Thick, viscous blood sprayed out like a fountain, splattering across the floor of the VIP gallery!
In an instant, the entire noble stand turned into a slaughterhouse, blood and screams everywhere!
"Help!" "Someone, quickly!" "Where are the guards? Where are the guards?!"
Panicked cries for help rose one after another.
At that moment, the common spectators in the stands finally caught sight of the corpses and the bloody carnage, and immediately burst into wave after wave of terrified screaming!
"God! What's happening?!"
"Who are those people?"
"They're killing the nobles!"
Panic spread through the crowd like a plague.
The spectators who had just been cheering for the gladiatorial tournament were now all stunned by the bloody scene before them.
"Murder!"
"Assassins!"
"Run!" The panic spread like wildfire!
These cries were like sparks falling into a powder keg, instantly detonating the terror throughout the entire arena.
People began surging madly toward the exits, all order abandoned.
Shoving, wailing, and shrieking blended into one chaotic din.
Many were knocked down in the crush, and a stampede began.
The crowd scattered in flight, and the whole arena descended into unprecedented chaos!
Lawrence stood with grim authority amid the pool of blood, his aged but still powerful voice ringing out across the entire noble gallery.
"All soldiers, hear my command! Surround and eliminate these assassins immediately! Leave not a single one alive!"
Lawrence's order was as unyielding as iron law, his voice cutting through the chaotic din, carrying to every corner of the arena.
The Roen City guards around him sprang into action at once.
They drew their swords, leveled their spears, and charged at the black-cloaked assassins.
In moments, several assassins who were closer by were surrounded by the well-trained soldiers. Amid the flashing blades, sprays of blood filled the air.
"Clang! Clang!"
The clash of weapons rang out in a continuous chorus.
Mixed in were the screams of the assassins and the roars of the soldiers.
The entire noble gallery had turned into a bloody abattoir.
One assassin was run through the chest by a soldier's longsword, blood gushing out like a spring.
The fine steel blade emerged from his back, gleaming with a searing red light.
The black cloak wrapped around him came loose in his struggle, revealing a crimson face beneath: another Tiefling.
Blood-red skin, curved demonic horns, and a pair of golden slit-pupiled eyes burning with hatred.
Even in his final moment of death, his eyes still burned with unyielding fury.
A second assassin fell, then a third, cut down beneath the soldiers' blades, their cloaks likewise falling away.
Every corpse revealed the same features: blood-red skin. Every one of them was a Tiefling.
This turned out to be an assassination squad made up entirely of Tieflings.
Defying Roen City's expulsion decree, they had infiltrated the city to carry out an assassination.
Morgan Silverhand stood at a height, his gaze cold as he looked down upon the corpses of the assassins lying in their own blood.
With every crimson face revealed beneath a fallen cloak, his eyes grew a degree colder, like frost deepening in the dead of winter.
Tieflings. All of them, Tieflings.
Though this band of Tiefling assassins had come on with fierce momentum, on closer inspection their operation was riddled with flaws.
Their equipment was crude. Neither their dual blades nor their hand crossbows carried much killing power, and the leather armor each of them wore was at a severe disadvantage against the soldiers' iron mail.
More importantly, their combat skills were unpolished, their movements stiff and full of openings; clearly none of them were professionally trained assassins.
Facing the well-equipped, well-trained guards of Roen City, these Tiefling assassins were swiftly cut down one by one.
In less than three minutes, the battle was nearly over, and more than a dozen Tiefling corpses lay strewn haphazardly across the ground.
Tiefling blood mixed with the red blood of humans, forming a gruesome tableau across the marble floor.
Lawrence stood amid the pool of blood, closely examining the assassins' bodies, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.
What surprised Lawrence was that among this group of assassins, only one Tiefling had attained a proper class rank.
That was the "maidservant" who had just struck down Morgan Silverhand: she alone had been the true professional in this assassination.
Her class was "Wanderer," a class specializing in stealth, assassination, and deception, whose practitioners were typically thieves, assassins, or spies.
She had cast a self-disguise spell upon herself, transforming her appearance into that of an ordinary human maidservant.
It was through this disguise that she had slipped, like a cold and venomous snake, into the heavily guarded VIP gallery. The maidservant had waited patiently for her moment, and the instant Lord Morgan began speaking and everyone let their guard down, she had struck.
Even after taking a blow from Lawrence's cannon-like fist, the Tiefling assassin was still not entirely dead.
