Chapter 6: The Man with the Bloody Knife

  Taking advantage of the momentary shock, you point your bloody dagger towards the remaining goblins and shout towards the palisade gate, your voice clear and carrying in the twilight thanks to Oracle's seamless translation:

  "Guards! Now! Open the gate! I've been tracking these filth all day! Let's finish them!"

  Your words, spoken perfectly in their own tongue, hang in the air.

  The Hobgoblin lets out another furious roar, clearly understanding you. It seems enraged that its prey is trying to rally reinforcements and possibly confused by your sudden appearance and language. It barks a guttural command at its remaining four goblins, gesturing towards you with its notched sword. They hesitate for a second, clearly spooked by how quickly their companions fell, but the Hob's authority seems absolute. They spread out slightly, gripping their crude weapons, preparing to charge you.

  Inside the gate, there's a frantic, muffled exchange. You see the faces of the four defenders peering through the gaps, wide-eyed. They look utterly stunned – first by your deadly efficiency, now by hearing you speak their language and offer coordination. There's a moment of critical hesitation. Opening the gate is a risk; you're still an unknown quantity, strangely dressed and appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

  But the opportunity is undeniable. Half the goblin force is dead, including their magic-user, thanks to you. The leader of the guards, the one Oracle ranked E+, seems to make a split-second decision. He yells something back – "Open it! Quickly! Stay sharp!"

  With a loud groan of protesting wood, the heavy timber gate begins to swing inwards, pushed open by the defenders. The four villagers – two with spears, one with a pitchfork, one with a wood axe – emerge cautiously but purposefully into the flickering torchlight outside the walls. Their eyes flick between you and the advancing goblins, weapons held ready. They look grimly determined, bolstered by the sudden turn of events and your unexpected assistance.

  The battlefield has shifted. It's now you and the four militia against the Hobgoblin and its four remaining minions. The goblins, urged on by their leader, charge forward with screeches, closing the distance. The villagers move to flank you slightly, forming a ragged line facing the incoming attackers. The final clash is about to begin.

  "Watch for openings!" you yell to the militia, gesturing towards the charging goblins. "I'll draw their focus! Take them down when they're exposed!"

  The lead guard gives a sharp nod, understanding the tactic. He barks orders to the others, "Flank him! Don't let them surround us!"

  The Hobgoblin, ignoring the militia for the moment, charges straight at you, recognizing you as the primary threat who decimated its pack. It raises its notched short sword, letting out a ferocious battle cry. The remaining four goblins screech and follow, fanning out slightly.

  You meet the Hobgoblin's charge head-on, dagger held ready. Years of athletic training, amplified by your enhanced stats, kick in. The Hob swings its sword in a wide, crude arc aimed at your head. It's fast for a goblin, but predictable. You duck low, the rusty blade whistling harmlessly over your head. As you come up, you lash out with a quick kick to the Hob's knee. It connects solidly, buckling the leg and drawing a grunt of pain, momentarily throwing the creature off balance.

  This creates the opening you intended. Two goblins veer towards you, clubs raised, while the other two hesitate, caught between attacking you and facing the advancing militia.

  "Now!" shouts the lead guard. He and the other spearman thrust forward simultaneously at one of the hesitant goblins. The creature, surprised, tries to dodge but isn't quick enough. One spear catches it in the shoulder, the other deep in its side. It collapses with a wet gurgle.

  Target Eliminated: Goblin (E). (Militia kill)

  Meanwhile, the villager with the pitchfork jabs defensively at the second hesitant goblin, keeping it occupied. The axeman nervously holds his ground near the gate.

  You face the Hobgoblin, recovering from the kick, and the two goblins now attacking you directly. Using your superior speed, you weave between their clumsy swings. A club whistles past your ear; another slams into the dirt where you were a split second before. You focus on one of the smaller goblins first. Feinting left, you draw its attack, then dart right, sinking your dagger into its exposed ribs as it overextends. It shrieks and stumbles back, clutching its side.

  Target Wounded: Goblin (E).

  The Hobgoblin roars in fury and lunges again, this time with a more direct thrust. You parry the notched sword with your dagger – the clang of metal echoes – but the force behind it is surprising (STR 9). You're pushed back a step. Before the Hob can press its advantage, the wounded goblin you just stabbed tries a desperate lunge from your flank.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  This is a potentially dangerous moment – caught between two attackers. But Oracle remains silent; the AI judges you capable of handling it. You spin away from the Hob's follow-up swing, letting the wounded goblin's lunge carry it past you, then pivot sharply and drive your dagger into the back of its neck. It drops instantly.

  Target Eliminated: Goblin (E).

  Now it's just you, the Hobgoblin, and one remaining standard goblin facing off against the militia who have successfully finished off their target. The villager with the pitchfork, emboldened, lunges and manages to wound the last standard goblin in the leg, making it howl and hop.

