"Shit. Shit. Shit!"
Ronin's boots slapped against the uneven stone as he scrambled backward, half-running, half-tripping through the shadows of the cavern. The goblin chased him with an unnerving glee, its cracked lips curled back in something sickeningly close to a grin. It wasn't screeching like the others, wasn't charging blindly—it was thinking. Toying with him.
Each of its club swings came inches from caving in his ribs, his head, his legs—yet none connected. They weren't meant to. The damn thing was playing with him like a cat with a crippled mouse.
Ronin knew one thing for sure:
Anyone else on this team—Leroy, Paul, fire girl, even timid dude—could wipe the floor with this goblin. Crystal or not.
But he?
He was Ronin. The guy who barely broke even in most dungeon dives. The guy who stocked up on instant noodles after every gate run. The guy who got bodied by goblins on the regular.
As much as his body begged for help, his pride screamed louder. If he called out and someone else killed it, they'd get the corpse. The crystal.
And that was his.
He grit his teeth, reached into the pouch strapped to his thigh, and pulled out the dull dagger he brought to every gate. A glorified letter opener with no enchantments, no weight balance—nothing but sharp steel and desperation.
He swung. Wild. Reckless. Desperate.
The blade nicked the goblin's shoulder, drawing a line of dark, thick blood.
The goblin barely flinched.
Then, with a guttural snarl, it retaliated—smashing its crude club into Ronin's side.
His world twisted.
He hit the ground, his breath exploding from his lungs in a pained wheeze. Every nerve in his shoulder howled.
The goblin didn't rush this time. It walked toward him. Deliberate. Calm. Like it had already won.
Ronin blinked past the throbbing pain, turning his head just enough to glance at the others.
Still fighting.
The cave up ahead had widened into a massive hollow space, and the shadows of goblins danced across the walls in the distance. Dozens of them. The others were too occupied to see him flailing like a jackass.
Good.
He grunted, staggered to his feet, his shoulder a pulsing throb of agony. Blood ran down from the side of his mouth, his face pale and sweating.
His stance was a joke. One foot slightly forward, the other shaky and too far back. He wasn't a fighter. Never had the training. Never had the instinct.
The goblin stopped—its yellow eyes narrowed.
Then, it did something insane.
It threw its club.
Ronin barely had time to widen his eyes before the wood cracked against his face. The impact was sickening. His nose exploded. Blood gushed like a faucet.
He dropped to his knees, breathing in ragged gasps through his mouth, blinking blood out of his vision.
The goblin approached slowly, savoring the moment. It scooped up its club, raised it high.
Time. Slowed.
Ronin's body screamed at him to stay down.
But something deep inside flared.
No.
With the last shreds of strength, he ducked low—and drove his dagger upward into the goblin's foot. The steel sank in deep. The goblin shrieked.
Ronin wasn't done.
His hand ignited—tiny flickers of flame licking his fingers. Ember Touch. His pathetic E-rank ability. A fire so weak it couldn't even toast bread.
But it was enough.
He fed every drop of mana he had left into the dagger.
The blade shimmered.
Then the goblin's foot burst.
Flames erupted inside the flesh. The smell of burning meat filled the air as the goblin screamed louder than ever, its body collapsing to the ground, clawing at the scorched stump where its foot used to be.
Ronin staggered to his feet, blood pouring from his nose, his shoulder hanging limp.
He loomed over the goblin.
And with one final swing, slit its throat.
Silence.
Ronin collapsed next to the body, panting, shaking, vision swimming.
His ears caught voices—the team was done. The last of the goblins lay still. Footsteps approached.
Paul's voice was the first to break the silence.
"Well I'll be damned… didn't know it was possible to struggle that hard against one goblin."
There was a mocking laugh in his tone. Ronin didn't have the energy to respond. He just stared at him with dead eyes, cursing him with every word he couldn't say.
Then Leroy stepped up, gaze landing on Ronin and the corpse. "Let's take a break here," he said. "Our teammate needs a moment."
Ronin didn't even acknowledge him. His attention was on the goblin's cooling corpse. His fingers moved, trembling, bloodstained, as he pried open the cavity near its heart.
There it was.
A small, gleaming crystal.
Faintly pulsing.
His.
His.
For once in this hell of a world, Ronin earned something.
And no one could take it away.