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Grass and tree branches danced from a soothing breeze. On top of the dirt, metal clanked above layered leather. The two half-moons revealed most of the terrain. The thick bark and the scent of iron perfumed the area. The figure encased in metal stopped. It glanced to its right. At the foot of a tree rested the corpse of a baby calf. Several months old, its intestines spilled out and seeped into the dirt. Flies gorged themselves as the figure kneeled down. A knife rested at the calf's throat, no longer than a dagger.
The figure's back pointed toward the tree branches above, and several green skin toddler-sized beings grumbled and smiled at their prey. Two lunged out, one at the ground and the other at the figure's left shoulder. Daggers in hand, the creature below poked forward and sliced back at the figure's left Achilles tendon. The creature at the shoulder plunged its knife into the figure's left jugular.
Both were shocked to see that their attacks scrapped against the metallic sections of the figure. Huntsmen would usually leave areas of their bodies exposed between the armor. However, due to the low visibility, the assumption by the creatures only revealed the low light emanating from the figure's helmet.
The figure's suitable metal and leather glove reached at his shoulder to grab the creature at the forehead and yanked it off. It scrambled like a wild rodent, biting and scratching but doing no damage. The figure then dropped the creature for him to punt the creature back first into the tree.
A sword unsheathed from the figure's belt as his right hand swiped backward to behead the creature.
Crimson poured out and then toppled into the grass. The wounded creature at the tree's base looked up at the figure. Of the little natural light, there was grey armor with dark brown leather underneath. Bevor armor did not stick out but was underneath the helmet. Barbuta in design with a reinforced forehead, broken horns at both sides of the temples, and a metal face grill down to the figure's chin. The entire body was covered in armor with secure leather straps. His left arm has a small round shield with two crescent moons as décor in the center.
The creature grimaced and growled. Before it decided to get back on its feet, the figure coldly approached. Exhausted from the throw, the creature struggled as the figure's boot went down on its stomach. Baring teeth at the pain, it ground them so hard blood spewed out of the gums. There was so much force behind the boot it was fruitless for the creature to have the raw strength to get back up. Instead, it face-planted into the disemboweled calf.
"Stay in your holes." A deep male tone grumbled as he lifted his foot up and stomped on the creature. Crimson spurted out and covered the right boot. "Goblin."
Witnessing the cruelty, other goblins rallied together in opposition to the figure. He lifted his head up, sheathed his sword, and drew a wooden and hardened club from his belt. Flakes of dried blood chipped off as he approached. In the darkness, the reflection of the low light revealed glints that were eyes.
"More." The figure grumbled as he lifted his left forearm to deflect a small arrow. Two goblins in the back were armed with bows and arrows. Crude in design from tree broken branches. The brush of wind breezed through the air as several arrows came from the back line. The other three goblins were armed with daggers and clubs.
Like rodents, these creatures festered and scowled. The three goblins charged forward, and the figure brushed his club to his right to crack a goblin in the jaw. Instead, it went into the grass and looked at the figure. The skin split open at the broken jaw, and the low mouth hung loose and reeked of blood. It fruitlessly attempted to put its jaw back in place. "Eight."
Two more arrows flew at the figure. The figure blocked one, but the other went to his left pauldron, and the arrow's tip spun rapidly until it landed in the grass. The figure put his club in his left hand. Then, at the forearm, he yanked out several tiny stilettos. He tossed one forward and struck a goblin archer in the eye. It screamed and dropped to a knee. "Nine!" The other archer did not pay attention and drew an arrow. The figure sprinted forward, and the arrow flew forward and struck the figure's metal plate above his sternum. The figure then tossed a stiletto directly through the goblin archer's nose.
"Ten!" The figure tallied as the breeze in the forest gained some speed.
The remaining two goblins witnessed their brethren slaughtered by a single human. As a group, they could dominate small groups of Huntsmen. Here they watched as the figure's gaze turned to them.
