Beginnings Are Never Easy (Part 2)
"Damn it! Cast a barrier! Hurry, Raul!"
At his leader's desperate shout, Raul scrambled to cast a defensive spell. But the goblins surged forward faster than magic could take shape, lunging straight for him at the vanguard. Before he could even shield himself with body reinforcement magic, the finely forged dagger clutched in a goblin's gnarled hand slashed deep into his flesh.
"Aaaargh!"
With their defensive anchor crashing to the ground, their battle line collapsed in an instant.
Truth be told, their formation had fractured long before that. If the goblins had truly wanted to slaughter them, the party would have been wiped out minutes ago. The only reason the skirmish had dragged on this long was that Bran had swiftly unleashed lightning magic to incinerate a flank, staving off a complete encirclement—and, far worse, the mere whim of the creatures themselves.
Had the monsters not decided to toy with their prey, Bran's lightning would never have bought them this much time. In fact, this agonizing slow burn was almost certainly by the goblins' deliberate design.
Just how the hell did things end up like this?!
Bran could not bring himself to accept the reality staring him in the face. This was supposed to be a routine subjugation request for goblins—the bottom-feeders of the monster world. Yet two of his companions were already down, and the survivors were merely counting the seconds until their own deaths.
Where had it all gone wrong?
It had started the moment that eerie mist rolled in. Dunmer, tasked with spearheading the party's vanguard, had been the first to fall. Specializing in physical reinforcement and rapid casting, Dunmer was not the sort of mage to suffer a mortal wound and fall out of combat from a single goblin strike. Ordinarily, goblins wielded crude stone clubs or chipped rocks. Yet the horde ambushing them carried refined steel weapons made by human hands.
That could only mean one thing: this tribe had raided human settlements multiple times before. While complex magic tools were beyond them, even ordinary goblins could swing swords and axes once they looted them. For that reason, records of prior raids and casualty reports were critical intelligence; looted weaponry alone drastically transformed a goblin horde's combat strength.
This is completely different from the briefing! Damned bastards!
Bran cursed the guild venomously in his heart. Admittedly, the guild had provided no precise details on the tribe. However, the notice had clearly warned that the goblins' movement route and true numbers were unknown, and that their fighting power might well exceed preliminary estimates. That was precisely why the request had been assigned a B-rank danger rating. But Bran had looked only at the baseline estimate for goblins, rashly deciding it was an easy task with inflated pay.
A poorly balanced party composition. Hasty, arrogant judgment. Perhaps this disaster had been inevitable from the start.
Damn it! If only someone else had fallen first... No, how did our detection magic fail in the first place? That makes no sense!
Goblins possessed no innate ability to ward off Detection Magic. For such a massive swarm to slip past sensory spells undetected was outright impossible.
Why the hell is this happening to me?!
Blind to his own negligence, Bran continued to blame the world for his predicament. Just then—
"Eeeek! Kyaaaah!"
The shrill scream of Mila, their recovery and support specialist, echoed through the misty mountain woods. A goblin's steel dagger drove cleanly through Leon's chest, sending yet another comrade crashing lifelessly to the turf. Now, only Bran and Mila remained on their feet.
Even though they could have overwhelmed the survivors in a single rush, the goblins showed no intention of pouncing. Instead, they stalked forward at a leisurely pace, constricting the circle to suffocate them with dread.
"Kyak-kyak!"
"Kyah-kak!"
Dozens upon dozens of green skins encircled them. In the center of the press, a goblin clutching a chalk-white staff barked an order.
"Kyak!"
"Urrrgh..."
Obeying the command, two goblins dragged their downed, groaning party members out into the clearing like slaughtered cattle. Disgust and nausea churned in Bran's stomach, but he was powerless to stop it. At this moment, his only options were to charge blindly to his death or freeze and watch what the monsters would do. Naturally, Bran chose the coward's route—standing dead still so as not to provoke them.
Arranged in a wide U-shaped cordon around them, five goblins stepped forward from the ranks.
What? What do they want—?
Bran blinked, baffled.
What the hell are they doing?
