CHAPTER 05
Roselina slipped quietly into the goblins’ lair. On her face was a mask she had purchased from a weapons dealer. Her platinum-blonde hair—recognizable to anyone—was tightly wound and bound into a single knot.
The commission was little more than an excuse for her escape. Even so, when it came to kidnappings, abductions, or missing persons, she wanted to do her utmost. A laughable thought perhaps, for someone who had chosen to disappear of her own accord.
The goblins were hunched, with long fingers and sharp nails. Their faces looked crushed from top to bottom, their eyes and ears stretched sideways, and jagged fangs jutted from their mouths. Most of all, though emaciated, they could charge at frightening speed. They never acted alone—always in groups of three or four—and a single mistake could mean being torn limb from limb.
On her way here, she had already passed several remains—mere skeletons now, the flesh long stripped away by coyotes and other wild beasts.
Just before reaching the center of the lair, Roselina began to climb a tall tree to get a better view. Goblins were quick and aggressive, but their long claws made tree-climbing impossible. Nor were they skilled at digging tunnels, which was why they lived in forest clearings where trees grew thick. Living in groups increased their odds of survival, but their bad tempers often scattered them quickly.
Still, if there was a strong goblin, the weaker ones would gather around it. That seemed to be the case here. Roselina counted several guarding the lair.
Amid the dark cluster, she spotted a young man—a boy with red hair. His head was bowed, his arms bound to a tree. His clothes were torn almost to rags, his body smeared with blood, but he didn’t look dead.
Goblins weren’t clever. They sought immediate gain rather than weaving schemes. They wouldn’t stage a hostage drama.
Besides, what would they trade for? Sorcerers were rare in this age, and communication between humans and monsters was nearly impossible.
So what was this? Someone’s trap?
Roselina sharpened her senses. The goblins showed no sign of moving.
How many of them?
She quickly calculated the fastest route to get the baron’s only son out alive. The lair was circular, and the boy was held to the northeast.
Six goblins ahead. Possibly four lying in ambush behind. Five more on each flank—twenty in total.
Roselina counted, clenched three poisoned arrows between her teeth, and set three more on her bowstring.
The plan was simple:
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With the first shot, take down the three on the front right.
-
In the confusion, strike down the other three.
-
That would clear the six in front.
Then, as the ambushers and flanking goblins rushed in, she would spring off two or three trees and dive deeper into the lair.
Retreat route: the trees to the right.
Having set her strategy with precision, Roselina loosed her arrows.
“Your Majesty!”
At Cesario’s shout, Dantes snatched the short arrow flying toward him and drove it into the ground. Marco immediately counterattacked in the direction it had come.
“Urgh!”
A masked man collapsed with a groan. Hearing movement retreating, Dantes dashed forward without hesitation and swung his sword.
Four heads fell in one stroke. The attackers had numbered five. Cesario ran over to check their faces. Burn marks scarred their cheeks—they were convicts.
“The insignia looks like that of the Kingdom of Terzes.”
The Terzes Kingdom sat across the sea from the Delion Empire, always coveting its fertile lands.
“Tsk. Even minnows like Terzes are getting bold now. We’d best finish quickly and return. Leaving the capital for long was a mistake.”
Marco’s tone was uneasy. Cesario added that society’s biggest scandal of late was the disappearance of Baron Aventurin’s son. No one knew if the boy was alive, and the baroness was frantic.
Meanwhile, word spread that even elite mercenaries often died trying to reach the goblins’ lair. Yet Marco had heard that just today someone had accepted the commission—an expert, judging from the weapons they purchased.
The net was closing. Hearing both reports, Dantes thought: if not today, perhaps never.
He wiped blood from his blade.
“Are we near the lair?”
“Almost there. Just a little farther…”
Before Gunter could finish, a great cloud of crows rose from the forest’s center. Battle had begun. Dantes broke into a run. Marco and Cesario followed, while Gunter rearranged the soldiers.
“Spread left and right! Block the retreat! The elites, with me! Recruits, hold position—don’t move rashly! Remember, Roberto is not someone you can handle.”
Though spoken quietly, Gunter’s voice carried. The soldiers bowed their heads and dispersed. Gunter strode after the others.
Before long, goblin corpses appeared—felled with neat efficiency.
“Three arrows at a time… six goblins killed in just two volleys.”
Cesario’s disbelief was plain. Few could wield such skill. Dantes knew—it was Roberto’s work. He always achieved maximum effect with minimal movement.
Dantes surged ahead.
“Your Majesty! Wait, stop! Dantes!”
Marco tried to restrain him, but Dantes pressed on, cutting down anything in his way—trees, brush, wounded goblins charging in vain. None could scratch him. He stormed toward the heart of the lair, shouting:
“Roberto! Roberto Brida!”
He searched frantically, but couldn’t trace him. Goblin footprints trampled every patch of ground, masking any human tracks.
“Damn it!”
Marco and Cesario spread out to scour the forest. Dantes fought to steady his pounding heart. Never had he come so close, only to fail. Sweat slicked his palms.
He forced calm and examined where the hostage had been. Just then, a cry rang out:
“Help me!”
A boy’s voice. With senses sharper than most, Dantes knew the speaker was nearest to him. He dashed toward it, slicing through the woods.
A masked man was tying a boy to a horse. Spotting Dantes, he hurled throwing knives from his chest.
Dantes deflected them easily—such tricks could not stop him. But they could buy time.
“Please, somebody! I hate horses, I’ll die up here!”
The boy—surely Baron Aventurin’s son—trembled uncontrollably, hindering his captor.
Worse for the kidnapper, Gunter, Marco, and Cesario emerged behind Dantes. Startled, the masked man struck the boy’s nape.
“Ugh!”
The boy collapsed like a reed in the wind. The captor mounted the horse, but Marco shot at its legs. The beast reared violently. Even so, the masked man clung on and pushed through the forest.
“Flank right! Encircle them!”
“Yes!”
Soldiers poured in. Dantes loosed an arrow at the horse’s other leg. It leapt in agony, jolting the boy awake.
“Ugh! I’m gonna puke!”
As he nearly fell, the captor rolled with him to the ground. He could have fled alone, but the cowardly boy was the problem.
They tumbled, and the boy wriggled free, throwing up his hands.
“I—I’m Monterno Aventurin! My father’s Baron Aventurin! He’s rich! Please spare me!”
“Step aside.”
“Huh?”
As Monterno gawked, Cesario pulled him away.
“Your father told us all about you. Come along, Monterno.”
“You met my father? That person killed all the goblins! Just—shwik shwik!”
“Quiet!”
“Ah!”
Marco flicked Monterno’s forehead. He looked ready to argue until Gunter’s grim face silenced him.
When all grew still, Dantes leveled his sword at the prone figure. With one stroke, he cut the mask’s strings—without nicking the skin. Another stroke sliced free the hood and hair bindings.
A cascade of radiant platinum hair spilled to the waist. The soldiers gasped, hands clapped over mouths.
The platinum-haired man their emperor had sought for ten years. It could be no one but Roberto.
“Raise your head, criminal.”
“……”
“Roberto Brida!”
At the booming command, the unmoving body stirred.
“No!”
But it was not to raise his head. Instead, without hesitation, Roberto drew a dagger hidden in his sleeve and slashed for his own throat—choosing death.
