Kujima stepped out from the last of the trees and into the open meadow.

  Ahead, three goblins rode wild boars at breakneck speed, chasing after something. Behind them, a few more goblins clung to panicking sheep, their shrieks echoing as the remaining flock scattered in terror. Five in total—all pursuing the same prey.

  Kujima froze. He hadn’t noticed the goblin boy with the spear.

  The boy shrieked in a high, grating voice. "Hey! Hand over what you’ve got, or I’ll kill you!"

  Kujima’s gaze darted around—where was his mother?

  Then the pain hit.

  He looked down. The spear was already buried deep in his stomach. Blood seeped into the grass.

  Adrenaline surged. His heart pounded. His breathing grew ragged.

  The goblin boy let out a grotesque giggle. "Too late! Maybe if you had listened, you wouldn’t be dying now! Hihihihi!"

  Kujima didn’t flee.

  He gripped the spear—and shoved it deeper into himself.

  Face to face with the goblin boy, their noses nearly touching, Kujima hissed through clenched teeth.

  "I am Kujima. Bastard son of the king. And you—dare stab me? You laugh in my face?"

  He yanked the spear, making it twist inside his flesh. The goblin gasped as Kujima roared:

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  "You think I’ll let you vermin kill me? You think this will stop me?! Try again, you filth—GO AHEAD AND TRY!"

  He spat in the boy’s face, then clamped his blood-slick hand around the goblin’s skull and began to squeeze.

  The goblin shrieked, struggling, but Kujima's grip tightened.

  "P-please! M-my father’s the chieftain! He’ll kill y—"

  "Fuck your father."

  The veins on Kujima’s temple bulged. He squeezed harder. Blood gushed from the goblin’s eye sockets, then his ears.

  His hands went limp. The spear clattered to the ground. The boy followed.

  Kujima staggered, gasping. He wasn’t a god. Just a dying man.

  Blood poured from his stomach. The goblins could smell it—his, and their prince’s.

  He looked down. Drops hit the earth, warm and fast. His vision blurred.

  A shadow moved on the edge of the field—a horde.

  He kicked the dead goblin boy aside and screamed hoarsely:

  "HAHAHA! I KILLED YOUR PRINCE, YOU CURS! WHAT GOOD WILL IT DO TO KILL ME NOW?!"

  Arrows rained down.

  Kujima didn’t run. He couldn’t. His legs buckled, pupils dilating. The world tilted. His blood formed puddles beneath him.

  Then—mercenaries.

  Three of them.

  A hulking swordsman. A shield bearer. A healer cloaked in light.

  The shield-bearer leapt in front of Kujima, blocking the storm of arrows. The healer rushed forward, catching him in his arms, already running back toward the village.

  Kujima slipped into unconsciousness, blood trailing behind them like a crimson ribbon.

  The swordsman didn’t wait.

  With a single swing of his greatsword, trees trembled. A dozen goblins were cleaved in half, their bodies flung away by the sheer force of his strike.

  "Edward!" he shouted, panting. "Bring your damn shield! Where’s Alfred? I’m outta strength—I need a buff!"

  From the edge of the woods, Edward glimpsed Alfred vanishing into the trees, following bloody tracks.

  Scott—the swordsman—yelled again. "I’m coming!"

  He launched into the air and landed like thunder, crushing ten goblins beneath his shield. But more kept coming.

  "We need backup! Edward—go! Warn the others!"

  Edward hesitated. Just for a breath. Then he turned and sprinted.

  But his foot caught something. A rope.

  Snap.

  He was yanked off the ground, dangling upside down from a branch.

  From his swinging vantage point, he saw it.

  Scott’s lifeless body.

  And the horde closing in.