Chapter 37: Successful Hostage Rescue

  It was noon, and the sun shone brightly—matching the eager, hopeful mood in the goblins’ hearts.

  Beneath the intense sunlight, the ground of the entire hillside seemed to glint with a golden hue. When the goblins saw the "easy mark" from the previous day walking toward their stockade, they all cheered as if celebrating a grand festival.

  The leader stood at the front, legs apart in a fierce stance, hands on his hips. Though he had barely slept all night, his eyes now brimmed with vitality, sparkling with a golden glow.

  He had been reveling in his own "great achievement." The total earnings of his group over the past decade had been no more than a dozen gold coins, yet in just a short while the day before, he had secured a fortune a thousand times greater with his "sharp diplomatic skills." His feat would make any great figure in history feel ashamed.

  All night, he had pondered the wealth that would soon be his. How much was ten thousand gold coins? He had no real concept. One gold coin equaled a hundred silver coins, and a hundred silver coins equaled a hundred copper coins—so one gold coin was... ten thousand copper coins. But how much was ten thousand? A handful of copper coins was about thirty-odd; ten thousand would be... more than three hundred handfuls! More than three hundred handfuls... enough to cover the entire stockade. And then there were another nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine times thirty-odd handfuls on top of that—it would be a veritable ocean of money. He could even roll around in it with his eyes closed without fear of falling, and eat beef every day for years... It would be even better if there was beer too...

  But he saw no caravan of horses loaded with that "ocean of money." The leader frowned in confusion. "Where’s the money?" As soon as the two men approached, he stepped forward, unable to hide his urgency.

  "There’s too much—we can’t carry it all," the reply immediately matched the leader’s mental image of a mountain of coins, and he believed it without hesitation. The human who had come the day before glanced around. "Where’s the person?"

  "Still locked up there—unharmed, don’t worry," the leader said, growing more anxious. "But you should at least bring some to show us first! We can help carry the rest if you can’t manage it."

  "Is she still locked in the same place?" The human seemed particularly concerned about this. The leader nodded eagerly.

  "That’s perfect," the human said, sounding surprisingly relieved. He turned and, followed by the other man, walked straight toward the cave.

  "Wait—first you have to take us to get the money!" the leader shouted. But instead of stopping, the two men quickened their pace. It wasn’t until they were almost at the cave entrance that the leader realized something was wrong and yelled, "Stop them!"

  The goblins all around swarmed toward the two men. But just as they closed in, a huge explosion sent three or four goblins flying; the others were knocked off their feet by the shockwave. All the goblins were terrified by the blast and froze in their tracks.

  "He’s just a mage! Don’t be scared, brothers—charge!" The leader, with his rich combat experience, knew that a mage in close combat was nothing but a target. He drew his short knife, waved it, and charged forward first.

  He went straight for the man who had just cast a spell, his palm still outstretched. This was the same "easy mark" who had readily agreed to the exorbitant ransom the day before—and now his actions made it clear that the promise that had thrilled the leader all night was nothing but a trick. Disappointment sent the leader’s inflated ego plummeting into the abyss, and in his rage, he decided to kill this man first.

  Letting out a roar, the leader lunged forward and stabbed at the man with his knife. But he suddenly felt his wrist grabbed, his vision blurred, and his body flew into the air. Before he could react, he crashed heavily into the mountain wall, his body feeling as if it had been crushed to pieces.

  There were only two of them. The goblins were not afraid: those with weapons drew them and charged forward, some ran back to their huts to fetch weapons, and others rushed in empty-handed.

  Ethan had expected the goblins to be unprepared, and he knew the terrain—if they held the cave entrance, they would be safe. The gap in combat strength between the goblins and the two of them also didn’t surprise him. What he hadn’t expected, though, was his own reaction.

  This was a real fight to the death, and he held nothing back. After just a few swings of his knife, his body was soaked in goblin blood. Killing in battle was nothing like a simple brawl. Weapons flew at him from all directions, enemies kept closing in, and there was no time to think about moves or tactics. He could only rely on his combat instinct to dodge and slash his knife at every approaching body.

