The silence was loud.
Their boots crunched over gravel and wet stone, the only sound echoing through the damp, airless tunnel. Shadows clung to the jagged walls, their formation moving with the caution of prey, not hunters. Not a single goblin howl, no scampering claws, not even dripping water. Just… silence.
It was wrong.
Leroy raised his fist, halting the group. Jonah and Kara stopped with him, and Ronin slowed last, blinking at the motion like he'd only now rejoined reality.
"What the…" Leroy muttered.
Before them, scattered like broken dolls, were goblin corpses. Not the ones from earlier—those were still far ahead of them. These were different.
Ronin stepped forward, kneeling beside a slumped corpse. Throat ripped open. Skull caved in. Chest carved like meat. His fingers hovered over one, noting the vicious, unnecessary violence.
Not clean kills. Not the swift, calculated work of a professional. This was a slaughter.
The figure. Whatever the hell it was… it had been busy.
Ronin's hand twitched toward his bag, fingers curling around the stitched leather. The glove. Or... not really the glove—he already had a glove. All he'd done was slap some modifications on it. Kind of. Maybe.
Even he wasn't sure it would work.
He remembered the feel of the crystal—the one he'd ripped out of that freak goblin earlier. It throbbed with raw power, not just a mana core, but something… purer. Cleaner. Almost sentient in how it pulsed in his hand.
And against every sane instinct, he'd burned his own elemental signature into it. Normally, no one would be dumb enough to do that. Elemental signatures were unique—a fingerprint of sorts. If you killed someone using your affinity, that trace could be tracked back to you.
But Ronin didn't care about that. He wasn't planning on living long enough to get arrested.
So he hammered the signature in. Used his dagger to wedge it deeper. Forced his mana through his ember touch, over and over, into the core until it felt like his veins were ash and his heart burned coal.
And then, using bits of garbage—metal clamps, torn cloth, something that might've been part of a zipper—he shoved it all together and hoped for the best.
Now the crystal sat embedded in the glove like a cursed jewel.
In theory? It'd boost his ember touch. In reality? He was probably about to die with a melted glove and regrets.
The group moved on. Ronin forced himself up and followed, thoughts clanging as loud as their footsteps.
Then timid guy—no, Jonah, that was his name—spoke up, a crack of joy in the dead air. "I… I recognize this path! We're close! The exit's this way!"
Ronin blinked. That was rare. Hope.
They followed the winding trail, emerging into the clearing where Ronin had fought the crystal-infused goblin. But no one celebrated.
Because on the far end of the clearing, blocking the only way out… was it.
The figure.
Now that it wasn't shrouded by distance or fog, they could see it clearly—and it wasn't what any of them expected.
It wore a hoodie. Pants. Shoes. All human clothes. But it wasn't human. Too tall for a goblin, yet too small for a troll. Its limbs were wrong—arms too long, fingers sharp, skin a muted green. Face hidden beneath the hood.
"What the…?" Ronin muttered.
"Goblin," Leroy said, more to himself than anyone else. "A goblin… in clothes?"
Before they could even process that, the thing moved.
One moment it stood across the field. The next, it vanished. Or moved so fast it might as well have. Leroy had the reflexes to bring up his spear in time—but not enough to stand his ground.
The blow sent him flying into a cave wall with a sickening crunch.
Then the goblin burst into flames.
Fire girl—Kara, her name was Kara—had struck, flames roaring over its torso. But it didn't scream. Didn't flinch. It just… stood there, eyes locking onto her through the blaze.
Chilling.
Then Jonah punched it.
A solid right hook to the jaw. The goblin turned to face him like he was mildly annoying, like a dog sniffing too close.
Ronin yanked the glove out of his bag. Slipped it on. It hissed against his skin, the crystal pulsing instantly. Connection made.
He raised his hand. Focused. "Ember touch," he muttered.
Nothing.
His palm stayed cold.
His gut clenched. Why wasn't it working? He looked at the crystal—still glowing. Still potent. Then it clicked.
His mana. It wasn't compatible.
The crystal's mana was pure. Refined. His was the magical equivalent of sewer water. E-rank trash.
He needed to filter it.
Jonah screamed.
Ronin didn't look. He couldn't afford to. He dropped to his knees, yanking components from his bag mid-chaos—scraps, wire, torn rubber, a bolt? It didn't matter. Kara screamed at him.
"Ronin! Snap out of it!"
Ignored.
She threw fireball after fireball, but the goblin weaved through the flames, unfazed.
Leroy returned from the shadows, bloodied but furious. His spear clashed with the goblin's fists, buying seconds. One punch landed in his gut, hurling him across the field again.
The goblin kept walking. Slow. Methodical. Toward Kara.
Ronin gritted his teeth. Now or never.
He stood.
Aimed his glove.
The crystal surged, light glowing like a flare. The goblin stopped. Head turning to face Ronin like it sensed the connection.
A beat of silence.
Then the glove discharged.
A fireball, small but dense, shot from Ronin's palm with impossible speed—like a bullet wrapped in hellfire.
BOOM.
It hit the goblin square in the chest. An explosion of flame and force sent the creature flying—flying—through the air for the first time.
Ronin collapsed to his knees, panting. The glove hissed, smoking, crystal dimming. Probably dead after one use.
The goblin crashed into the ground near the exit, twitching but alive.
Leroy roared, rushing to Ronin. Threw him over his shoulder. "We need to fall back. Now."
Kara followed, eyes darting. "Where's Jonah?"
Ronin followed her gaze.
Jonah lay still. Neck twisted the wrong way. No blood. No struggle.
One hit.
Dead.
"Shit…" Ronin breathed.
Leroy's jaw clenched. "Move!"
The goblin stirred behind them.
And they ran. Back into the tunnels. Back into the dark.
Retreating. Again.