Ishar's breath came in short, ragged bursts, his lungs burning with every step. Blood oozed from his wounds, sticky and warm against his skin, seeping into his tattered clothes. The pain was a constant, gnawing presence—his shoulder throbbed from the arrow lodged deep, his ribs screamed with each jolt of movement, and every cut and gash flared with fresh agony.

  But he couldn't stop.

  The goblins shrieked behind him, their screeches blending into a chaotic frenzy. One of them still clutched at the arrow buried in its shoulder—a friendly fire mistake that had turned their ranks into a disorganized mess. More of them bickered and shoved, some scrambling to nock arrows, others drawing their rusted blades.

  Ishar used their confusion. He darted forward, ignoring the fire in his muscles, gritting his teeth against the pain.

  The tunnel walls rushed past him in a blur of stone and shadow. His vision flickered at the edges—lightheaded from blood loss, but he shoved the weakness aside. He had survived worse.

  A goblin's shrill war cry rang out—one of them had spotted him moving. The next instant, another arrow sliced past his cheek, the sharp sting followed by the warmth of fresh blood trailing down his face.

  Too slow. They were regaining their focus.

  Ishar reached out—his blood-slick fingers finding a loose rock on the cavern floor. With a sharp twist of his body, he flung it backward.

  The goblins yelped as the stone clattered loudly against the cavern wall, breaking their fragile focus. Another goblin snarled as it was shoved by a panicked companion, losing its footing in the chaos.

  That was all he needed.

  Ishar tore forward, forcing his battered body into a sprint. The wind howled through the passageway, mixing with the goblins' screeches and the distant echoes of pursuit. He could still feel the adventurers behind him—their presence like a blade at his back, unseen but relentless.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Then—he saw it.

  The end of the tunnel.

  A final burst of adrenaline pushed him forward. Every step sent jolts of pain through his body, his wounds screaming in protest, but he refused to slow down. His vision swam, the edges blurring, but he didn't need clarity—he only needed distance.

  With a final, desperate leap, Ishar burst from the tunnel, his boots skidding across uneven stone. He barely caught himself, nearly collapsing under his own weight. His chest heaved—each breath a battle, raw and burning. Sweat and blood slicked his trembling arms, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears like a war drum.

  For a fleeting moment, he stopped.

  His back hit the cavern wall, his breath sharp and ragged. The air was thick with damp earth and something old, something rotten. His body screamed for rest.

  But the chase wasn't over.

  He had made it out—for now.

  Ishar forced himself forward, lungs straining, legs unsteady. The cavern stretched before him, vast and shrouded in shadow. Jagged rock formations jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and several tunnels twisted into the unknown.

  No time to think.

  Footsteps thundered behind him—fast, heavy, relentless. The adventurers had pushed through the goblin chaos. They were closing in. The creatures' shrill screeches still echoed through the tunnels, their fury unchecked, but they were no longer his concern.

  The real threat was the hunters at his back.

  And they weren't letting him escape.

  His gaze flicked to the paths ahead. He needed to go deeper—downward. If he stayed on the current level, they would corner him. If he took the wrong tunnel, he could end up trapped. The cavern sloped downward to the left, an uneven descent that looked more like a natural rockslide than a pathway. Dangerous, but his best chance.

  With no time for hesitation, Ishar forced his battered body into motion. His boots skidded against loose stone, his balance wavering as he half-ran, half-slid down the incline. Every jolt sent fresh agony lancing through his wounds. His left arm was nearly useless, the arrow buried deep in his shoulder limiting its movement. His ribs ached with every sharp breath, and his legs trembled from exhaustion.

  The slope steepened suddenly. Ishar lost his footing. He hit the ground hard, rolling down the incline as rock and dirt scraped against his torn skin. Pain exploded across his body, but he had no time to process it—he had to keep moving. He forced himself up with a sharp inhale, pushing off the ground just as a stray arrow clattered nearby.

  A surge of adrenaline numbed the pain. He darted forward, deeper into the cavern's depths