In the blink of an eye, she was before the goblin king, daggers flashing in a relentless storm. Steel rang again and again, sparks flying. The king turned too slowly, forced on the defensive by her speed alone. Cuts landed—shallow, but real.
"Tch." Samantha clicked her tongue. "Tough bastard."
She inhaled deeply. "Corrosive Haze."
Purple mist poured from her lips toward the king—only for him to swing his axe in a brutal arc. The wind it created blasted the haze back at her.
"Shit—" She twisted away just in time.
Arnold moved, hurling his shield. "Shield Boomerang!"
The massive disk spun through the air, runes blazing—but the goblin king caught it one-handed.
Peonome's unease twisted tighter.
This is wrong.
She stepped forward despite it.
Her staff struck the ground. A beam of condensed light lanced toward the king. He raised Arnold's shield, blocking the spell, then hurled it back to Arnold with terrifying force.
Arnold caught it, boots carving trenches in the ground as he was pushed backward, teeth clenched in stubborn defiance.
Stone erupted from the ground—spears rising to impale the king—
—and disintegrated into dust inches from his skin.
Peonome watched her stone spear disintegrate mid-attack, the shaft unraveling into gray dust inches from the goblin king's armor.
Her fingers tightened around her staff. "…How?"
Instinct took over. She pivoted, boots scraping against churned soil, and raised her staff again. Mana surged—clean, precise. A lattice of light spears descended from above, followed by compressed stone lances erupting from the ground, then narrow beams meant to pierce rather than overwhelm. Each spell struck the same invisible threshold and collapsed, mana dispersing like breath against glass.
Peonome's eyes widened, calculations racing and collapsing just as fast.
"Anti-magic armor," she whispered.
Her greatest strength—spellcraft refined to perfection—meant nothing here. Her legs weakened, and she sank to one knee.
A warm hand rested on her shoulder.
Illumi stood beside her, robes fluttering gently despite the chaos. Her expression was calm, almost tender. "Then this is not your fight," she said softly. "We will endure. And we will adapt."
In front of them, the battle paused for a heartbeat.
"That explains it," Arnold growled, beard bristling as he set his stance. He rolled his shoulders, shield forward, hammer low. "So magic won't crack him. Fine."
Samantha had already moved. She slid her daggers back into their sheaths with an irritated click. "Figures. Big, ugly, and overgeared."
Her eyes sharpened. "Predator's Paradise—Dire Wolf Claws."
Her fingers elongated, bones shifting audibly as black claws tore free. She exploded forward. The goblin king's axe came down in a brutal arc, splitting the ground where she'd been a heartbeat earlier. Samantha slid beneath the swing, claws screeching as they raked across the king's armor. This time, metal screamed in protest. Sparks flew. Deep grooves carved into the plates.
"Oh?" Samantha smirked. "So you can be hurt."
She darted left, then right, never staying still. The king swung wildly, each blow heavy enough to crater stone. Samantha twisted between strikes, leaping off rubble, slashing exposed joints. Blood finally flowed—dark, thick—staining the armor. A precise cut severed the tendon at the back of the king's ankle. He roared and dropped to one knee, the impact shaking the ground.
Samantha lunged, claws aimed for his eyes.
Her body betrayed her.
Strength drained away in an instant, limbs turning leaden. Her momentum carried her just far enough for her claws to tear the king's cheek before she stumbled past him and slammed into the ground. She skidded across scorched earth, skin burning, breath knocked from her lungs.
She tried to rise. Nothing answered.
Her vision flicked to her status.
Stamina: 0/20000.
"Damn it," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I almost had him."
This is the side effect of her ultimate skill— Godspeed consumed her stamina faster than usual.
The goblin king touched his bleeding cheek, stared at the blood coating his fingers, and slowly grinned.
He jumped.
"Move!" Arnold roared.
He planted himself over Samantha, shield raised just as the axe crashed down. The impact detonated the ground beneath them, a shockwave rippling outward. Illumi's light wrapped around them instantly, soothing, mending, but unable to lessen the sheer force.
Again. And again.
Each strike drove Arnold lower, boots carving trenches. Cracks spread across the runes on his shield—runes that had held against siege engines. Arnold bared his teeth and held on, pride burning brighter than pain.
