Chapter 436 - Hunted, And Cornered

Little ones first, or the big guy? Well, that's an easy one to answer...no damn way I'm going to fight the big guy while avoiding his underlings, he thought. 

With that settled, he dashed between the giant's bony legs before its massive greatsword could crash down above him, pushing forward as dirt scattered all around him. 

The thin, meager undead were easy targets as he slammed his blade against them without much elegance; the singular impact was enough to shatter their form into a pile of bones. 

"---"

Another metallic screech howled from the empty bowels of the giant from behind him, causing him to roll forward to dodge whatever strike was crashing down from behind. 

The force from the overhead swing of the unrefined greatsword was enough to form a gust of wind that tugged on his silver cloak. 

"It's just you and me now, big guy," he muttered. 

Removing his dagger from its tiny sheath, he wielded both his broadsword and his dagger in each hand before taking off in a dash towards the boss-skeleton. 

I was hoping to save this for another time, but I guess now is as good as ever, he thought. 

"---!" 

It roared out again with a melody that assaulted his ears like razor blades before throwing another swing of its towering blade towards his flesh-bound form. 

Here's the problem with swinging a sword this big around--! He thought. 

Jumping up, he managed to land atop the flat side of the broad, oversized sword as he traversed its length swiftly while it still moved. 

An unorthodox move like that took the undead by complete surprise as it didn't seem to react to his nimble assault in time. 

He dashed up the blade and over the large, lengthy arm of the skeleton, finding his way to his shoulders before slamming the obsidian dagger directly into the top of its skull. 

"Release!"

By his command, the mystical dagger unleashed the mana it had built up, cascading a black, viscous array of raw mana through the hollow body of the skeletal giant. 

From the volatile release being exuded directly into the ivory temple of the undead, its body shattered into an uncountable number of withered fragments of bone. Having leapt away before he could crash with the shattered skeleton, he huffed, sheathing his blades as he looked back at the dungeon. 

"Well, easy pickings now, I guess," he muttered to himself. 

And easy pickings it was, finding himself casually strolling through the tucked away dungeon amongst the contorted trees of the forest. 

Though it wasn't exactly sprawling with riches, he managed to find another metallic chest hidden in the back of the damp structure. He flipped open the lid of the chest as it creaked with dusted age, revealing an azure glisten to his eyes that made him smile just a bit. 

"Bingo," he whispered in celebration. 

Grabbing the set of four mana potions, he tucked them away safely in the inner pocket of his coat, patting his chest for good measure before making his leave with a successful run of the dungeon. 

Moving back into the forest of white leaves, he made a small, minimal camp for himself that included only a small campfire, and a few sharp-toothed abyss bunnies that made for a good meal. 

Just one more week. It might start in a few hours, or maybe it already started…the "Era of Hell"--it's my last trial before I can save you, he thought, just you wait. 

Sitting on a halved, mossy log, he chewed on the makeshift shishkebab of cooked bunny meat in his lonesome. It was tough meat, likely due to the way he cooked it, the natural toughness of the monstrous bunnies, or both, but all he cared about were the nutrients it brought. 

Using a makeshift pot he melded tediously from discarded, black metal, he boiled water found from a nearby pond, making sure to rid it of its impurities a few times over, for good measure. 

After taking a few sips of the heated water, he leaned back against the sturdy tree behind him, feeling his eyelids grow in density. 

When was the last time I slept?...I think it was when I was with those three. Two days then, I think. Thank goodness for the inner clock this place seems to give you...though I can't tell if it's completely accurate--it just...feels right, he thought. 

Just as his eyes closed, they opened back up. 

It was the whistle of something soaring through the wind with malice; shot directly towards him.

Without any hesitation, he jumped up with a kick of his legs, bringing himself back to his feet just in time to evade the passing arrow.

From where? He thought. 

Looking to the left, where the missed projectile shot from, he wasn't able to discern anything beyond the shadowy veil that naturally clung to the gloomy forest. 

—Another whistle.

This time, he sensed it coming from directly in front of him. 

