Goblins rushed in with weapons and shields raised. Rolan met them head-on. His stamina held strong as he shattered shields with powerful slashes. The goblins couldn't keep up—his relentless assault broke their guard. Bones cracked, and arms failed. He cut them down, one after another. Blood sprayed as he landed critical blows.
After the battle, he looted the corpses and found seven gold coins. They jingled softly as he dropped them into his pouch.
Rolan was inside the goblin cave, just as his task demanded. And so, he concocted his secret recipe—the attractant potion itself.
He was outside their cave, and he was alone. Two goblins stood near the entrance, and he began to wonder what he should do next. Without wasting time, he broke the attractant potion at the mouth of the cave, and the two goblins eagerly gobbled up the liquid from the ground.
Rolan smirked as he threw two throwing daggers at them. Both struck their foreheads. Their bodies stumbled, lives ebbing away as they collapsed.
Rolan approached and retrieved his daggers, yanking them free before wiping off the blood.
He stared at their lifeless forms and grabbed their rusty weapons. They wore nothing but rags—no armor worth salvaging.
He placed the weapons inside his backpack, planning to have them smelted later. While looting, he heard a rumble from deeper within the darkness of the cave.
Soon after, more goblins appeared, drooling with hunger. A horde, by his estimate. Rolan prepared himself to meet them head-on.
Drawing his dual short swords from his back, he dashed forward and unleashed a flurry of slashes. One he cut across the chest, but another struck at his side with a mace. He blocked it with his other sword and then kicked the goblin in the stomach, nearly making it vomit from the blow.
Rolan was soon surrounded. There was no time to escape. He slashed through them—one after another—with a fierce combination of triple slashes: diagonal, rising, and horizontal.
Three goblins were cut down instantly. Limbs flew as their bodies were mutilated. Screams echoed from the wounded.
Moving into a larger chamber, he found a crude dining area. Moss grew in patches across the stone floor. Several cultists sat at tables, drinking and laughing. Without a word, Rolan charged.
The cultists, mostly hobgoblins, grabbed weapons—maces, axes, swords. Rolan drew his scythe and struck down the nearest one with a single slash to the chest. From a distance, arrows whistled toward him. He raised his shield, deflecting some and dodging others. He retaliated with ranged basic attacks, chipping away at their health.
Their weapons clashed against his, but Rolan countered with deadly precision. A critical slash sent another foe collapsing in a heap.
When the dust settled, all were dead. He gathered more gold coins from their pouches.
Then he reached the campfire. Salmon roasted on a spit above the fire, and a pot of thick gruel simmered gently. He sat down and ate. The food wasn't poisoned—they wouldn't poison themselves, after all. The warmth spread through him, soothing his tired muscles.
Once full, he resumed gathering supplies. He found brown mushrooms, stuffing them into his pack. He collected ingredients: salt, ham, cheese, pork ribs, pepper, salmon, leeks, onions, garlic, and ginger. All of it was stored safely—for cooking later in a proper pit.
His path still stretched deeper—but for now, Rolan was ready.
Rolan continued his onslaught, dashing forward, slashing wildly. His hands moved in perfect sync. He could only smirk at the goblins as he hacked them down.
Ting ting ting!
He blocked their attacks and carved a path through the crowd, slashing while moving forward. The enemies couldn't stop his rampage. They were hacked down by the lone human standing against them. Their screams echoed throughout the cave as Rolan chose not to finish them off immediately—only cutting off arms or legs, or wounding their chests deeply.
Blood coated his body. His face was stained red from the spurting wounds of his enemies. In the goblins' eyes, he was a monster.
Rolan dashed toward the remaining ones and used kali martial arts. He slashed a neck, then slit veins beneath armpits and across arms with ruthless precision.
One he stabbed directly in the face, then twisted the blade before pulling it free.
With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed throwing daggers and hurled them at three goblins charging toward him at point-blank range. All struck their foreheads. They stumbled forward and fell limp at his feet.
He dashed again, but was attacked from both sides. The goblins aimed to stab him with their rusty daggers. Rolan rolled forward, and the two collided, stabbing each other in the chaos.
He snatched the knives from their dying bodies and threw them at others. They pierced through chests cleanly.
Rolan saw the fear in their eyes as he approached.
"Don't be scared," he muttered coldly.
Then, in a flash, he decapitated one. Its head flew through the air and rolled along the ground.
"Yieee!!"
"Shrieeekk!!"
They shrieked. Rolan zigzagged through them, slashing as he passed, sending heads flying. He spun and slashed diagonally through another.
When the dust settled, he saw that only goblins made up the horde—the hobgoblins had already been slain.
Rolan went to loot the weapons and scraps of armor, then pressed deeper into the cave.
It was damp inside, torches lit along the walls. In one chamber, he found baby goblins in their nursing nests. Without hesitation, he poured oil across the room and set it ablaze. Screams erupted. Wails echoed. But their voices faded quickly into silence.
He entered the next chamber, where piles of rusty weapons were stored. He looted everything. His backpack was now full.
In another chamber, he found treasure: necklaces and rings in mounds, along with gold coins stolen from nearby villages, all piled into a chest.
Twenty-one rusty weapons protruded from his pack. Ten rings and thirteen necklaces were tucked safely within. His coin pouch, at full capacity, held 150 gold coins.
Satisfied, Rolan turned back. He took everything he could carry.
He returned to the village, panting from the weight of his haul. At the gates, he saw the elder already waiting for him.
"I'll dismantle the weapons and armor later," Rolan said as he approached, his voice calm despite his blood-soaked appearance. "For now, I need to rescue the Tribal warriors."