"Kyak-kya-kyak!"
The staff-bearing leader raised its white rod high and shrieked. At once, wild cheers and guttural howling erupted from the surrounding pack.
"Kyah-gyaaah!"
"Kyak! Kyak!"
The chilling realization struck Bran like ice water. They had deliberately left an opening in the back, forcing a sadistic dilemma upon them: abandon your comrades and run toward that mock escape route, or step forward and duel the five champions before you.
Run and become prey for a sport hunt, or stand and fight as gladiators for their amusement. Either way, the humans were nothing more than playthings for the horde's sick entertainment.
Lowly vermin dare look down on me...?
A surge of burning humiliation flared within him, but Bran's mind was already racing through cold calculations. He needed whatever course of action gave him the highest odds of survival.
"Mila! Get up! We fight!"
"N-no, I can't..."
Bran hauled Mila to her feet as her legs gave out beneath her. Fleeing or fighting—both options offered near-zero odds of survival. But what if they engaged in combat, and he made a break for it the moment the monsters became engrossed in the spectacle? Wouldn't his chances be slightly higher then? To pull that off, he needed someone else to stall for time and allow him to conserve his mana.
With that sinister calculation in mind, Bran propped her up firmly.
"B-but my offensive magic is terrible..."
"It doesn't matter! They want to toy with us anyway. You just keep them busy and buy me some time. I'll conserve my strength, unleash my strongest spell to blow open an escape route, and then we run together."
"Will that... really work?"
"Do you want to just roll over and die right here?!"
Cornered by his harsh words, Mila swallowed hard and nodded. Bran sneered inward.
Step one, complete.
He had no intention of blowing through all his mana to rescue her, let alone escaping side by side. He would cast a quick spell to create an opening, certainly, but he had zero desire to burn his peak magic or drag dead weight along. Mila's sole purpose was to exhaust herself so he could conserve his energy and slip away. He had merely handed her a scrap of false hope to ensure she danced to his tune.
The clash began, unfolding just as Bran had anticipated.
Mila desperately fired off Mana Bullets, but her offensive proficiency was abysmal. The goblins dodged the blue spheres with sickening ease, and Bran's half-hearted covering fire did little to deter them. Slipping past her shots, a goblin lunged forward, deliberately holding back its steel blade to rake its sharp claws across her skin before leaping back out of reach. Whether savoring the tactile thrill of tearing flesh or dragging out the spectacle, they toyed with her relentlessly.
It was bloodsport in its rawest form. Cruel and sadistic by nature, the surrounding goblins grew visibly frenzied at the sight of a weeping human woman bleeding and flailing.
Now's my chance.
Bran's eyes narrowed. The spectators were utterly captivated, cheering and howling at the fight. If he detonated a burst of flash magic to blind them, he could use Mila as a sacrificial decoy and sprint for the gap.
Just as he gathered mana into his fingertips—
"Tsk, tsk. Seems a bit in poor taste, don't you think?"
At the sudden voice of a man drifting through the trees, Bran snapped his head around, unable to believe his ears. Standing there was someone who had no business being anywhere near this nightmare.
The staff-wielding, commoner Ordinary Mage.
Eron strolled into view with casual ease.
A few moments earlier, just a short distance from the clearing where Bran's party fought for their lives, Eron had been sizing up the situation through Ifrit.
"How does it look?"
"Three are down, and two are still flailing around," Ifrit reported, floating on her back in midair.
"Is that so?"
That was faster than expected. Then again, what did they expect?
Even without watching it unfold, Eron could easily piece together what had happened. It was a five-man party composed purely of mages—their ability to respond to sudden variables was practically nonexistent. Had they possessed even a single scout with sharp senses or a warrior capable of anchoring the front line, things might have been different. As it was, a formation so fragile was doomed to shatter at the slightest hiccup.
Especially when the variable this time was so massive.
"You said there was something jamming Detection Magic, right?"
"Yep! Though against someone as great as yours truly, such petty tricks are utterly useless."
"Right, right. You're amazing."
Despite Eron's thoroughly soulless praise, Ifrit puffed out her tiny chest with immense pride.
