It might have been the loss of cover behind him—or the killing aura rolling up from his rear.

Theo’s back went ice-cold; sweat soaked his rough linen shirt.

“Run!”

He forced his shaking, buckling legs to move, scrambling and stumbling into a ragged trot.

The towering monster behind him followed at an unhurried, silent pace.

Thump!

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the ground erupt where he’d just been—dirt and turf exploding under a massive spiked maul, leaving a huge crater.

Theo’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

If that hit him, it would punch a bloody hole straight through.

“Is this thing toying with me?” The footsteps stuck close. Despair welled up. He knew it—and still had to play along, struggling for the treeline.

But the wound under his ribs throbbed; his pace slowed.

Scritch!

Suddenly, a stabbing pain bit into his thigh.

He looked down—at some point a shard of stone had lodged there.

Pain lanced from the cut straight to his brain.

Every movement set the sharp bit grinding nerves and flesh; each step brought a wave of agony.

He lurched two paces and nearly blacked out, tears springing to his eyes. His strength fled; he dropped onto his backside.

He couldn’t go on.

Watching the big, dark green monster with the huge hammer closing in—its yellowed teeth bared in a sly, mocking grin—bitterness flooded Theo’s chest.

He slowly shut his eyes. Fear of pain and death wrapped him like invisible tentacles.

Silence fell.

One second…

Two…

Nothing hit. No pulverizing blow.

Was he… already dead?

Uneasy, he opened his eyes.

What he saw made no sense.

The demonlike green-skinned brute had stopped dead, frozen in place—staring past him.

And in those bestial eyes—was that… dread? Even fear?

What—

Before the thought formed, a clear, easy laugh sounded behind him.

“Serandur—I win.”

Theo twisted to look.

Sunlight spilled through the canopy in broken shafts.

A handsome young man in a black robe pushed aside leaves and walked in, unhurried, a flawless white staff in hand. Blue light pulsed at its tip but did not fly; his killing intent pinned the towering monster at range.

The dappled light gave him an otherworldly cast.

Beside the tall black-robed youth slid someone taller still—a snake-man in leather, lower body a thick tail, golden scales flashing so brightly Theo squinted.

Am I dreaming? The last fancy before death?

He couldn’t tell if this was a dream or real.

“It’s a hobgoblin. Been a while since I’ve seen one,” the serpentfolk rasped.

The two approached with unhurried calm.

With every step they took, the hobgoblin stepped back.

As an elite, it had shed the chaotic savagery of low goblins. It could think.

It felt an invisible pressure from the human and the serpent—especially the human. At a glance, its legs went leaden. That not-so-tall figure swelled in its sight. It scented something awful and hateful: a reek of its kin’s unwilling wails and curses twined around the man’s skin.

As if, on some level, he was a natural counter.

Run. Run!

Warnings blared in its head; it was like the first time in the forest it had met that terrible gnoll.

Gauss stepped in front of the villager, made sure he was safe, then glanced at Serandur.

“Serandur—mind letting me have this one?”

By his read, the hobgoblin wasn’t much of a threat—and it was a new monster index entry. Elite goblins weren’t common near human realms; he didn’t want to pass it up.

“Of course, Captain,” Serandur said, the corner of his mouth quirking. He wanted to see Gauss’s strength for himself; until now his sense of it had been animal—he could tell Gauss could threaten him, but not how. They hadn’t drilled—Gauss had been recovering; there hadn’t been space. This simple commission doubled as a warm-up. He took it for a demo and kept his hands off.

“Though…”

He glanced at the hobgoblin, still backing away.

What is it afraid of?

He’d never seen a goblin react like this. He believed he was stronger than it—but this level of fear before a blow?

Gauss rolled his shoulders. It had been days since a proper fight; he felt rusty. Still, a hobgoblin was a comforting foe—familiar yet fresh, perfect practice.

He studied it. Shorter than he’d imagined. His first job had pitted him against a goblin on its way toward hobgoblin; that had lived in his head ever since. He remembered that one at nearly two meters—this one was just over two. The gap in power was real nonetheless; this one’s frame was much more robust.

Mind made up, Gauss stepped forward.

“Magic Missile!”

Three cerulean orbs flared off the bone-white staff.

Boom!

They ripped the air.

He didn’t dawdle; training or no, he brought real heat. Missiles streaked out; the wash sent his robe flaring. The wary hobgoblin heaved a thick wooden shield up.

Thud!

The heavy force ran through the shield and staggered it back two steps, stamping deep pits with each retreat.

Second. Third. Two more missiles drilled the same spot.

Thunk! Thunk!

The laminated, lacquered shield blew apart; wood splinters and leather shards peppered the dirt. Gauss had held off until the hobgoblin retreated and he could pin it—so the villager wouldn’t get caught in the blast.