  The feel of the blade tearing through muscle and splitting bone, the sight of bright red blood, the stench of iron in his nose, and the screams in his ears all merged together. In his mind, this coalesced into a primal, bloodthirsty savagery that pushed all reason aside. Then, surprisingly, a sense of excitement welled up from within him. He was completely immersed in this killing frenzy; instead of moving toward the cave as planned, he charged straight into the goblin crowd, slashing away.

  He had been hit several times on his body and back—without the robe he wore, he would have been seriously injured. But Ethan didn’t care at all. The clarity he felt during meditation somehow surged within him in this moment, fueling his bloodlust even more. He was utterly intoxicated by the wild excitement of the beastly instinct surging through his body.

  Suddenly, a touch unlike the brutal clash of weapons came from behind—steady, calm, and warm. "Hurry to the cave entrance!" a shout rang out behind him. Only then did he snap out of his daze and realize his situation. Rodhart had already reached the cave entrance, but when he saw Ethan charge back into the goblin horde, he had rushed in after him.

  Ethan pulled himself together, raised his hand, and unleashed a fireball with all his strength. After a deafening explosion, several goblins were blown flying, opening a gap in the encirclement. The two of them charged through the gap and ran to the cave entrance where Chris was being held, their backs to the mountain wall.

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  Chris had already heard the commotion outside and run to the wooden fence to peek. When she saw the two men, covered in blood, rush to the entrance, she shrank back in fear.

  Ethan had no time to pay attention to her. He glanced at the goblins slowly surrounding them: more than thirty goblins had fallen, and the rest now hesitated to approach, only daring to form a loose circle a dozen steps away.

  "What do we do?" Rodhart panted. He had several serious wounds—charging into the encirclement had been an extremely risky move.

  Ethan licked his lips. His original plan had been for Rodhart to guard the cave entrance: first, to prevent the goblins from seizing Chris as a hostage, and second, to avoid being surrounded at the entrance. Then, relying on his robe, Ethan would charge into the goblin crowd, slash away, and cast a few spells—enough to shatter the goblins’ morale and make the situation easier to handle. But now Rodhart was seriously injured, and he had to rethink his plan.

  But what plan? Ethan’s mind raced, but he couldn’t think of anything effective. Worse, several goblins had already fetched bows and crossbows from their thatched huts, clearly intending to use them as targets from a distance.

  Suddenly, the sound of horse hooves echoed, and a group of men on horseback appeared at the stockade gate.

  This group charged straight at the goblins. The riders, all wielding spears and broadswords, charged toward them from a distance. The goblins in the front were immediately cut down or trampled, and the others scattered in panic at the sight of the formation. Ethan saw that the leader was Lord Bolgan—unarmed and unarmored, he looked even shorter on his tall horse, yet he directed the riders to charge left and right with surprising order and strategy.

  Lord Bolgan only ordered the riders to drive the goblins away, not to chase them. Then he rode over to Ethan and said, "Sir Envoy, you should have at least informed me! Charging in here with just two people is far too reckless."

  "It was a bit reckless," Ethan nodded in agreement.

  "Luckily, yesterday I heard you’d practically ransacked every tavern in the city just to find a helper. I figured you might do something like this, so today I brought the entire town guard and waited nearby. I sent someone to keep an eye on this place, and as soon as you came up, I led the men to charge over. Everything went exactly as I expected. Is the duke’s daughter okay?" Lord Bolgan shook his large head proudly.

  Ethan turned and slashed the lock on the wooden fence with his knife. Chris ran out from inside. Seeing that the situation was completely under control, she suddenly looked around, spotted the goblin leader lying nearby, and rushed over to kick and stamp on him, shouting as she did, "How dare you kidnap me? And lock me up for so long—do you even know who I am?"

  It was just a child’s tantrum, and no one paid it any mind.

  Suddenly, the goblin leader jumped to his feet, grabbed Chris, and pressed a knife to her neck. The move took everyone by surprise. Ethan and Rodhart were too far away to react in time.

  "Don’t any of you move!" the leader roared. At his shout, the goblins who had scattered saw that their leader seemed to have the upper hand again, and a few bold ones slowly returned.

  The humans on their side could only stare at each other, unsure of what to do.

  "You humans tricked us with such underhanded tactics!" the leader snarled. The green skin on his face turned dark purple, making him look even uglier.