  The Hobgoblin seems to realize the fight is lost. Its eyes dart between you and the militia closing in. With a final, hate-filled screech directed at you, it turns and bolts, running surprisingly fast back towards the forest line, abandoning its last remaining (and now wounded) minion.

  The wounded goblin tries to follow its leader but limps badly. The lead guard steps forward decisively and finishes it with a clean spear thrust.

  Target Eliminated: Goblin (E). (Militia kill)

  "Don't let the leader escape!" the guard yells, starting after the fleeing Hobgoblin. You react instantly, your speed far exceeding his. You sprint past him, easily closing the distance to the Hobgoblin before it reaches the safety of the trees. The Hob hears you coming and whirls around, swinging its sword in a desperate, final stand. You sidestep the wild swing and plunge your dagger firmly into its chest, mirroring the move you used on the first goblin you killed. The Hobgoblin gasps, claws at your arm weakly for a second, then collapses, dead.

  Target Eliminated: Goblin Hob (E+).

  Silence falls, broken only by the crackling of the dropped goblin torches, the heavy breathing of the fighters, and the distant, nervous murmurs from within the village walls. Nine goblins lie dead outside the gate. You stand over the Hobgoblin's corpse, dagger dripping, chest heaving slightly. The four militia members stare at you, then at the carnage, a mixture of shock, relief, and awe on their faces. Oracle remained silent throughout; you handled it entirely on your own, and the experience feels incredibly visceral and validating.

  The immediate threat is over. You've decisively saved the village from the goblin raid.

  You take a moment to catch your breath, the adrenaline slowly beginning to recede, leaving behind a buzzing exhaustion and the sharp pangs of hunger. Kneeling beside the Hobgoblin, you methodically wipe the dark, viscous blood from the rusty dagger using the rags from the creature's own tunic, just as you did before. Once reasonably clean, you carefully re-wrap the blade and secure it back inside your jacket pocket.

  Standing up, you turn to face the four militia members, who are still staring at the scene – the dead goblins, the flickering torches casting gruesome shadows, and you, the strangely dressed foreigner who appeared from nowhere and fought like a seasoned warrior. The lead guard, the E+ ranked one with the spear, approaches you cautiously, his initial shock giving way to wary respect. The other three hang back slightly, keeping their weapons ready but not pointed directly at you.

  You offer them what you hope is a disarming, friendly expression, though you suspect your face is probably smeared with dirt and maybe goblin blood. Using Oracle's seamless translation, you speak in a calm, even tone.

  "Thank you for opening the gate and joining the fight. Good timing. I've been tracking this particular band since sunrise after they ambushed a cart down the trail. My mission was to intercept them before they could raid a settlement." You gesture vaguely towards the forest with your chin. "Looks like we found them just in time."

  The lead guard's eyes narrow slightly at the mention of the cart – a flicker of recognition? Or just processing the information? He studies you intently, taking in your odd clothes, your unscarred face (unusual for someone claiming to track goblins), and your undeniable fighting skill. He glances at his companions, who exchange uncertain looks.

  "You... tracked them? Alone?" the guard asks, his voice rough but no longer hostile. The word 'mission' seems to resonate, providing a potential explanation for your presence and abilities. It's a word often associated with mercenaries, adventurers, or sometimes soldiers – people paid or ordered to handle trouble.

  "Mostly," you reply smoothly, keeping your tone confident. "They move fast, but leave a clear trail if you know what to look for." You deliberately omit any mention of your AI assistance.

  The guard nods slowly, seemingly accepting your explanation, or at least deciding not to challenge it for now. The evidence of your effectiveness lies scattered around your feet. Dead goblins are a powerful argument.

  "Well... whoever you are, and whatever your mission... you saved us tonight," he says gruffly, lowering his spear point slightly. "That shaman could have caused real trouble if it got going, and that Hob was tough. We owe you our thanks. And likely, our lives." He gestures towards the now-open gate. "Come inside. We need to secure the gate, tend to any wounded inside, and... well, the Elder will want to speak with you."

  The other militia members visibly relax, their relief palpable now that their leader has formally accepted you, at least provisionally. The immediate suspicion seems replaced by curiosity and gratitude, though a certain wariness remains in their eyes.

  They wait for you to precede them through the gate into the safety of the village proper. The path is clear, an implicit invitation and escort combined.

  Time: Dusk (Approx 6:45 PM)

  Date: 01/05/1042

  Character: Keelan

  Combat Experience: Significant XP Gained (9x Goblin kills/assists, including E+ Hob & Shaman). -> Level Up Imminent!

  Skills: Stealth (Improved ++), Dagger Combat (Improved ++), Combat Initiative (Gained), Threat Assessment (Gained)