For some reason, this beautiful Tiefling woman possessed a survival capacity beyond that of an ordinary person.
The female assassin lay in the pool of blood, her body convulsing continuously, each breath a struggle.
Blood kept welling up from her mouth.
By now she had fully revealed her true crimson face; the disguise spell had automatically dissolved under such grievous injury.
Her true appearance was thus exposed to the open air.
Crimson skin glimmered with an eerie sheen beneath the sun.
The pair of backward-curving black horns on her forehead exuded a wicked aura.
In her golden slit-pupiled eyes, the flames of hatred still burned fiercely.
This was the true face of the Tiefling.
The human appearance from before had been nothing but the effect of the disguise spell.
At this moment, blood was flowing from all seven of her orifices, staining the marble floor and forming a glaring pool of red.
She lay on the ground, her lips trembling faintly, like a dying goldfish gasping out of water, emitting faint breaths as though trying to say something.
The Tiefling assassin's life was ebbing away swiftly.
Lord Morgan, standing not far off, noticed that the dying assassin seemed to still be saying something.
His hearing was far sharper than that of an ordinary person.
Even in such a chaotic environment, he could still catch the faintest of sounds.
Lord Morgan made a gesture toward Captain Lawrence, signaling him to approach and listen to the assassin's final words.
Lawrence understood at once and strode toward the female assassin.
The soldiers and nobles around him stepped aside on their own.
No one dared stand in the path of this Platinum-rank knight.
Arriving before the Tiefling assassin, Lawrence's face showed unmistakable disgust.
These wicked creatures seemed to pollute the very air around them.
But as a loyal captain of the guard, he still obeyed the order and crouched down halfway beside the female assassin.
He brought his ear close to her bloodied, still-trembling lips, trying to make out what she was saying.
The stench of blood mixed with sulfur assailed Lawrence's nostrils.
It made him feel a wave of nausea.
But he forced down his discomfort and listened carefully.
At first he could only catch a few indistinct sounds, broken and fragmented, impossible to piece into any coherent meaning.
"God... Roen... "
The assassin's voice was as faint as a mosquito's whine, nearly drowned beneath the surrounding clamor.
Lawrence frowned and leaned in even closer, his ear nearly touching the female assassin's lips.
This time, he finally caught her words in full, a prophecy laden with fanaticism and malediction.
"The Supreme True God shall at last return from beyond the Black Domain, descend upon this world, and turn Roen City, who betrayed our kind, into a boundless hell."
The assassin's voice carried an eerie fervor.
As she finished her last words, the corners of her mouth twisted into an uncanny smile.
That smile sent a chill through Lawrence.
Even in her final moment of life, this assassin still seemed gripped by fanatical faith.
Her eyes flickered with a mad light.
As though she truly believed that the "Supreme True God" she spoke of would descend.
Having heard these words, Lawrence's brow furrowed even deeper. He rose to his feet, his heart filled with contempt.
"Supreme True God?"
Lawrence sneered inwardly. What backwater evil deity was this now? These damned Tieflings were growing more and more deranged.
As a knight devoted to an orthodox faith, Lawrence had seen more than enough so-called "believers of the true god," people who in the end were nothing but cultists.
Clearly these Tieflings had become fanatical devotees of some evil god, utterly corrupted.
These cults always loved to fabricate all manner of apocalyptic prophecies, claiming that the deity they worshipped would descend to save the world.
Yet in the very next instant, Lawrence suddenly felt as though his hands and feet had lost all sensation.
The feeling was strange.
It wasn't numbness.
It was a complete, severed sense of disconnection, as if something had been cut clean through.
As though his nerves had suddenly snapped, the link between brain and limbs abruptly broken.
Lawrence tried to move his fingers, but got no response at all.
He tried to rise to his feet, but his legs would not obey him at all.
The sensation reminded him of being frozen stiff in the snow as a child.
But this time it was far more terrifying.
Because he could clearly feel this sense of disconnection spreading toward the very core of his body.
Alarm bells rang in Lawrence's mind. He immediately looked down at his own body, trying to find the source of the problem.
As a seasoned Platinum-rank knight, he had witnessed all manner of strange magic and curses.
But he had never encountered anything so bizarre.
His instincts told him this was no ordinary paralysis spell.
It was something far more dangerous, far more lethal!
Lawrence forced down the panic rising within him and carefully examined his own body.
To his shock, he found black liquid oozing steadily out from the seams of his fine plate armor. "What is this?!"
Alarm surged through Lawrence's heart.
