Airen broke into a sprint, his figure a blur as he cut through the narrow paths of the goblin village, heading straight toward the center where the chief's house stood. His focus didn't waver—until a sudden voice rang out from behind.
It was Lirra.
"Fire! The house is burning!" her cry tore through the night, loud and desperate enough to reach every ear.
Airen's brows twitched. Tch. I told her I didn't need her help. But if she wants to risk herself… that's not my problem.
All around, goblins abandoned their posts. Shouts rose, feet thundered over the dirt paths as the entire village rushed toward the source of the commotion. In the chaos, Airen slipped between huts unnoticed, a shadow moving against the torchlight.
The village itself was crude yet lively: huts stacked from clay and timber, smoke rising from crooked chimneys, livestock penned in ramshackle fences. Crude stone paths crisscrossed the settlement, splitting toward a single structure at its heart.
It didn't take long before Airen spotted it—the chief's house.
Grander than the rest, it loomed like a lord's manor among shacks. Thick beams held its broad frame, walls reinforced with carved stone and polished wood, banners of tanned hides flapping above the doorway. Its roof arched higher than any hut, almost proud, and even from outside the faint glimmer of gold leaked through gaps in the wooden shutters.
Just as she said, Airen thought, stepping forward.
Without hesitation, he pushed through the heavy doors.
The air inside was thick—warm with firelight, rank with sweat and iron. Treasures lay scattered across the floor in careless heaps: coins, broken jewelry, blades piled like scrap. And sprawled atop the glittering mess, snoring deeply, was the Goblin Chief himself.
Unlike the frail wretches outside, this one was massive even at rest, his cubic frame bulky yet finely detailed—like a statue given flesh. His chest rose and fell heavily, as though the wealth beneath him was nothing more than a pillow.
But Airen's gaze shifted, narrowing on the figures standing guard.
Four of them.
Two towering goblins flanked the chief directly, each over two meters tall, their blocky shoulders stacked with muscle. Their arms were as thick as tree trunks, their jaws square and brutish, and their eyes burned with a faint red glow.
The other two stood further back, massive in a different way. They were grotesque parodies of goblins—hulking, broad-chested creatures that barely resembled their kin. Their cubic bodies were sculpted with unnatural bulk, like warriors carved from stone and pumped full of raw power.
Airen's lips curved faintly. So these are the elite soldiers Lirra mentioned? His gaze lingered on their bulky frames. Hmph. I was expecting fragile green pests. Instead, these look like goblins on steroids.
He raised his sword, tilting it slightly as excitement flickered in his eyes. My first true cubic villains in this cubic world…
The air grew heavier. The chief snored on, unaware. The elite soldiers stirred, sensing the intruder's presence.
The silence before the storm had begun.
The silence cracked like glass.
One of the two-meter elites stepped forward, his massive frame blocking out the firelight. With a guttural snarl, he snatched up an axe that looked more like a slab of iron crudely sharpened, its cubic edges glinting red.
Airen didn't move. His sword rested lazily at his side, blade angled toward the ground, his expression as calm as if he were waiting in line at a market.
The soldier roared, the sound shaking the chief's treasures, and charged. The wooden floor groaned beneath every step.
Airen's eyes flickered—not wide, not startled, just faintly amused.
The axe came down like a thunderclap.
Clang!
Sparks burst across the room as Airen raised his blade in a single motion, steel colliding against iron. The shockwave rattled the chief's hoard, coins scattering across the floor. But Airen didn't budge. Not a step.
With a flick of his wrist, the axe was knocked aside, momentum twisting the goblin's bulky form off balance.
"Slow," Airen muttered, his tone almost bored.
In the same breath, his sword carved upward. A silver arc split the air, clean and sharp.
The elite soldier froze mid-swing. A thin, perfect line ran from his shoulder down through his chest. For one heartbeat, he stood—then his cubic body cracked apart, dissolving into scattered shards of light.
The second elite let out a roar, rushing forward with a spiked club. His partner fell in pieces behind him, but there was no hesitation, no grief—only raw violence.
This time, Airen moved first.
His body blurred, feet sliding across the treasure-strewn floor as if friction didn't exist. The goblin swung, the club sweeping wide enough to crush three men at once—but Airen slipped beneath it, his sword flashing like a whisper.
Shhhkt.
The club stopped mid-swing. The goblin's arm fell limp—cleanly severed at the elbow.
The creature howled, stumbling back, only for Airen's boot to drive into its chest, sending the massive body crashing into a pile of gold and bones.
"You call this elite?" Airen asked, tilting his head, voice flat. "Pathetic."
[Experience gain:6000000]
[Points Earned:60000000]
Level up! - Current level 52]
From the back, the two hulking parodies of goblins growled, their cubic muscles rippling like distorted armor. Unlike the first pair, they didn't rush recklessly. Their red-glowing eyes locked on Airen, and in unison they stepped forward—measured, steady, like predators that knew exactly how dangerous their prey was.
Airen's lips curved into a faint smile. Finally, something interesting.
The chief stirred, shifting in his slumber, coins clinking beneath his bulk. His snores deepened, but the oppressive atmosphere in the room thickened.
The real fight was just beginning.