"A scrawny, frail, and feeble horde." The figure grumbled. The goblins stood in horror from the skittering leaves and the light echo from the figure's helmet. The figure glanced at the corpses at his side. The goblin with the stiletto in his nose still twitched, without wanting to worry about a wounded goblin sneaking away. The skull caved in as blood splashed on the figure's right arm and club.
Unlike facing the defeat of experienced Huntsmen and Huntresses, such lowly creatures would be allowed to run away once the most significant threat is eliminated.
Believing the figure to be distracted, both goblins went in opposite directions and ran away fast as they could. The grass behind them rustled as metal plates and leather clattered behind them. One goblin looked over its shoulder, and a rock struck its ankle through the air. Bones cracked and tripped. It groaned and screamed for its fellow goblin.
The other goblin did not look back as it ran away.
The figure stood over the broken goblin, emanating single red light in the helmet. Then, raising his boot, sinew and brain matter spewed out.
"Eleven!"
Tripping over a tree root, the final goblin struggled to crawl over. So fraught in fear, it clawed at the bark to get over the root. The tree branches and leaves brushed against each other in the wind. Above the goblin, it was light. The sky above was distorted and almost laughing at the goblin. The goblin's yellow eyes widened as much as they could and rarely blinked. After an eternity of running, the goblin eventually could hear flowing water. With slim hope, the goblin smiled as it could use the river to carry it downstream to escape.
It laughed as it stopped to catch its breath.
Humans have tortured his clan, murdered his family, and taken away the breeding stock! All because a group of Huntsmen and Huntresses killed a dragon in the region. Leaving the forest as territory to claim. It could have been a new era for this goblin horde to become a clan to dominate the region! Strike FEAR into any human foolish enough to face them.
The goblin clenched a fist. It promised to take vengeance on the humans in this region.
That was until there was a tree twig that snapped behind the goblin.
Its ear twitched as the goblin took a rock and turned around. The figure massacred the remainder of this goblin horde several feet away from where the goblin stood. The goblin panicked and jumped into the water. The figure broke from the tree line and jumped into the water.
The current was not fast enough as a leather glove thrust through the water to grab the goblin's left hand. It screamed and spat out river water. The figure lightly tugged the goblin to himself as his weight allowed him to stand in place against the light current.
Now caught, the goblin spat and attempted to bite the figure.
No longer entertaining the thought that a goblin escaped restarting its horde. The figure then moved his free hand to wrap around the neck of the final goblin. Once that happened, he slowly submerged the goblin in the water. The green skin limbs frantically brushed through and splashed the water. The view from underneath of the fluctuating image of the monster in armor.
A monster that served as the scourge to rid Remnant of goblins.
The wind slowed in speed while the trees and branches settled around the figure in the river. Nine seconds passed while the goblin in the water stopped moving. The figure then lifted the goblin out of the water to see if it was dead. The body floated against the current in one hand.
Stabbing it in the heart to be sure, the figure discarded the body into the river… perhaps it could serve as a snack for a Timberwolf in the forest.
"Twelve."
The figure opened a small canteen, held it under water, exited the water, and the clouds in the night sky split apart. The gaps between trees revealed themselves as the figure scanned his surroundings. The moonlight revealed the remaining blood on his armor and leather. But, unfortunately, none of it was his blood.
Several minutes later, the figure returned to the main area where he killed the goblins. The figure collected daggers, slings, and a dozen useable arrows on the corpses. From here, the figure opened his rucksack to take the weapons and supplies.
After scavenging, the figure returned to each location he killed a goblin. Giving the skull a good bash from the club would ensure no survivors. Upon checking the bodies, each one was piled together for wild animals to feast.
The figure walked for a half-mile to find the goblin camp. Just a small tent and a campfire. These goblins did not have a home and appeared to be leaderless. The figure did not expect to see a boy tied to a tree.
The boy stared at the dirt and whimpered.