That viscous black fluid, thick as crude oil, gave off a nauseating stench, as though from a corpse rotted a thousand years.
The stench instantly filled his nostrils.
It nearly made him retch on the spot.
He had never smelled anything like it.
A hundred times more revolting than the most decayed corpse.
As though it were the concentrated essence of all filth and evil, fermenting for a thousand years in the depths of hell.
Black fluid seeped out from every seam of the plate armor.
The joints of the breastplate.
The articulations of the vambraces.
The seams of the greaves.
Even beneath the visor of his helmet, black fluid had begun to trickle out. That black fluid was spilling out from Lawrence's very mouth!
To his horror, Lawrence discovered that his own flesh and blood were being converted into this black fluid at an unimaginable speed!
He could clearly feel the change taking place within his body.
His muscles dissolving, his blood vessels bursting, his bones softening.
Everything, in defiance of every law of nature, was being transformed into that revolting black liquid!
"Is this a curse?! Impossible!"
In that first instant, Lawrence realized he had been struck by some kind of curse, and an extraordinarily vicious, extraordinarily powerful one at that!
But what kind of curse could take effect so silently?
He had remained on guard the entire time.
From the moment the assassins appeared, he had been in full combat readiness.
Every one of his senses had been honed to their sharpest.
Why had he not noticed anything at all?
And the speed at which this curse took hold was terrifyingly fast: within the span of just a few breaths, it had already consumed most of his body!
One had to understand: a Platinum-rank practitioner possessed formidable magical resistance.
An ordinary curse should have had no way to threaten them; it would simply be shrugged off the instant it was cast.
Even a vicious curse from a high-level mage required complex rituals and lengthy preparation.
Yet this curse had taken effect in an instant.
And its power was terrifying beyond measure.
This was no ordinary curse!
It made no sense. It defied every rule of magic!
But Lawrence no longer had time to think.
He could feel with perfect clarity that every organ, every ounce of flesh and blood, every part of his body was being destroyed, transformed.
Within the shell of his skin, every organ was failing all at once.
They dissolved into rotten black sludge, seeping steadily out through the seams of his armor, making a hissing, sizzling sound.
That sound was like red-hot iron plunged into cold water.
Or like strong acid corroding metal.
Every hiss marked the utter disappearance of another part of his body.
"How is this possible?!" A desperate cry rose in Lawrence's heart. He was a Platinum-rank knight; how could he fall so easily?
Lawrence felt his vision gradually going dark, as though a black curtain were slowly being drawn over his eyes.
At first it was only a blurring at the edges of his sight.
Then the colors began to fade.
Finally, even the light itself began to dim.
He knew this was the sign of death.
When the body's functions failed completely, the brain too would lose its function.
Sight was always among the first senses to go.
Lawrence involuntarily raised a trembling hand, reaching for his own cheek, trying to confirm what was happening to him.
But the instant his fingers touched his cheek, he felt a sensation that chilled him to the bone.
It was not the feel of flesh.
It was something soft, rotten, and gelatinous.
Like an overripe, decaying fruit. Or a melting candle.
His cheek, no, his entire skull, was going soft. His bones were liquefying!
This horrifying realization brought a boundless terror welling up within Lawrence.
In a lifetime of battle, he had witnessed countless terrible deaths.
Cleaved in two by a great blade.
Burned to charcoal by flame.
Pierced through the heart by a poisoned arrow.
But he had never imagined he would die like this.
His entire body liquefying, turning into a foul-smelling, pitch-black puddle of pus!
"Save me!" Lawrence cried out, turning his head in terror and helplessness, letting out a shrill scream toward Lord Morgan.
But at that very moment, Lord Morgan's eyes were likewise filled with terror. He too had been struck dumb by the sight before him.
Under Lord Morgan's disbelieving gaze, Lawrence's body was disintegrating, collapsing, at a speed visible to the naked eye!
In the next instant, Lawrence's body suddenly lost all support and crumpled like a puppet whose frame had given way!
That once tall and mighty suit of plate armor, its interior support suddenly gone, pitched forward.
"Clang!" The heavy helmet fell from his head, striking the marble floor with a sharp metallic clatter.
The helmet bounced several times across the ground.
Ringing out with a series of metallic clangs, it rolled to a stop several meters away, down a flight of steps.
The helmet rolled off into the distance, and the fine suit of plate armor that had once clad a great knight now stood utterly hollow.
From the empty cavity of the armor, a great gush of foul-smelling black fluid sprayed out like a fountain.