It's probably a magic tool or something similar, Eron mused.
Individually, goblins were weak, but an exceptional specimen with high intelligence occasionally emerged within larger swarms—smart enough to devise ambushes and utilize magic artifacts alongside salvaged swords and axes. With nearly a hundred goblins gathered in these woods, the emergence of an intelligent chieftain was entirely plausible.
Still... a hundred goblins?
That was drastically higher than the guild's briefing had suggested. Why had so many gathered in one place to begin with? Something felt undeniably off.
"What about those guys? Are they still breathing?"
"Well, they're alive for now. Why?"
"Guess we should head over, then."
"Ehh? Why bother going now?" Ifrit whined, rolling onto her stomach in the air and shooting him an openly annoyed pout. "Why don't we just wait until those jerks get wiped out completely?"
Her grudge was understandable, given how Bran's party had sneered at them earlier.
"Wouldn't it be more fun to watch them get their butts kicked up close?" Eron offered with a grin.
"Huh? Ooh... that does sound tempting!"
"Then let's go."
Leaving the brush behind, Eron and Ifrit slipped quietly toward the clearing.
"Guh!"
Mila had collapsed unconscious, leaving Bran to fend for himself. Forcing himself to burn through the mana he had desperately hoarded, he managed to strike down a few advancing goblins, but it achieved nothing. Fresh monsters immediately stepped in to take their places.
"Damn it all! What are you just standing there for?!" Bran shrieked in sheer panic, glaring at Eron who was casually spectating from behind. "People are dying here! Do something!"
Commoner or Ordinary Mage, none of that mattered anymore. Bran was drowning, and he needed a lifeline.
"Ah, well... seeing as I'm just a lowly commoner Ordinary Mage, there's really nothing I can do. Sorry about that~"
The response was delivered in the flattest, most unapologetic tone imaginable.
"What?! Y-you insane bas—gack!"
The moment Bran faltered in shock, a goblin's heavy strike slammed directly into his gut.
"Blegh!"
Already battered and bleeding, that single concussive blow shattered what remained of Bran's endurance, sending him crumpling to the earth like an empty sack.
"Kyak! Kya-ha!"
Stepping past Bran's crumpled form, the entire swarm turned their bloodthirsty gaze upon Eron. From the moment he had stepped into the clearing, the goblin leader and its inner circle had never taken their eyes off him. Goblins were weak, but by that very virtue, their wariness was razor-sharp. Even while absorbed in their cruel games, they could not ignore an intruder who had slipped past their perimeter completely undetected.
"Shall we get to work, Ifrit?"
"Pfft—bwahaha! Ah, whew! What? Haha, what is it?"
Ifrit had been clutching her stomach in fits of laughter watching Bran get beaten to a pulp, only now managing to wipe away tears of mirth.
"Let's wipe them out all at once. We can't let them scatter into the woods, so for the spell—"
"A giant one to blow 'em all to kingdom come, right?!" she chimed in eagerly.
"No. If we do that, we'll incinerate the idiots lying on the ground."
"Ehh? Who cares about them?"
Letting them die would be troublesome. Worse, blasting them alongside the goblins would make Eron their killer, which was not on his agenda. Besides, keeping them breathing was far more lucrative when it came to collecting a rescue fee later.
"Let's go with that spell. The one we developed recently."
"Mmh... that one's kind of tiring, though."
"Come on, it's tailor-made for this exact situation."
Unslinging the staff from his back, Eron thrust it high toward the canopy. At the same instant, Ifrit raised her tiny hands toward the heavens.
Above them, the canopy parted under an intense heatwave as a blazing miniature sun coalesced into being.
The instant the sphere ignited, every goblin froze. Their base animal instincts screamed with absolute certainty: whatever that radiant orb was, it brought nothing but sheer, unavoidable death.
"KYAAAH!"
A terrified shriek tore from the goblin leader's throat as the horde broke ranks in a blind, chaotic scramble for survival.
And with that scream, a torrential storm of flaming projectiles rained down from the miniature sun.