Leaving the old woman’s body behind, I stripped the clothes from the goblin corpses and fashioned a face mask for myself from those ragged robes. I didn’t know how much blood had gotten on me, but I doubted the others would appreciate it. I tore the remaining fabric into long strips and used them to tie a pair of dull knives to my leg. Now my broken bone was secured, and I could move on.

  When I emerged upstairs, I realized the battle was still raging—occasional female screams and sobs echoed through the air. I needed to move out. The moment I opened the door, a pair of goblins immediately caught my eye sockets. They were trying to pull apart two girls who clung to each other with their last strength. The goblins’ filthy fingers dug into the girls’ young, supple skin, scratching and leaving scars. They yanked their hair, tearing it out in bloody clumps, struck their tender backs, and kicked them with stinking, crooked legs. All the while, their ugly cackling and laughter filled the air.

  I gripped the dagger Drodul had given me and headed toward those creatures. They had to die. These dull-witted green beings wouldn’t be of any use to me later, but if I dealt with them, I might earn the adventurers’ trust. Heroes should be honored, after all, right?

  I walked confidently and quickly enough—even my broken leg didn’t slow down my already bony frame. I approached one sadistic goblin from behind. The second one spotted me and even shouted something in a language I didn’t understand—but it was too late. With one precise motion, I plunged the blade into the back of the monster busy tormenting a weaker creature. The blade pierced straight through and emerged from its belly, spraying slightly greenish blood.

  “So your insides are different from humans’. Interesting,” I thought—but didn’t dwell on it further. The second goblin grabbed his hostage and began threatening me. I didn’t understand his words, but the meaning was clear: either her or me. I pulled the dagger from the still-living goblin and stood frozen, unsure what to do next.

  We might have remained stuck in that stalemate—if not for an arrow that pierced the green creature’s head. The goblin went limp and collapsed to the ground, splattering the girl’s torn outfit with his blood. The hostages, trembling with fear, nodded and ran off in a direction unknown to me, while I at that moment looked toward Mikhael emerging from behind a house.

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  — “Let’s go. The captain and Scott will be here soon, and we need to help the others.”

  — “Yeah,” I replied and limped after him.

  Along the way, we cut down another ten or so greens and reached Drodul and the others. The big guy had just chopped off the head of the brown monster with his axe, and Lerry had already stopped shooting arrows—she was only scanning the area now.

  — “What happened over there?” Berry asked us.

  — “The slime’s almost dead, and I shot most of the goblins that scattered along the way. Though I think they managed to thin out the locals pretty badly,” Mikhael told her.

  — “Yeah. There were far too many of them. As if someone gathered them on purpose.”

  — “You really think it’s magic? But who’d need that?”

  — “Me, of course.”

  — “What?!” Mikhael exclaimed at the voice behind him. He tried to leap away and dodge, but couldn’t even complete a single movement. Thin stiletto blades pierced his chest. They passed through the thin leather armor the boy wore and protruded by at least ten centimeters. His body lifted slightly, as if trying to escape the pain, but instantly froze. His mouth made no sound—only despair and sorrow were visible on his face. His legs could no longer hold him, and he fell to the ground, dropping his bow.

  Behind him stood the man who owned the twin stilettos. He stared at the cooling body at his feet and didn’t move away. He resembled an artist or sculptor who had just finished his work, admiring what he’d created. There was no smile or any positive emotion on his elongated, rectangular face. Short golden curls made his gaze seem even less threatening. If you met him on the street, you might think he was a choir singer or an apple vendor—but never imagine him as a killer. This entire image was completed by a green outfit matching the color of his eyes.

  — “Bastard!” Lerry screamed and opened fire on the killer with her bow. Every arrow she loosed glowed faintly and flew straight toward the enemy. There were no elaborate maneuvers or curved trajectories—only raw force. Only the desire to kill.

  Yet not a single arrow hit its mark. The man, shaken from his contemplation, dodged every projectile. It seemed as if the arrows themselves veered slightly past his body. After the fifth arrow whizzed by, he began swaying toward the girls. One, two, three steps. By the fourth, he was already running—and in a couple of seconds closed the distance between them. He might have impaled the second twin with his stilettos as well—but Drodul suddenly appeared in front of the girl. The big man raised his shield and swung his axe, taking the attack upon himself.