stone floor. Three more goblins, seeing the carnage, froze


    in terror. Their trembling hands dropped their weapons, and they turned to


    flee. But before they could take more than a few steps, the Goblin King let out


    a monstrous roar, halting them in their tracks. The sheer force of his voice


    seemed to shake the hall, commanding the remaining goblins to fight.


    “Cowards,” Vitald muttered, his eyes narrowing as he prepared for the next


    wave.


    “Ousind!” he called out, slamming his palm against the ground.


    With a thunderous rumble, a wall of stone erupted from the floor, cutting


    off the charging goblins. The first one collided with the wall headfirst and


    crumpled to the ground. Using the brief moment of distraction, Vitald darted


    toward the throne. The shamans, recovering from their shock, unleashed a


    blazing orb of fire at him. The heat of the spell rushed toward him, but Vitald


    leaped into a roll, narrowly avoiding the inferno. The fireball crashed into a


    column behind him, incinerating the goblins who had been chasing him.


    He was closing in on the Goblin King now. The enormous creature rose to his


    feet, grabbing two shamans by their necks and flinging them at Vitald like ragdolls.


    “Quantrum!” Vitald yelled, raising his hand.


    A surge of magical wind blasted the shamans aside, sending them crashing


    into the walls. Without breaking stride, he adjusted his grip on his sword and


    charged at the King. But the massive creature was ready. With a ferocious


    swing, he brought down his colossal club. Vitald barely had time to react. The


    force of the strike sent him flying, slamming him into the far wall. He


    collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, pain radiating through his body.


    “Damn… He hits hard,” Vitald groaned, gingerly touching his side. “Left arm…


    dislocated. Ribs… Definitely broken.”


    He pushed himself up, leaning against the wall for support. With a grimace,


    he yanked his dislocated arm back into place, biting back a scream of pain. He


    quickly retrieved a small vial of healing potion from his pouch, drinking it in


    one swift motion. The pain dulled slightly, but the potion was weak—it wouldn’t


    be enough to fix his injuries.


    The Goblin King, undeterred, lumbered toward him, each step causing the


    ground to tremble. Vitald grabbed his sword, using it as a crutch to stand.


    From his pouch, he pulled another vial—this one filled with a dark purple


    liquid. Without hesitation, he drank it, feeling its effects immediately. The


    world around him seemed to slow. His ears caught every faint sound, his eyes


    tracked every movement, and he could feel the vibrations of the King’s steps in


    the very air.


    “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got,” Vitald growled, gripping his blade


    tightly.


    He dashed toward the King, his heightened senses giving him an edge. While


    the King’s movements were powerful, they were also slow and predictable. Vitald


    aimed for the creature’s legs, hoping to sever them, but his sword merely


    glanced off the thick, muscular flesh.


    “Damn it… Even my blade can’t cut through him. Think, Vitald. Think!” he


    thought, retreating to assess his options.


    His eyes darted around the hall until they landed on a rope lying amidst the


    rubble. An idea formed. Sprinting toward the rope, he snatched it up, gripping


    it between his teeth as he closed the distance to the King. The massive


    creature raised his club again, but Vitald rolled under it, dodging the blow.


    Leaping onto the King’s back, he wrapped the rope around the beast’s thick neck


    and began to pull with all his strength.


    The Goblin King roared, thrashing wildly in an attempt to dislodge him.


    Vitald clung on, his muscles screaming in protest as the King’s clawed hands


    reached for him. Each swing of the King’s arms sent waves of pain through


    Vitald’s battered body, but he gritted his teeth and pulled harder.


    With a final, choked gasp, the King fell to his knees. His bloodshot eyes


    bulged, and his immense body convulsed before collapsing with a deafening


    crash. The ground quaked as the life drained from the monstrous ruler.


    Vitald released the rope and staggered to his feet, breathing heavily. He


    cast a weary glance at the fallen King, allowing himself a faint, victorious


    smirk. But his legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground beside the lifeless


    creature.


    “Bastard…” he muttered, weakly punching the King’s massive head.


    For several minutes, he lay still, listening to the sound of his own labored


    breathing. Eventually, he forced himself upright, swallowing another healing


    potion. The pain subsided enough for him to gather his strength. He retrieved


    his swords, carefully sheathing them, and approached the King’s corpse. Using


    his short blade, he severed the King’s head, wrapping it in cloth before


    heading toward the exit.


    As he emerged from the cave, the cool night air hit his face. The moon hung


    high in the sky, its silver light illuminating the landscape.


    “Took longer than expected,” Vitald murmured, gazing up at the stars.


    He secured the King’s head to his saddle, took a final glance at the village


    to ensure no danger remained, and mounted his horse. Slowly, he rode away, the


    promise of a long journey back awaiting him.