A massive shadow slowly emerged from the woods. The flickering firelight illuminated its reddish-brown skin, and a pair of yellow eyes appeared exceptionally cold in the gloom.
His stature was more than twice that of an Ordinary goblin. Lean, powerful muscles bulged against a somewhat worn suit of Leather Armor. A Longsword hung at his waist, while one hand gripped a Longbow and the other dangled the headless corpse of the Adventurer.
A Hobgoblin.
A member of the Goblinoids Race.
They were a strictly militarized, highly disciplined humanoid race that revered order—creatures far more dangerous than Ordinary goblins. Compared to those frail, cannon-fodder goblins, they were vastly more ruthless, ferocious, and belligerent.
Hobgoblins were soldiers from birth. Every Hobgoblin underwent rigorous military training from childhood. Those who adapted were drafted into the army, while the unfit were relegated to menial labor. As the natural leaders of the Goblinoids Race, they often ruled over their dimmer cousins, forming small legions. These squads—composed of goblins, Bear Goblins, Orcs, and sometimes even humans and Ogres—could strike terror into the hearts of nearly all Adventurers. Needless to say, they were a nightmare for the mere small fry present who didn’t even possess a Professional Level.
"Damn it, how are we supposed to fight that?"
This thing had to be an elite unit at the very least. If nobodies like them rushed him, they wouldn’t even serve as a decent appetizer, let alone dealing with the restless goblins agitated under the Hobgoblin’s control.
The Hobgoblin slowly strode to a spot where everyone could see him. He casually tossed the corpse onto the ground and threatened in a hoarse voice, speaking the Common Language. "Surrender, or die."
Hearing this, the goblins grew as pumped up as if they’d been injected with adrenaline. They waved their ragged weapons wildly in the air, seemingly cheering on their boss.
"AWOOOO!"
Lorin knew that surrendering was bullshit. Only an idiot would believe such a blatant lie.
He leaned his back against a carriage, feeling a numb ache in the webbing between his thumbs and forefingers. It was his first time fighting for his life, and he hadn’t yet learned to pace his strength. He had gripped the hilt so tightly that he could barely straighten his fingers now. While these fully concentrated strikes were highly effective—allowing him to kill a goblin in just two or three hits—they also severely drained his stamina, leaving him struggling to hold on.
Right at that moment, a coachman scrambled out from under a wagon, trembling uncontrollably. "I surrender! I surrender!" he cried, keeping his head down as he stumbled toward the Hobgoblin.
"How could we possibly beat them... I still have a wife and daughter. I can’t die, I can’t die here..." He muttered this over and over, hypnotizing himself as he ran, hoping to somehow bluff his way out alive.
"Oof!" The coachman let out a gasp as his head slammed into what felt like a solid wall.
He looked up, locking gazes perfectly with those ferocious eyes. In that instant, he felt as if his soul had plunged into an icy abyss. Even his breathing stopped. He stood frozen in place, staring blankly ahead, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.
A stream of warm liquid trickled down his inner thighs. The mix of terror and shame finally snapped him back to reality, just in time to watch helplessly as a massive hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Well done. You’re a smart man," the Hobgoblin said, pulling his lips back in a cold, mocking word of encouragement.
"Ha... haha, hahaha!"
The heavy pats nearly sent the coachman tumbling to the ground. He frantically waved his arms to steady himself. A sudden surge of relief at having survived completely washed over him, making him feel as though he were floating on air.
"My Lord, I... I can work! I can feed horses, carry cargo, fix wagons, anything! Thank you for sparing my life. I’ll be your slave from now on..."
He didn’t get to finish that sentence. Five thick fingers clamped tightly around his neck, hoisting him right off the ground. The coachman’s face turned beet red. His legs kicked frantically in the air as meaningless sounds escaped his lips.
"URGH—GHK—"
The Hobgoblin raised the man to eye level, tilting his head as he inspected his catch. Then, he crushed his grip.
CRACK.
The coachman’s body went limp, his head drooping at an unnatural angle.
"What a genuine idiot." The Hobgoblin casually discarded the corpse. He flicked the blood off his hand, a mocking smile curling his lips. "Kill them all."
The goblins fell silent for a split second, and then a Burst of even more frenzied howling erupted from them as they charged madly into the camp.
An elite unit? Lorin thought this had to be a mini-boss at the very least. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
With a grim expression, he counted the swarming goblins... A quick glance told him there were at least twenty left. If that were all, it wouldn’t be too bad. There were still at least a dozen people in the camp who could take up arms; they certainly wouldn’t cower before these grunts. But that Hobgoblin... If they didn’t kill him, everyone was going to die here.
Lorin’s mind raced. Taking him head-on was out of the question. Even after a boost, his Power was only at 13 points. He was clearly no match for that monster. Pip looked like he could pack a punch, but after smashing so many skulls, the Halfling probably didn’t have much stamina left. As for Soron? That guy was an utterly useless dead weight right now. Lorin glanced around but couldn’t even spot his shadow; the coward had most likely run off to hide.
[Burning Hand]
If he had any means left to threaten the enemy, it was only this bizarre Magic. He stared at the description in his Skill Bar, recalling how he had used it to light the firewood earlier. If it could ignite wood, a flesh-and-blood body surely couldn’t withstand it, right? After all, this thing wasn’t a Giant Dragon...
He would just have to try. But how was he supposed to get close?
The bastard was standing at the edge of the woods, completely surrounded by goblins. If Lorin dared to take even a few steps forward, he would be swarmed to death. He had to figure out a way to lure those goblins away first.
"Pip, see that big guy?" Lorin lowered his voice, gesturing toward the Hobgoblin with his chin.
Hearing him, Pip leaned in. The Halfling was panting heavily. The muscles across his entire body had swelled a size larger than before, faintly radiating a crimson glow, as if he had entered some sort of Frenzy state. The cloth wrapped around the hilt of his hammer was completely soaked in blood, currently dripping thick, viscous liquid onto the ground.
"Isn’t that obvious?" he asked, puzzled.
Lorin repeatedly told himself to stay calm. He adjusted his tone, trying his best to sound entirely earnest. "In a moment, I’ll lure the little ones away. You wait for the right opening and smash that big guy right in the face with your hammer."
Hearing this, Pip hefted the hammer again. He rolled his neck, letting out a series of sharp cracking noises, and laughed heartily. "You should have said so earlier! I’ve been itching to cross paths with him."
Lorin had initially wanted to elaborate on his plan, but before he could even open his mouth, he watched as the Halfling let out a maniacal howl and charged straight at the Hobgoblin surrounded by the goblin horde.
"Holy shit! You can’t just charge in like that!"