Temporarily amplifying himself with utmost reinforcement, his altered senses allowed him to catch the arrow by its timber length, allowing the firm material to be caught in his taut grasp. 

He was face-to-face with the arrowhead, stopping for a moment out of sheer shock he was able to catch it just before the tip could touch his skin. 

"Huh?" 

An odd, resonating cold ram over the hand that held the arrow, prompting him to toss it to the ground before ducking behind the tree to evade the next shot.

Keeping his guard up, he glanced down at his right hand that had caught the arrow, finding a black substance lathered across his palm. 

What is this? Who the hell is attacking me? He thought. 

There wasn't much time to think as he picked up the sounds of leaves crunching beneath the weight of steps. 

He stayed silent even in his thoughts as he focused only on his senses. Only his dagger was drawn from its sheath as he latched to the side of stealth, pressing close to the tree for cover as the footsteps drew near from behind. 

Just as they drew close, the steps went completely silent. 

For a few moments, all he was left with was the utter absence of sound--knowing full well something was definitely lurking just behind the width of the tree. 

As he brushed the sole of his boot across the soil subtly, moving as slowly and carefully as possibly, even that amount of sound was enough to trigger his lurking foe. 

"---!"

It leapt out from the right side, nearly taking him by surprise as he reacted swiftly with a stab of his dagger. 

Sinking into the skull of the stealthy enemy, the dagger was withdrawn as he looked down to find it was a goblin, wielding a small bow. 

"A goblin…?" He whispered to himself. 

It was different from the ones he had encountered previously; it wore black attire that stretched over its arms, legs, feet, hands, and even its head. 

That's weird. Goblins usually are pretty volatile and dumb creatures. But this one acted with tactics in mind, he thought. 

Inspecting it, he couldn't find anything besides a red-hide quiver and some arrows that were lathered in the same ointment on his hand. 

Just as he saw the substance, the true nature of it finally kicked in as he felt a sudden release of strength exude from his pores. 

"What the…?" He muttered. 

Grabbing his own face, he swayed a bit, or so he thought--his vision became skewed, his balance shifted, and everything spinning. 

Some sort of drug? This isn't good, he thought. 

He reached up to a low-hanging branch to guide himself back to his feet as he leaned his shoulder against the sturdy cedar, gathering his breath for a moment as he tried to adjust to the miasma of his senses. 

It was when the sounds of bushes being rattled by many steps was heard from north of his vision did he remember one, unchangeable fact about goblins. 

...They always work in groups, don't they? He remembered. 

A concerning realization, considering the fleeting strength in his limbs as his legs felt like wet noodles under the weight of his body. 

Attempting to quickly circumvent any further spread of the mysterious ointment, he spit on his palm before vigorously wiping it with his cloak. 

"Come on…" He muttered, continuously looking up as the footsteps drew closer. 

He managed to clean most of it off, but the damage had already been done as the weakening effect settled in his body, causing him to nearly fall as his legs attempted to give in to the spell. 

Looking around for a path out of direct confrontation with the unseen goblins, he tried to discern such a route through the walls of white, lightly luminescent trees. 

It was easier said than done in such repetitive scenery, though with his halved vision--he found a path shrouded in heavy foliage, perfect for a stealthy escape. 

Bingo, he thought. 

Moving himself, his right arm hung at his side as the potency of the weakening ointment was strongest on that limb. He brought himself into the obscuring maze of the tall-standing verdancy, shuffling through it. 

He soon found himself shifted into a field of the towering grass, moving in no particular direction but away from his pursuers. 

His thoughtless movement came to a halt as the footsteps returned--this time they were all around, but scattered. Crouching down, he kept his breaths as low as possible as the weakening brought a feverish aspect to his lungs, making it difficult to hold onto air. 

All he could do was listen closely to the slow, quiet steps as they passed through the high grass; at any moment, one could make themselves appear from any side of him. 

They don't know where I am exactly; that's good. Still, it seemed like they were hunting me specifically. I guess this is what the 'Era of Hell' really is, isn't it? Seven days of this....He thought.