That fluid pooled on the ground, forming a rotten puddle that gave off a stench so thick it seemed to choke the very air!
The liquid spread rapidly across the marble floor.
Forming a pool of black over two meters across!
Everyone nearby, Morgan Silverhand included, every soldier and every noble, their faces drained of color, seized by utter terror.
"This can't be happening!"
"Lord Lawrence!"
"What happened?!"
Cries of shock rose one after another.
No one could comprehend what had just occurred.
A living, breathing Platinum-rank knight.
Had, before the eyes of everyone present, turned into a puddle of pus!
When that nauseating stench reached them, many people's stomachs churned violently, and they could not help but vomit on the spot.
"Ugh!" Retching sounds broke out one after another; even some battle-hardened veterans could not bear the stench.
That smell had exceeded the very limits of what a human being could endure.
As though it were the rotted remains of a corpse fermenting in the depths of hell for a thousand years!
"Witch! It's a witch!"
One noble, driven to the very edge of terror, utterly broke down, and pointing at the Tiefling assassin's corpse, let out a piercing scream!
"Witch! It's a witch's curse!"
"God! Lord Lawrence just died, just like that!"
"Are we going to be cursed too?!"
Terrified cries rang out one after another.
The once-elegant noble gallery had, in this moment, become a madhouse.
Many nobles collapsed limply to the ground in terror, their strength to flee entirely gone.
Others tried to run, but their legs had turned to jelly, unable to support them.
Lord Morgan watched the chaos unfold before him, his face turning ashen.
"Kill her! Do it now!"
Lord Morgan roared in fury.
His voice echoed throughout the entire arena, carrying an unquestionable authority.
Morgan pointed at the Tiefling assassin lying on the ground, his eyes burning with the fire of vengeance.
"Cut her to pieces!"
The city guards around him heard the order and gripped their weapons tightly.
But still, they hesitated.
Looking at the black pool of liquid on the ground, the soldiers' hearts filled with fear.
Lawrence's death just moments ago had been far too horrifying.
A living man, turned in an instant into a puddle of rotten fluid.
Such a death was more terrible than any torture.
No one knew whether approaching that female assassin would bring the same curse down upon them.
No one wanted to follow in Lawrence's footsteps.
"This is an order! Anyone who disobeys will face military justice!"
Lord Morgan roared again.
This time his voice carried an unmistakable threat.
As a ruler, he could not tolerate insubordination in soldiers at such a critical moment.
No matter how dangerous, a military order was absolute!
The soldiers heard the threat, and their faces turned deathly pale.
Military justice meant execution.
Defying the lord's direct order carried consequences even more certain than facing a curse.
Given no choice under such a death order, the soldiers gritted their teeth and stepped forward.
Their eyes had turned bloodshot with fear and fury.
The Tiefling assassin still lay motionless in the pool of blood, her chest no longer rising and falling, no breath left in her, whether alive or dead uncertain.
The soldiers raised their swords high, then drove them down with all their strength!
"Squelch! Squelch!"
The sound of steel piercing flesh rang out again and again.
Blood sprayed once more, spattering across the soldiers' armor.
The soldiers hacked and slashed as though venting all their pent-up fury.
Blow after blow landed on the female assassin's body.
They meant to obliterate this terrible witch completely.
To leave her no chance to curse anyone else.
Every blow was driven by rage and fear.
Rage at Lord Lawrence's death.
Fear of the unknown curse.
Every stroke drew blood, every stroke was lethal.
Before long, the beautiful Tiefling assassin had been hacked into a bloody pulp.
Flesh and blood mangled beyond all recognition.
Her crimson skin sliced into fragments.
Her black horns cut away.
That once eerily beautiful face was now nothing but a heap of crimson meat.
Lord Morgan stood twenty meters away, his eyes fixed on the black sludge that had once been Lawrence.
And on the mangled pile of flesh that remained of the assassin.
His expression sank into something dreadful.
Like the sky before a violent storm.
Time seemed to freeze.
Everyone held their breath, watching the "witch's" mangled corpse in tense silence.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
More than ten seconds passed.
That pool of red flesh and blood spread across the ground, and nothing unusual happened.
No explosion. No demon emerging. No curse spreading.
Nothing happened at all.
Morgan Silverhand's tense shoulders relaxed slightly. He let out a long breath, and the tension on his face eased a little.
"It seems it was a false alarm after all."
Morgan raised a hand and wiped his brow.
