The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly on the stone walls of Clover City, the largest human settlement in the southern territories. Outside the eastern gate, Commander Aldric Thorne stood with his arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
He'd been waiting for thirty minutes.
Thirty. Damn. Minutes.
His fingers drummed against his armored forearm in an irritated rhythm. Around him, his personal guard shifted uncomfortably, sensing their commander's foul mood but wisely keeping their mouths shut.
"This is exactly why I hate heroes," Aldric muttered, not caring if his men heard. "Arrogant. Entitled. Treating this world like it's their personal playground." He spat on the ground. "They're not even human—not really. Just aliens wearing human skin. Otherworlders who think their summoned status gives them the right to look down on those of us actually born here."
"You don't say." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
Aldric's hand went to his sword instinctively, his eyes scanning the area. His guards did the same, weapons half-drawn, searching for the source of the voice.
Then the commander's shadow moved.
Not stretched or shifted naturally—it moved, rippling like water disturbed by a stone. And from within that darkness, a figure emerged.
He rose from the shadow as if climbing out of a pool, darkness sloughing off him like liquid. A young man—maybe early twenties, with sharp features and an expression of casual arrogance that made Aldric's blood pressure spike. His hair was dark, almost black, styled deliberately messy. He wore simple clothes—dark pants, a sleeveless shirt that showed off lean but defined muscle—and moved with the fluid grace of a predator.
But it was his eyes that caught attention. Dark, cold, and utterly devoid of empathy.
Vegeta. The Shadow Hero.
One of the individuals summoned from another world five years ago to combat the rising demon threat. Each hero possessed abilities far beyond normal humans—gifts from the gods themselves, or so the church claimed.
And each one was, in Aldric's opinion, an insufferable nightmare to work with.
"I know not everyone in this world is happy with us otherworlders being here," Vegeta said, his tone dripping with casual disdain as he brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder. "Not like I care, honestly." He looked up, meeting Aldric's eyes with a smile that didn't reach his own. "But you need us. You people were getting your asses handed to you by demons before we showed up. And let's be real here—"
His presence suddenly shifted.
The air grew heavier, denser, as if gravity itself had increased. Shadows around them darkened, becoming more pronounced, more solid. The temperature dropped several degrees in an instant.
Bloodlust.
Pure, concentrated killing intent rolled off Vegeta like heat from a forge. It wasn't just intimidation—it was a physical force that pressed down on everything nearby. The guards stumbled backward, their faces going pale. One of them actually dropped his spear, his hands shaking too badly to hold it.
Aldric's body reacted before his mind could catch up. Years of combat training kicked in instantly. He went into a defensive stance, his hand flying to his sword and drawing it in one smooth motion. His muscles tensed, ready to fight or flee—though against someone like Vegeta, fleeing might be the smarter option.
"We're stronger and more powerful than you," Vegeta continued, his voice eerily calm despite the oppressive aura he was projecting. "Without us, this world would have fallen years ago. So maybe show a little respect, yeah?"
The world blurred.
One second, Vegeta was standing five feet away. The next, he was directly in front of Aldric—so close the commander could see his own reflection in those cold, dark eyes. Aldric hadn't even seen him move. No warning. No sound. Just impossible speed that his veteran reflexes couldn't even track.
Vegeta's hand closed around Aldric's sword—not on the handle, but on the blade itself. His bare hand gripping naked steel without hesitation.
The metal didn't cut him. Shadows wrapped around his fingers like gloves, creating a barrier between skin and edge.
"You don't want to try it," Vegeta said softly, his face inches from Aldric's. "Trust me. I'm feeling generous today, so I'm giving you a pass. But if that sword comes all the way out of its sheath..." He smiled—a cold, predatory expression. "You'll be the one dead. And I promise, it'll be messy."
With casual strength that belied his lean frame, Vegeta pushed the sword back into its sheath. Then he stepped back, and the oppressive bloodlust vanished as if it had never existed.
The temperature returned to normal. The shadows lightened. The air became breathable again.
Aldric stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest, cold sweat running down his spine. His guards looked like they'd just witnessed their own deaths and been given a reprieve.
Five years, Aldric thought bitterly. Five years of this. Working with these monsters who could kill me with less effort than swatting a fly.
But he was a professional. And professionals swallowed their pride when necessary.
Aldric forced himself to relax his stance, to breathe normally, to act like he hadn't just been seconds from death. "I didn't summon you here to fight," he said, keeping his voice level. "I have a mission for you."
"Oh?" Vegeta's eyebrows rose. "A mission? For me specifically? Must be something special if you called the Shadow Hero instead of one of the others." He tilted his head, that arrogant smirk never leaving his face. "What is it? Demon lord assassination? Infiltrating an enemy fortress? Retrieving some ancient artifact from a dungeon?"
"Goblins," Aldric said flatly.
Silence.
Vegeta stared at him. Blinked once. Twice.
Then he started laughing.
It wasn't a pleasant sound. It was harsh, mocking, the kind of laugh that made it clear just how funny he found the entire situation.
"Goblins?" Vegeta repeated, still chuckling. "You're sending me—me, the Shadow Hero, slayer of the Demon Duke Margoth, the man who single-handedly wiped out the Strongest Assassin clan—to kill goblins?" He shook his head, his expression shifting from amusement to something darker. "The weakest race in this entire world? Creatures that die if you look at them too hard?"