Chapter 8: Fireball, Survival and Unexpected Arrival.

Chapter: Fireball, Survival and Unexpected Arrival.

Clang.

Shlk.

Thud.

Leon twisted, dropped low, and swept the legs out from under the next goblin. The creature shrieked, rolled, and met the dagger in his throat before it could finish screaming.

’Two.’

Another goblin lunged from the side—sloppier, younger. Leon ducked the overhead slash, pivoted in, and jabbed twice.

Stk. Stk.

It dropped.

’Three.’

He exhaled hard, scanning the chaos. Around him, guards were finally doing something useful—corralling the goblins, fighting in groups, pushing back. It wasn’t organized, but it was working.

’Looks like I’m not the only one cleaning house.’

Then something changed.

The hair on the back of his neck lifted—pure instinct.

Leon moved. Fast.

FWOOSH—

A fireball roared past his head, missing by less than an inch. It slammed into a cart behind him with a violent KRAK-BOOM, sending splinters and flames skyward.

Leon spun toward the source.

A goblin—different from the others. Taller, darker-skinned, eyes glowing with hate. A crude wand crackled in its hand, and beside it stood a larger brute—nearly double the size of the others, scarred, armored, and holding a rusted sword like it ’meant’ something.

’Oh. Magic’s real. This is not a drill.’

The wand-wielding goblin raised its hand again, arcane light flickering at the tip.

Leon moved—but the brute moved faster.

It was on him in an instant.

CLANG!

Leon blocked just in time, steel shrieking as sword met dagger. The brute snarled, yellow teeth snapping close.

’No time. No space. No help.’

He ducked under a wild swing—whoosh!—and countered with a slash to the ribs.

Shnk.

The blade hit—but shallow. The brute grunted and barely flinched.

’What—? No reaction?’

Leon kicked back, panting. The brute followed, relentless. Heavy swings, precise in their brutality.

"Who taught you to fight?" Leon gasped. "A haunted anvil?"

The brute didn’t answer. Just attacked.

CLANG. SHHK. CLANG.

Leon dodged left, rolled right, slashed—hit—barely drew blood.

’His skin’s thicker. Slower, but stronger. This thing’s a wall.’

And all the while—behind the brute—the wand goblin stood untouched, magic crackling between its fingers.

Watching.

Smiling.

Leon realized then:

’This isn’t a raid. It’s a hit squad.’

And he was the target.

The brute swung with murder in its eyes.

He notice if dodged he would hit the fire ball, so he had no choice but to take the attack head on.

Leon raised both daggers to block—CLANG!

It felt like getting hit by a falling building.

His arms screamed. His vision blurred. And then—

WHAM!

The sheer force blasted him backward. He crashed into a wooden cart, the impact splintering crates and knocking the wind out of him. His spine lit up with pain. For a split second, everything was just stars and ringing ears.

’That... sucked,’ he thought, blinking rapidly.

But then—the warm pulse from the red ring surged through his hand, threading into his limbs like a lifeline. Pain dulled. Bruises faded. Clarity snapped back into place.

Leon sucked in a breath and pushed himself up.

’Right. No time to die dramatically.’

The brute came again, sword raised, grinning wide like it could taste the kill. But Leon wasn’t going to play meatshield again.

He dodged left—barely a breath away from being split in half—then pivoted around its flank.

’I can’t outpower it. I can’t outrun fireballs. So... surgical precision it is.’

He didn’t bother slashing its thick arms or chest—he’d already seen his blades barely scratch.

Instead, he dropped low, slipping under its swing—whoosh!—and struck at the joint behind its knee.

Shhk!

The goblin roared in pain, stumbling. Its leg buckled. Perfect.

Leon moved fast.

Before it could recover, he leapt—clinging to its back like a furious backpack. The brute thrashed, trying to shake him off, but he held tight.

"Lights out, jackass," he hissed.

Shhkt! Shhkt!

Both daggers plunged into its eyes—deep, clean, final.

The goblin convulsed—then collapsed with a groan, twitching once before falling still.

Thud.

Leon dropped beside it, panting, blades slick with black blood.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t speak.

He just looked down at the corpse and thought:

’I can kill monsters.’

’Let’s see how magic tastes.’

Leon’s knees trembled slightly as he stood, heart pounding in the silence that followed the brute’s death. He barely had a second to process it before his gaze snapped back to the real thorn in his side:

That smug little bastard with a wand.

The magic goblin stood at the far end of the street, arcane energy swirling around its clawed hand like it thought it was the final boss of some underground dungeon. Sparks crackled along its fingertips. Its lips curled in a sneer. Red eyes locked with his.

Leon raised his blades, bloodied but firm.

"Oh, I’m gonna turn you into a green smear on the cobblestone."

He took a step forward.

Then the sky screamed.

KRZZZAAK!

A flash of light. A sharp sound like reality tearing. And then—

THWUNK!

A spear—no, a damn lightning spear—came out of nowhere, trailing arcs of energy as it pierced clean through the goblin’s chest.

The spell on its fingertips fizzled out mid-cast.

It twitched once.

Then slumped to the ground—dead before it hit the dirt.

Leon froze mid-step, mouth slightly open.

"...What?"

The body dropped with a wet thud, and there it was—a luxurious spear, still impaled in the corpse, humming faintly with residual lightning. Elegant gold trimming, polished wood, runic engravings glowing like cooling embers.

Lightning still crawled along its haft.

Leon blinked at it.

"...Okay, who just stole my revenge kill with a divine javelin from Zeus’s closet?"

He turned instinctively, scanning the direction the spear had come from, pulse still racing.

’That wasn’t goblin work.’

And whoever threw that?

’Wasn’t normal.’

The crackle of fading lightning gave way to silence.

Leon stood still, eyes narrowed, blood dripping steadily from both blades.

Then came the sound.

Clop. Clop. Clop.

Hooves.

He turned sharply. Beyond the smoke and ruined market, a single figure rode hard through the broken southern gate.

A rider. Silver armor.

She didn’t slow.

The horse galloped through wreckage and corpses with frightening grace, steel hooves cutting a clean path through the chaos. She pulled the reins only when she reached the center of the street—just a few paces from where Leon stood beside the goblin brute’s corpse.

The mount reared slightly before coming to a stop.

Leon didn’t move.

His knives were still in hand. His stance—not aggressive, but far from trusting.

The woman dismounted in one swift motion. Her purple hair spilled free from beneath her helm, eyes the same hue—sharp, intelligent, searching.

She took in the scene quickly.

The dead goblin mage, still impaled on the lightning spear.

The downed goblin warrior, its hulking body limp beside shattered crates.

Then her gaze landed on Leon.

A pale boy, white-haired and silver-eyed, his clothes torn and bloodied. His arms bore faint scratches, his eyes calm but alert. Cautious.

She frowned. Not harshly. Thoughtfully.

"You killed that?"

Leon didn’t glance at the corpse.

He simply gave her a flat look and replied, "Unless someone else carved out its kneecaps and gouged its eyes in the last ten seconds, yes."

A beat of silence.

Her expression didn’t change, but something in the tension around her mouth shifted. A flicker of... acknowledgment.

Leon didn’t drop his guard.

He didn’t know who she was, what that insignia on her armor meant, or why someone like her would arrive ’after’ the fight.

But he knew enough to keep his distance.

And he could feel it in her posture too.

She was strong.

Trained.

And for the first time in this world, he wasn’t sure whether he was being evaluated... or judged.

Either way, he didn’t blink.

She had armor.

He had blood.

Let her draw her own conclusions.