Under normal circumstances, an adult goblin's combat ability is not considered strong.
There's no need for those soldiers who've been trained year-round or heavily armed village guards.
A burly farm woman with nothing more than an old and rusty grass fork can easily handle them.
But when the number of these cockroach-like low-level demons rises to dozens, even up to three digits.
With the lead of an elite individual among them, they possess the strength and courage to attack small human settlements.
"Screech!"
A cold light flickered.
A One Handed Sword stained with foul goblin blood thrust fiercely into the chest of the green goblin before him.
The blade was sharp. Though slight marks on the hilt and sword indicated it had been used for a long time and wasn't fresh out of the Blacksmith Shop.
But thanks to its owner's diligent maintenance, it remained in excellent condition.