"Not… falling," he growled.
Peonome cast—not to harm, but to disrupt. Light beam, stone spear, everything she could throw. The goblin king did not even turn his head.
"Peonome," Illumi said evenly, "bring them back. Now."
Space twisted. Air folded inward.
Too slow.
The shield shattered with a sound like breaking bones. The axe punched through Arnold's armor and bit deep into his chest. Blood sprayed across the ground. Arnold gasped, knees buckling.
Space snapped.
They reappeared beside Illumi in a rush of displaced air. Arnold collapsed to one knee, breathing ragged. Samantha lay still, barely conscious. Illumi knelt instantly, hands glowing, expression serene even as she poured healing into them.
The goblin king turned, eyes locking onto them.
Peonome was already moving.
Space warped again as the king leapt. His axe descended—into empty ground. Stone shattered. Dust billowed.
The battlefield was suddenly silent where the Keepers had stood.
The goblin king straightened slowly, scanning the empty space. After a moment, he turned away, returning to his fortress—armor scarred, bloodied, but still standing.
The Keepers reappeared far from the battlefield, at the abandoned forward camp they had used the night before. A handful of wagons still stood crooked in the dirt, canvas tents sagging under the weight of dew, horses tethered and restless. The sudden flare of mana made the few soldiers left on guard jolt awake, hands flying to weapons—then freezing in shock.
Samantha and Arnold lay sprawled on the ground.
"By the gods—" one soldier breathed.
Samantha was conscious, eyes half-lidded, jaw clenched in irritation rather than pain. Every muscle in her body felt like stone. Even lifting a finger was beyond her. Arnold lay beside her, massive frame heaving shallowly. Blood soaked through the broken plates of his armor, pooling dark beneath him.
Illumi was already kneeling, calm as a still lake amid chaos. Her hands glowed with steady light as she worked, weaving layer upon layer of stabilizing spells into Arnold's chest. "No sudden movements," she said gently, more command than request. "You're safe for now."
She glanced up at the soldiers. "Prepare a wagon. The fastest horse you have. We leave for Hallosbel immediately."
"Yes, Priestess!" They scattered at once.
Samantha exhaled slowly. "Damn it… can't even flip him off." Her lips twitched. "Stamina's empty."
Illumi smiled faintly without looking away from her work. "Rest," she said softly. "Stamina returns on its own. Even you are not exempt from that law."
Samantha turned her head toward Arnold. "Is he…?"
Illumi hesitated—just a fraction of a heartbeat too long. "He will live," she said evenly.
Samantha snorted weakly. "You're a terrible liar, Illumi."
Arnold's cracked lips pulled into a grin despite the blood. "If I die," he rasped, pride undimmed, "I regret nothing. Standing my ground… with comrades… that's a good end for a warrior."
"Do not waste your breath on speeches, Sir Arnold," Illumi replied, voice warm but firm. "Even if I cannot heal the wound, I can keep you from dying until we reach Hallosbel."
The soldier returned at a run. "Wagon's ready!"
Illumi glanced toward the tree line.
"Peonome," Illumi called gently. "Will you come with us?"
Peonome sat beneath a withered tree, staff resting uselessly across her lap.
She had not moved since they arrived.
Her shoulders were rigid, back straight, but her hands trembled faintly where they gripped the wood. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, staring at the dirt as if it had betrayed her. The battlefield replayed behind her eyes—spells unraveling, certainty shattering, power rendered meaningless.
For the first time in her life, magic had failed her.
"I couldn't do anything," she said quietly, not looking up. Her voice was steady, but hollow.
Illumi approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You did what you could."
Peonome flinched.
"No," she said, finally lifting her gaze. "I did everything right—and it still wasn't enough."
Silence stretched.
Then she rose, movements precise, almost mechanical. "I'm coming."
With a flick of her fingers, space bent. Samantha and Arnold were transferred gently into the wagon. Illumi climbed in after them, resuming her vigil.
Peonome took the rear seat as the wagon began to move.
She stared at the road ahead, jaw tight, eyes glassy but unblinking—already dissecting her failure, already rebuilding herself around it.
Broken, but not defeated.
Neither Hevert Alkantel, nor the slaves who escaped, none of them matters anymore.