The figure immediately lowered his rucksack and glanced around the wounded human. It did not appear there was an ambush by other remaining goblins, if there were any. The leather and metal-clad figure walked to the boy, flinched, then meekly turned his head.
"Are you stabbed?" The figure's voice muttered through the helmet.
"Huntsman?" The Farmhand whispered.
The boy finally heard human words and then lifted his gaze. It was strange to Farmhand like the Huntsman was rusty in the language. Nevertheless, the Huntsman did not look away, reached for a dagger at his waist, paced to the Farmhand's left side, and started to cut through the rope.
The Farmhand had tan skin and appeared no older than fourteen. Freckles on his cheekbones, and he has a fat split lip. One closed black eye and an open hazel eye. His dirty and scuffed white shirt. Calling the color white would be a compliment. In actuality, it was grey with dark brown patches of dried blood. From the crust at his upper lip, the boy must have received a series of bloodied noses during capture. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His olive pants are held up by orange suspenders, one strap snapped at the middle, and two loose straps are at the ground. He did not have socks or boots. The Huntsman deduced that the goblins must have claimed the clothing to reuse the material. The pants were tattered at the kneecap downward. It must likely be claw marks. Other than cuts and bruises all over Farmhand's body.
"You're human?" The Farmhand coughed.
"Yes. You possess no knife wounds, Oscar." The figure sliced through the middle layer of the rope. "Do not move." The concern was to not cut the Farmhand's wrist.
The Farmhand looked over his shoulder. "Who are you?"
The dagger of the blade made it through the last several threads of rope. "My guild calls me Goblin Slayer."
The eyebrows of the Farmhand narrowed and then observed the Huntsman.
"Where are the women? There are two more." Goblin Slayer held up a flyer for a goblin kill quest. The details underlined there were three villagers captured by this goblin pack.
"Alicia and Thistle?" The Farmhand stared at the ground. "Dead. They… they!" The boy closed his other eye and can recall the exhaustion of crying for several days. It was like he could not cry because he lacked the energy to do so.
Goblin Slayer grimaced as he looked over at the burnt-out campfire. There were bones too large to be an animal or goblin. The clothing of the dead women could have been repurposed. Then the Huntsman looked inside the tent to see two human skulls. "I see."
The Farmhand did not look up as he rubbed his wrists. "How do you know my name?"
"Your mother hired the guild."
"Why didn't the guild send more of you!?" Oscar got on his feet and nearly lost balance.
"There was nothing you could have done." Goblin Slayer opened his rucksack and took out a small canteen. "Drink slowly. Nourishment will be provided outside the forest."
Oscar accepted the canteen and sipped the water. It tasted fresh.
Goblin Slayer allowed Oscar to be alone for several minutes while he scrounged for supplies and searched for signs of more goblins. Upon learning that this goblin camp had no offspring, the Goblin Slayer took out his knife and slashed at the tent. The Huntsman took some cloth and cut it into two smaller rectangular increments. Wrapping the fabric at Oscar's ankles, then used the rope to tie it. It was temporary footwear.
"Stand behind me." Goblin Slayer glanced at Oscar
This caught the Farmhand off guard, the way the helmet obscured the Huntsman's face, and a voice bellowed out of it. Finally, although it took a moment to understand that he could still draw breath from the help, Oscar obliged.
It would take about an hour of walking until the duo could be out of the forest and back to the farmlands. Oscar was about a head shorter than Goblin Slayer but was confused about why a Huntsman would be alone. The hamlet would know that Goblins work in groups, and it'd take coordination to deal with them.
…Five minutes into the journey…
"The Goblins, did anything seem strange?"
"What?"
"How did they dance? Was their leader the same size? Were they all skinny?"
Oscar brushed the back of his neck and thought about the goblins when they beat him like a stray dog.
"There were a few more, but they did not get along. One goblin stabbed another, and then the group split in half."