  Chris’s neck was clamped tightly, and she couldn’t scream. Her originally thin, delicate face was completely clouded with terror, and the green, bumpy arm around her made her look like a canary waiting to be dissected.

  "Someone cut that man’s head off for me!" the leader roared, pointing at Ethan. His already ugly face, swollen with rage, looked like a papaya that had been soaked in a ditch for ages. "I’ll send his head back to the duke, to show these humans we won’t be looked down on or tricked! Then tell him to bring us twenty thousand gold coins with his own hands—otherwise, we’ll send his daughter’s head to him!"

  A goblin grunted, picked up a knife, and walked toward Ethan.

  Rodhart stepped forward, but the leader immediately shouted, "Don’t move!" He pressed the knife harder against Chris’s neck—the yellow, serrated blade sinking slightly into her skin. With just a little more force, it would pierce her delicate, fair flesh. Rodhart froze instantly.

  The goblin walked up to Ethan and raised his knife. Ethan didn’t move at all; he just frowned, staring intently at the leader holding Chris hostage. His eyes didn’t show the same panicked confusion as the others—instead, they held a strange, intense focus.

  "Stop!" Rodhart shouted, his face contorted. He had just taken half a step forward when he saw Ethan, who had been motionless, suddenly reach out and press his hand against the goblin’s face.

  Boom. A huge burst of sparks mixed with blood exploded. The stench of blood filled the air in an instant.

  "Clang!" The knife fell to the ground, still clutched in the goblin’s severed hands. His lower body flew off, spilling its intestines everywhere, while his upper body was blown to bits, scattering flesh and blood across the sky. The goblins splattered with their comrade’s blood let out pig-like squeals and scattered again. Everyone else present was completely stunned.

  Ethan didn’t even blink. He stared straight at the leader, speaking slowly, each word sharp and clear: "Now we have the upper hand. You don’t get to talk."

  The goblin’s flesh and blood slowly fell from the sky. A single eye, still attached to some sinew, landed at the leader’s feet. The leader looked into Ethan’s eyes—fixed unblinkingly on his face—then at the eye at his feet. His body began to tremble, and as the knife in his hand shook, Chris trembled too.

  Ethan’s voice was as cold as a bayonet forged from decades of frozen ice. "Let me ask you this. If you hurt the hostage in your hand, what do you think I’ll do to you?"

  The leader’s voice began to shake, and he could only repeat, "Don’t move—don’t you move..."

  "I’ll give you two choices," Ethan said, still staring the leader down, his tone steady. "Choose one. First: you can kill the person in your hand. Then we’ll capture you and cut every piece of flesh from your body, one knife at a time. I’ll do it myself—I’ll make sure you take over a hundred cuts, and you’ll watch as your own intestines are pulled out before you die." Ethan pointed, and the leader glanced at the intestines and blood on the ground.

  "Second: let her go, run away now, and I’ll spare your life." Ethan’s gaze was like two red-hot knives, piercing the leader’s eyes and searing into his heart, turning everything inside to a bloody mess. His words, sharp as broken teeth, crushed whatever remaining will to fight the leader had. "Choose."

  Trembling, the leader suddenly dropped his knife and fled down the mountain as fast as he could.

  Chris collapsed to the ground, but when she saw the eyeball and intestines on the ground nearby, she jumped up in fear. She ran to Rodhart—the closest person to her—and buried her face in his chest, sobbing.

  Ethan let out a long sigh and shook his head. Lord Bolgan, on horseback, also let out a sigh and shook his head. "Sir Envoy, you really are too reckless."

  "Because I don’t think the duke could come up with twenty thousand gold coins either. I couldn’t let him see my head first, then his daughter’s."

  Most importantly, I don’t want to lose my head. Ethan thought to himself. He hadn’t been acting—though he had guessed the goblin leader wouldn’t have the courage to kill Chris in a suicide trade, he would never have risked his own head to save Chris’s if it came down to it. He remembered well what Sandro had taught him.

  Lord Bolgan thought carefully, then nodded. He rode over and patted Ethan on the shoulder, wrinkling his snub nose and saying in his duck-like voice, full of admiration: "Who would have thought you’re so good at handling things like this?"