The hobgoblin tossed the ruined grip. Splinters studded its leather hauberk. It had still weathered three missiles.

In the rear, Serandur’s healing green glow bathed the villager; feeling the jolt, he looked up. First volley, and the shield was rubble.

His eyes locked on Gauss. So this is the captain’s strength. Impressive. Missiles may be basic—but in his hands they hit far harder than most mages’. It didn’t feel like Level 2.

It wasn’t over.

White aura welled around Gauss, wrapping him; his robe whipped—and his body changed.

Crkk—!

He shot up in height. Horn nubs budded on his brow; his hair spilled white, like a waterfall. A frost-sharp chill rolled off him.

On the ground, Theo—mending under healing magic—stared, stunned.

He’d thought the handsome young man was just an ordinary human.

Was he the only “human” here?

Saved by two monsters?

His feelings turned complicated.

Gauss had triggered Ghoul Form; feeling the drain begin, he wasted no time.

He flicked a toe and vaulted.

His gaze locked on the hobgoblin fleeing in panic.

The pale figure flickered; the distance closed fast.

Blue light flared at the staff-tip again—this time veined with pale currents.

Boom!

Running hard, he swept the staff forward.

The missile shot even faster, a fine blue beam with white lightning dancing along it.

BOOM!!!

His Goblin Slayer title’s Bane effect kicked in—and Ghoul Form’s pale energy wrapped the spell. The prepared strike hit like a hammer—ripping the hobgoblin’s back-plate, then lancing through it like a beam-sword. Rock-hard muscle burned away in the missile’s wake.

A gaping hole opened in its chest.

It stumbled on a few steps, tottered, then crashed down.

“Hobgoblin Slain ×1.”

The sixth elite entry lit up.

Gauss ignored the text and dispelled Ghoul Form at once.

“Hoo—”

Feeling the toll, he exhaled. Used sparingly, it did the job—quickly deleting certain elites. This one had likely been rating 2. Without Ghoul Form, he could have ground it down; with it, the thing didn’t stand a chance. The 20% title boost hadn’t hurt either. Secondary core slot, Ghoul Form, title, all stacking for a one-shot.

He glanced off the corpse to the elite Monster Index; +10 Elite Points for a new entry. Forty more to evolve Reptilian Strain to blue.

In the distance, Serandur’s pupils pinched.

He’d thought he was giving Gauss his due—but this showed he’d still underestimated his captain. This was a Level 2?

When Gauss strolled back, unmoved by their wide eyes, he didn’t fuss. Ghoul Form wasn’t common; his teammates would learn in time. Better to get practice now than hide it.

“Done with treatment?” he asked. The villager’s wound had knit a pink rind already—faster than he’d expected.

“Yes, Captain. No foreign energy—simple work,” Serandur said.

Gauss nodded—having a healer was nice.

He pulled jerky and chewed quickly. “Know the way back?” he asked the now-healed villager.

“Y—yes, sir!” Theo swallowed hard. The image of the white-horned figure overlapped the gentle youth—his head swam; he stammered.

He still wasn’t ungrateful. “I—I won’t tell anyone what I saw!”

He thought he’d discovered a great secret, and hurried to swear it.

Veins popped on Gauss’s forehead; he could only laugh. Was his Ghoul Form that scary? As for secrecy—hardly mattered. This world had all sorts of transformations; half-orc bloodrage changed bodies too. If anyone asked, “awakened bloodline” would do; mages had spells that shifted shapes besides. The “big secret” was small beer.

Seeing the terror in his eyes, Gauss let it be. “Go on, then.”

The head was down; now he and Serandur still had a hundred-odd goblins to clean up.

They watched the man crawl off, then headed into the trees.

…

“Thank you, sirs!”

Gauss snapped his longsword, flinging blood free, and waved off the men bowing deep before him. They’d been in time—and goblins favored capturing live prey and cooking later—so casualties were few: two had fallen in the first clash.

“That should be the last of them,” Serandur hissed softly, tongue tasting the air.

“Mm.” Gauss nodded, and gave him a rueful look.

“What is it, Captain?”

He’d felt Gauss’s meaning-heavy looks during the fight and thought his captain was gauging his strength—so he’d put on a show to prove a priest could fight, too. Only after did he realize he might have read it wrong.

“N—nothing…” Gauss sighed.

“Total Monsters Kill: 1607.”

Of the hundred goblins, he’d taken about seventy; the remaining forty had fallen to Serandur. Too energetic. But it was their first run together; better to let habits form naturally.

And—

“Racial Trait Reptilian Strain is leveling up!

“Congratulations—advanced to Elite Tier.”

As the text flickered out, strength welled in him—noticeable changes rippling through his body…

Serandur, at rest, flicked his tongue, eyes on Gauss. Maybe it was his imagination, but something invisible seemed to be shifting in the man—and his scent… was getting nicer.