The nobles around him also let out sighs of relief, the overwhelming dread that had gripped them beginning to fade.
The soldiers remained on guard, but their palms no longer sweated where they gripped their weapons, and the atmosphere eased somewhat.
But just as Morgan Silverhand was about to turn and give the order to withdraw.
He suddenly noticed that the once-blazing sunlight had abruptly dimmed.
As though someone had suddenly drawn the curtains across the sky.
The change was utterly abrupt. In the span of a single minute, the noon sun had lost all its former brilliance.
Morgan sharply looked up, staring at the sky.
His pupils contracted violently.
He saw a sight that chilled him to the bone.
At some point, unnoticed, a thick bank of clouds had descended over Roen City, blotting out the sun entirely.
Those clouds seemed to carry a tangible weight, pressing down so low they nearly touched the rooftops of the city's tallest buildings, bringing with them a crushing sense of pressure.
Looking up, everyone instinctively felt their breath grow short, as though an invisible hand had closed around their throats.
And what unsettled the people on the ground even more.
That bank of clouds was an eerie, deep shade of green!
Not the ordinary gray-black or dark blue of natural clouds, but a nauseating, murky green, like a rotting swamp!
Like a vast smear of green filth, slowly descending upon Roen City, poised to swallow the entire city whole!
Orum looked up at that eerie green cloud, a sense of foreboding rising in his heart.
This was no ordinary weather phenomenon.
That color, that texture, carried an unmistakable aura of evil.
"What is that?!"
Someone let out a terrified cry, their voice thick with despair.
The crowd in the stands, already in chaos, erupted into full-blown panic at the sight of that eerie green cloud!
"Run!"
"Flee!"
"The sky is falling!"
Cries of every kind rose one after another, and the crowd began to surge in mad confusion.
The panicked crowd pressed and shoved, everyone desperate to be the first to escape the arena, but there were far too few exits.
The arena's passages and stairways were terribly narrow, utterly unable to accommodate such a massive flood of people.
The crowd packed together like sardines in a can, those behind shoving those in front, and the scene descended into total chaos.
"Aaah!"
"Help!"
"Stop pushing! I'm going to be crushed!"
Screams rang out one after another.
A woman was knocked to the ground by the crowd, and before she could even rise, she was trampled beneath the surging bodies behind her.
She let out a shrill scream, but it was quickly swallowed by the sounds of the stampede.
Severe crushes broke out simultaneously at several exits.
The stairways were already littered with dozens of bodies, strewn haphazardly.
Blood streamed down the stone steps, forming glaring red rivulets.
Amid this churning, panicked crowd, Orum stood as unmoving as a reef, the Flame-steel glaive slung across his back.
His feet were planted firmly on the ground, and no matter how the crowd surged and crashed around him, nothing could budge him an inch.
Orum's gaze swept swiftly through the panicked crowd.
Before long, he spotted the two familiar figures he was searching for.
About twenty meters away, in the stands, Orum caught sight of Carolina and Ristina.
The two girls were clutching each other tightly.
Their pale golden hair stood out clearly even in the dim light.
But their faces were etched with fear.
Carolina held her sister close, trying to shield her from being swept away by the crowd.
Ristina clung tightly to her sister's arm, her body trembling faintly.
Both their eyes carried a deep unease and confusion.
Clearly they had no idea what had happened either.
They only knew that everyone around them was fleeing in a mad panic.
And that strange dark green cloud in the sky filled them with an instinctive dread.
Without hesitation, Orum began pushing his way toward the twin sisters.
Amid the crowd, Orum advanced steadily, like a great whale parting the sea.
"Carolina, Ristina."
Orum reached the two maidservants.
The moment Carolina and Ristina saw him, their eyes lit up instantly with relief.
"Master Orum!" Carolina cried out, her voice trembling with emotion.
Both of them stared fixedly at Orum, as though clutching a lifeline.
In the midst of this chaos, their master's arrival gave them a sense of safety they had never felt before.
Orum had no time for pleasantries.
He seized the two maidservants by the wrists and pulled them free from the crush of the crowd.
He then settled the two maidservants behind a stone pillar, a spot that offered a temporary measure of safety.
"Master Orum!" Carolina clutched tightly at Orum's sleeve.
Her face was pale as paper, her eyes filled with deep terror.
"What's happening? Was the lord of Roen City assassinated?"
Her voice trembled with fear.
"No... none of that matters anymore." Orum shook his head.
His voice carried a gravity unlike anything before.
