CHAPTER 20: FIRST HUNT(2)

Amon stepped cautiously into the mouth of the cave, the air growing cooler as the outside sounds of the forest faded behind him.

His boots made no noise on the damp stone floor as he moved deeper, pressing himself low and slipping behind a massive boulder that offered good cover.

From his hiding spot, his eyes scanned the dimly lit chamber ahead. The flickering glow of a campfire cast long, dancing shadows across the rough walls.

Around the fire sat nearly fifteen goblins, their squat bodies hunched over as they roasted horn rabbit meat on crude spits.

Grease dripped into the flames with a hiss, filling the cave with the pungent smell of burnt meat and unwashed bodies.

’It seems some of them are still outside, hunting in the forest,’ Amon thought, narrowing his eyes. That would explain why the group wasn’t even larger.

Still, fifteen goblins was no small number for someone at his rank. He considered his options—charging in head-on would be suicide. Even for weak monsters like goblins, sheer numbers could overwhelm him.

He decided on something simpler. Something old and effective.

His gaze fell to a loose rock by his foot. Quietly bending down, Amon picked it up and weighed it in his palm. Perfect. Taking careful aim, he lobbed it toward one of the goblins sitting near the edge of the group.

The rock struck the creature square on the back of the head with a dull thunk.

The goblin let out an irritated grunt, rubbing the spot before twisting its head to glare into the darkness.

Muttering something in its guttural tongue, it got to its feet and began walking toward the cave’s entrance, clearly intent on finding whoever had dared to interrupt its meal.

Amon’s lips curled into a thin smile.

He melted back into the shadows, waiting until the goblin passed by his hiding spot. Then, with quick precision, he surged forward, thrusting his sword straight through the goblin’s throat from behind.

The blade slid in cleanly, the monster’s eyes bulging in shock. A wet gurgle escaped its mouth before it crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

The noise from the goblins around the campfire continued unabated. Between their chatter and the crackle of flames, they hadn’t noticed a thing.

’Too easy,’ Amon thought as he dragged the body deeper into the shadows.

He slipped back into position and repeated the tactic twice more, killing two more goblins in the same silent, efficient manner.

But on the fourth attempt, things went wrong.

The goblin he targeted let out a startled yelp as the stone hit its head, immediately barking something to the others in their guttural language.

The group around the fire froze, their beady eyes narrowing. One by one, they rose to their feet, clutching their crude wooden clubs, and began to move toward the entrance.

Amon ducked behind the rock again and muttered under his breath.

’Why are they smart? They’re supposed to be idiots.’

So much for stealth.

He tightened his grip on his sword and exhaled slowly. If they wanted a fight, they’d get one. He wasn’t about to skulk in the shadows forever.

With a burst of speed, he dashed out from behind the rock, charging at the nearest goblin. His blade came down in a vicious arc, cutting deep into its back before the creature could even react. The goblin collapsed with a shriek, but by then the others had spotted him.

"Krrcckkk! Krchhkkkk!" the goblins roared, their voices echoing in the enclosed space.

They surged forward together, clubs raised high.

Amon shifted his stance, holding his sword with both hands before quickly adjusting to grip the hilt in one. As the first goblin came at him, he brought his blade down in a sharp slash, the steel meeting wood as the creature tried to block. Sparks flew from the clash.

With his free hand, Amon conjured a spell.

"Mana Bullet!"

A small, compressed sphere of pure mana shot forward, slamming into the goblin’s skull. Bone shattered under the impact, and the monster fell without a sound.

He swung his sword at another goblin rushing in from the side, cutting clean through its neck. The body toppled, spraying blood across the cave floor.

The others didn’t hesitate. Three more charged him at once, their clubs swinging wildly. Amon pivoted, deflecting one strike with his blade while sidestepping another.

His movements were quick, deliberate—each parry followed by a precise killing blow.

Blood slicked the stones under his feet.

As two goblins hung back slightly, he switched tactics.

"Gloom Orb!"

A swirling sphere of shadow formed in his hand and shot toward them. It exploded on contact, the dark magic making them stagger, dazed and disoriented. Their guttural cries turned to confused grunts.

He didn’t waste time. Darting forward, Amon cut down another pair of attackers, then turned and finished the dazed goblins with swift slashes.

In the dim light of the campfire, the cave became a slaughterhouse. The rhythmic shick of steel slicing through flesh echoed against the stone walls, mixing with the dying screams of the goblins.

One by one, they fell.

When the last of them hit the ground, Amon exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Hah... that was a lot of work," he muttered.

He had just taken down twelve goblins head-on, their blood pooling in uneven streams around his boots.

Sheathing his sword, he turned toward the deeper part of the cave. "Let’s see if there’s anything worth taking."

But his search turned up nothing. No weapons worth salvaging, no gold, no trinkets. Just filth, gnawed bones, and the stink of death.

Clicking his tongue in irritation, he muttered, "Figures. Nothing but bad luck."

He turned to leave—only to freeze as a sudden, heavy pressure filled the air. It wasn’t just the weight of being watched. It was something far more dangerous.

From the cave’s entrance, a shadow moved.

A figure stepped into the flickering firelight, its hulking form forcing Amon’s grip to tighten on his sword.

It was roughly his height, but far bulkier, its muscles corded and defined beneath very dark green skin. In its massive hands rested a huge wooden club, the weapon easily the size of Amon’s torso. The creature carried it over one shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

It wore nothing more than a strip of old black fabric wrapped around its waist, the rest of its grotesque body fully exposed. A bald head sat atop a broad neck, its face twisted into something that could barely be called humanoid—jagged teeth, a huge crooked nose, and saliva dripping from its mouth as it stared at him with unrestrained fury.

Amon didn’t need to guess what it was.

A Hobgoblin.

The leader of the goblin tribe he had just butchered.

A Rank 1 monster.

And judging by the rage in its eyes, it wasn’t just here to scare him.

For Amon, this wasn’t a fight—it was death’s messenger standing right in front of him.