The leader stared at Beatriz, his gaze lingering far too long.
Her weapon gleamed in the light—elegant yet deadly, unlike anything he had ever seen. Her armor wasn't that of a typical warrior; it was adorned with intricate designs and fine jewelry, as mesmerizing as it was baffling. Her outfit revealed most of her long, shapely leg through a high slit at the thigh, adding a touch of allure that made it hard for the goblin leader to look away.
Extreme Lust and hunger twisted his face into a grotesque expression.
But then his eyes drifted to the corpses scattered around her—his fallen archers and warriors, all slain with ruthless precision.
She's probably the reason those worthless goblins never came back.
He scowled. Sending more fodder at her would be useless. These weaklings were no match.
Of the five soldiers remaining at his side, only two were worth anything.
He grunted and barked a sharp command in the goblin tongue, his voice low and harsh. Then, with a glare at the three weaker goblins, he spat the order:
"Get to the main camp. Now."
But then—out of the corner of his eye—he saw her.
Beatriz was already charging.
A blur of silver and motion. Her spear lowered, eyes locked on the leader like a predator closing in. The ground barely seemed to touch her feet.
"Hold her off!" the leader snarled, stepping back and reaching for the heavy cleaver strapped to his back.
The two elite goblins didn't hesitate. Blades drawn, they sprang forward to intercept. Fast—faster than most humans could track—but not faster than her.
Beatriz didn't slow. Her legs coiled mid-sprint, and she launched upward, flipping through the air. A sweeping arc. Her spear whistled down.
Clang!
One of the elites caught the spear's shaft with his sword—but the force of the impact cracked his knees and drove him half a foot into the dirt. Beatriz twisted the weapon, tore it free, and spun on her heel just in time to duck under the second goblin's slash.
She kicked upward—a brutal, rising blow that sent the goblin flipping backward like a ragdoll. Bones shattered. The elite hit the ground in a heap, unmoving.
The first goblin snarled and lunged again, this time feinting left—then stabbing right.
Beatriz didn't fall for it.
She deflected the blade with the end of her spear, then stepped in and rammed the blunt end of the shaft into his throat. A sickening crunch. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, choking, gurgling.
Two seconds. Two elite goblins down.
The three fodder goblins hesitated—terrified. But the leader didn't.
The goblin leader charged like a battering ram—each swing of his cleaver a thunderous arc of destruction. His thick, plated armor groaned with strain, yet his speed defied belief. Despite his stocky, 5-foot frame, he moved with uncanny agility—twice that of a peak human—turning his squat bulk into a living weapon.
But Beatriz was faster.
Towering a full foot above him, she moved like a specter of war—graceful, and lethal. Her sleek spear blurred through the air, every motion sharpened by her high stats.
Steel screamed as her spear met his cleaver mid-swing. The shockwave from the clash rattled the ground—but Beatriz stood firm. He bore down, snarling, muscles bulging with monstrous strength.
Twisting away with inhuman fluidity, she slipped out of the grapple and flowed around him, legs flashing like silver scythes beneath her high-slit armor. The cleaver whooshed past her back—missing by inches.
He snarled and swung again—faster, wilder, bloodlust twisting his face.
Too wide.
She dropped low, slid beneath the arc of his blade, and struck.
Thunk!
Her spear plunged into his ribs. The tip sank deep—but not deep enough. His flesh was like stone, and dense armor beneath his hide absorbed much of the blow.
He grinned—blood bubbling between cracked lips—and seized the shaft of her spear with a massive, clawed hand.
She released the weapon.
And stepped in.
Her knee rocketed upward with devastating speed, powered by her full strength.
Crack!
His jaw exploded under the impact, snapping like glass. The goblin's short frame launched off the ground, a fountain of blood trailing behind him mid-air.
Before his broken body even hit the earth, Beatriz ripped the spear from his side, spun in one seamless motion, and brought the blade down in a clean, decapitating arc.
Shhhlick!
His head struck the dirt with a heavy thud.
His armored corpse followed, collapsing in a twitching heap, blood spurting in rhythmic jets from the severed neck.
Beatriz straightened, expression calm, chest rising and falling with perfect rhythm.
She wasn't even winded.
The fight had lasted less than thirty seconds.
The three remaining fodder goblins stared—paralyzed, trembling.
Then they bolted.
They didn't make it.
Beatriz vanished in a blur of silver and shadow, closing the gap before they could scream. One sweeping strike—precise and brutal—cleaved through all three.
Their heads fell first. The bodies followed, slumping to the dirt like discarded sacks.
Silence returned to the clearing.
And only Beatriz stood.