"This horde was desperate. Meaning they lost their first nest or were cast out. A large nest or fortress must be within the region."
The Farmhand's eyes widened. "There's more of them?"
"There will always be more Goblins." Goblin Slayer's dark helmet stared at Oscar. "I will kill them, all of them."
That is something Oscar did not expect as an answer. A person was so sure why they would come to fully adopt this line of work. Back at the farm, Oscar thought of goblins similar to rodents. There are more giant creatures like griffins, dragons, and rock eaters.
Why did the Huntsman ask so much about Goblins?
"Why couldn't you come last night?!" Oscar stopped in his tracks and then shouted. "You could have saved us!"
The moons were no longer directly above the two, and the trees started to rustle. "I was in a different town dealing with their Goblins. I heard a group of Huntresses thought about taking your town's job, but the Huntresses decided to go after Beowolves instead."
"Why!?"
"Blame whoever you want." Goblin Slayer calmly scanned their surroundings.
Through the helmet, Goblin Slayer could see defeat in Oscar's eyes and lowered shoulders. Being the only survivor when there were two young women abducted from his hamlet. It would not be far-fetched to assume several adults would demand that Oscar should have traded places with those girls in death. Survivors' guilt would fester and manifest in emotional outbursts.
Goblin Slayer could understand Oscar to an extent.
"Yes, those girls would be used to breed more goblins, but what they had in mind for you is worse." After stepping over a tree root, the Huntsman and Farmhand found a human trail. The flattened dirt and stretch of open forest comforted Oscar. Both walked on the road.
"You heard what they would do to women, but those Goblins needed something to teach the newborns how to kill and inflict pain on humans." Goblin Slayer did not mince his words. "After raids, weakened human men are maimed and are used as training vessels."
Oscar gasped.
"Gather yourself. You decided to try to help those girls. I heard you killed one in confusion." Goblin Slayer reached for his left thigh for a torch. "We are close to the farmlands. Hold this while I watch for danger."
Oscar gripped the torch once he was out of the goblin camp. The suspense of dread crept up his spine. Those goblins clawed and cackled toward Oscar on a tree. Seeing the corpses of the girls defiled and cooked over the campfire. A cold shiver went from Oscar's neck to his toes.
They remained silent as the Huntsman and Farmhand remained silent as they arrived back at the farmlands. Oscar greeted his mother with a loving hug, while the other concerned parents were horrified to hear what became of the daughters. Then, finally, a single mother, an aunt, and an uncle rushed to Oscar, demanding to know what happened at the goblin camp.
Goblin Slayer walked into a corner of the room to listen. Oscar's mother rushed to him with a blanket and let him sit in a chair.
"After the goblins dragged us to the camp. The girls were set forth in front of the campfire. Several jumped on them and tore off their clothes. Thistle wanted to fight back while Alicia was held down…." Oscar's eyes started to water. "They, they."
The adults in the room collectively gasped, and the aunt started to cry.
"The goblins took turns. One of them got careless and left a knife in the open. Thistle took the knife, and I assume she made a pact with Alicia. Thistle slit Alicia's throat, and Thistle stabbed herself over… and over…." The Farmhand had several tears drift down his cheek. "That happened yesterday."
The parents were in a collective state of mourning. Seeing that the goblin slaying quest is complete. Goblin Slayer did not make a scene to leave but exited the house. Outside, a middle-aged man with a concerned look approached the Huntsman.
"Are they dead?"
"Yes."
"Have you checked the area?"
"I can do so." Goblin Slayer offered.
"Do a sweep tonight, and you can stay in my barn." The village leader commented and exhaled slowly. "Thank you."
The leader walked past the Goblin Slayer as he could hear the weeping from the porch. With that, the Huntsman turned to look at the tree line and decided it was time to secure the farmers' land before returning to the Guild office.
No trees and clouds above obscure the moons from glowing around the Goblin Slayer.