Orum's gaze remained fixed on the dark green cloud in the sky.
The shape of those clouds was deeply unnatural.
And they were still slowly pressing downward, as though they meant to crush the entire city flat.
More unsettling still, something seemed to be writhing within the depths of the cloud layer.
As though some enormous creature were hidden inside it.
Suddenly, a small green dot dropped abruptly from within the dark green clouds!
That dot fell at incredible speed, trailing a streak of green light, plunging straight toward the ground!
Orum's pupils contracted violently, his face filled with an expression of utter disbelief!
Because he had made out the true nature of that "dot."
He had clearly seen it: a familiar, hideous face!
Rough green skin!
Fierce, blood-red eyes!
Falling from the sky was, unmistakably, a goblin!
Orum's mind went completely blank.
Utterly unable to comprehend what he was seeing!
Why would there be a goblin inside the clouds?!
How could these creatures of the earth possibly be falling from the sky?!
Weren't goblins supposed to live in forests, caves, and underground tunnels?
Since when had they learned to fly?
"Guh-ka-ka-ka!"
The falling goblin let out a piercing shriek.
Its voice was thick with fear and fury.
It thrashed wildly in the air, its limbs flailing, trying desperately to grab hold of something to slow its fall.
But it was all in vain.
Gravity pulled it mercilessly toward the ground, its speed only increasing!
"Thud!"
In the next instant, the goblin's green body slammed heavily into the golden sand of the arena!
The tremendous kinetic energy erupted in that single instant of impact.
The goblin's body could not withstand such an explosive force!
"Splat!"
Its body burst apart instantly, like a smashed watermelon!
Green skin, red flesh, white bone fragments, all mingled into a foul-smelling heap of gore!
That heap of red and green muck sprayed out in every direction, splattering everywhere, the scene bloody and revolting beyond words.
"Sacred ones above!"
Several spectators standing nearby, splattered with the mess, let out terrified shrieks, frantically wiping the filth from their bodies.
At this moment, Orum's heart began to pound faster and faster, harder and harder, like a war drum beating in his chest!
For he saw, in the sky above, countless green "raindrops" appearing all at once!
Not dozens, not hundreds, but tens of thousands of green dots!
They poured out of the dark green clouds like a torrential downpour, dense beyond counting, blotting out the very sky!
The entire sky was covered in these green dots, like a green waterfall pouring down from above!
"Guh-ka-ka-ka!" "Guh-guh-guh!" "Gyaaah!"
The shrieks of countless goblins blended together into a symphony from hell itself!
The sound was sharp and piercing, like a thousand fingernails scraping across glass, setting every scalp crawling and every eardrum aching!
Carolina and Ristina turned deathly pale, clamping their hands over their pointed ears, but that horrific noise still bored its way into their minds!
They felt as though their very brains would shatter under the sound!
The goblins thrashed madly in the air, but there was no way to change their fate; all they could do was watch, helpless, as they plummeted to their deaths.
They fell toward the ground of Roen City at terrifying speed, like a green apocalypse descending from above!
At this moment, tens of thousands of people throughout Roen City all raised their heads at once, staring up at the sky in utter horror!
Every face was etched with fear, confusion, and disbelief!
What in the world was this?!
They watched as countless goblins fell from the sky like rain, a sight that shattered every limit of comprehension.
This was, unbelievably, a downpour made entirely of green monsters.
An unprecedented "Goblin Storm"!
"God! This can't be real!"
"Run! Run!"
"Mom!"
The wails and screams of the entire city merged into one continuous roar.
But those sounds were soon drowned out by something far more terrifying.
"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"
A relentless series of impacts echoed throughout Roen City, like the drumbeat of hell itself!
Hundreds upon hundreds of goblins slammed down simultaneously onto the ground, rooftops, streets, and squares, their burst corpses scattered everywhere!
Red and green flesh sprayed in every direction, and within mere seconds the entire city had been stained in horrifying colors!
Watching all this, Orum felt his entire worldview collapsing.
Goblins, raining from the sky?
Such an absurd thing, how could it possibly happen?!
Since this monster attack had come in the form of goblins suddenly falling from a cloud layer in the sky, an event without precedent in all of history, no page of any historical record had ever documented anything like it. This was an entirely new, unknown catastrophe.
A month later, the scholars of later generations in the Kingdom of Sacred Ganir would officially name this eerie green cloud, which had carried within it countless goblins, bugbears, hill giants, and every manner of goblinoid monster, the "Green Calamity."