One of the three figures started to pivot, clearly intent on bypassing Rolfe to pursue the fleeing Hanry and Miriel.
"GET OVER HERE!" Rolfe's roar was more than just volume. It was a physical force, amplified by [Guardian's Roar]. The very air seemed to shimmer with the power of the Skill.
Like puppets on strings, all three warriors whipped their heads towards the sound. Their blank helmets fixed on Rolfe.
"Thats right," Rolfe rumbled, a feral grin spreading across his muzzle despite the situation. "Keep your eyes on me. COME!" He shifted his weight, axe ready to intercept the first blow.
But they didn't charge en masse as expected. Instead, the wounded figure, weaponless and shieldless, stepped forward alone. He moved and planted each armored boot with careful precision.
As Rolfe watched, warily, the figure slowly lifted gauntleted hands to the side of his great helm. With a click, the fastenings released, and the imposing bucket-visor helm was lifted cleanly off.
Beneath the cold metal, Rolfe found himself staring into the beady, intelligent eyes of a hobgoblin. Green skin, prominent tusks jutting from a thick lower jaw – unmistakably hobgoblin.
But clad in masterfully crafted, functional armor? And fighting with such tactical precision? Alarms screamed in the Bjorin's head.
Without taking his eyes off the bear, the hobgoblin gestured. The other two figures stepped forward and began methodically unfastening his scale mail armor, removing gauntlets, spaulders, breastplate, and greaves. Piece by piece, they stacked the heavy white scales beside them.
'When did hobgoblins get smart enough to master complex armor?' Rolfe thought grimly, eyes flickering between the trio.
'And if that one's a hobgoblin… then those other two… Shit. This is very, very bad.' He tightened his grip on his weapons, bracing for an unexpected assault.
Suddenly, free of the heavy plates, the hobgoblin exploded into movement. He hopped lightly on his toes, testing his newfound mobility.
Rolfe saw the blur of motion and knew he was deep in the gutter. The hobgoblin's stance dropped low, coiling like a spring.
Before Rolfe could react, the hobgoblin vanished from his sight, only to reappear inches away.
A punch, fast as a striking viper, drove straight through the minuscule gap between Rolfe's shield and his body.
Whumpf!
The impact landed squarely in his gut, striking him hard enough to buckle. The air was driven from his lungs in a guttural groan, making him stagger back half a step.
The hobgoblin was already dancing away, a smirk on his hideous face. Rolfe gasping hard, his stone-hard skin cracking like dried earth beneath the blow.
'Master! Master!' Luna's mental voice crackled with excitement, echoing directly into Lyssandra's consciousness. 'Your technique! You know, the one you forced those smelly hobgoblins to practice? The one they kept whining about? Look! It's working! The big dummy is getting wrecked!'
'I can see it, Luna,' Lyssandra's response was calm, detached, while observing the fight unfold through the connection to the dungeon core. 'Now stop squirming in my balls. It's distracting.'
A phantom sensation of fluid shifting tickled her lower abdomen. Luna's snicker echoed in her mind, high-pitched and mischievous.
'Aww, Master, I was just getting comfortable~' The slime's voice dripped with feigned innocence. 'But look at that! Those little greenies really are your perfect little soldiers now!'
Down in the stinking second floor, the hobgoblin proved Luna's point. Freed from his armor, he became a tempest.
He ducked under a wild swing of Rolfe's axe, moving so quickly he left a blur in the torchlight. His fist lashed out in a piston-like jab and struck Rolfe's chin, the impact echoing like cracking stone. Rolfe's head snapped back, stars bursting behind his eyes.
The hobgoblin didn't relent. He was already shifting, dropping low beneath the counter-swipe of the huge blade. He hooked Rolfe's leg, not trying to sweep him but using it to propel himself forward and upward. He drove an elbow into the base of Rolfe's neck, then raked his claws across the jaw before landing lightly behind him.
Rolfe spun, enraged, swinging his shield wildly to cover his back. The hobgoblin slipped under the blow, drove a knee into Rolfe's kidney, then followed with three rapid punches to his ribs
Each impact sent shocks through Rolfe's fortified body. The Bjorin warrior was grunting, stumbling, overwhelmed by the sheer speed and precision.
The hobgoblin's relentless assault never gave Rolfe a chance to reset. Every time Rolfe managed to shift his defense or bring his axe around, the hobgoblin was already elsewhere.
He'd feint low, then spring high, catching Rolfe across the temple with a stinging backfist that drew a snarl of pain.
He used the environment, grabbing a fallen chunk of rubble and throwing it low at Rolfe's feet, forcing the bear to stumble backwards. The hobgoblin surged into the gap, landing a brutal kick to the Bjorin's solar plexus, driving him back further.
It was like fighting smoke and lightning. No matter how powerful Rolfe's swings were, they met only air. His shield defenses were constantly circumvented or exploited. The sheer unpredictability and fluidity of the hobgoblin's technique left Rolfe reeling.
The turning point came when Rolfe tried to land a desperate overhead smash. The enemy didn't dodge. Instead, he caught the axe head just above the blade with one hand. The sound of metal grinding against bone-reinforced flesh was horrifying.
Rolfe roared, trying to wrestle his weapon back. But the hobgoblin twisted his wrist impossibly, yanking the axe sideways with deceptive strength. Rolfe's own momentum worked against him. He lurched forward, stumbling into his foe's waiting grasp.
The green beast's free arm wrapped around the bear's neck like a steel band, pulling him down into a headlock. At the same time, one of his legs snaked behind Rolfe's, hooking his ankle. With a guttural grunt, the hobgoblin threw himself backwards, using his entire bodyweight to lever Rolfe's massive bulk over his shoulder.
Rolfe crashed onto his back, the impact shaking the cavern floor and driving the air from his lungs in a pained wheeze.
Before he could rise, the hobgoblin pounced. He straddled Rolfe's chest, pinning one arm with a knee and the other with a hand. His free fist cocked back.
CRUNCH!
He drove a pile-driver punch directly onto the Bjorin's nose, spraying red blood and splintering bone.
CRUNCH!
A second blow landed squarely on his jaw, snapping his head violently sideways.
Rolfe's struggles grew weaker, his blows ineffective.
CRACK!
The third punch was a hammerblow to his temple.
Rolfe's eyes rolled back. His body went limp, surrendering to unconsciousness, the once-invincible warrior defeated by speed and technique he couldn't match.
The hobgoblin remained atop the fallen warrior for a moment, panting slightly, then raised his head, surveying the scene with triumph. His gaze lingered on the distant stairs where Hanry and Miriel had fled up.
'Quite the show, wouldn't you agree?' Lyssandra's voice echoed in Luna's mind, satisfaction coloring her words. Below, the fight ended with Rolfe's unconscious form sprawled across the floor.
'Oh yes!' Luna gushed, mentally clapping her non-existent hands. 'It was perfect! The way that green guy moved! Like water! Like wind! Like… like one of your special massages!'
Luna's form rippled inside the confines of Lyssandra's testicles in mimicry of the hobgoblin's movements. 'The bear didn't stand a chance! Your training regimen was flawless! Genius!'
'I know, pet,' Lyssandra purred, a smug smile playing on her lips. 'I know.'
But her thought was already shifting gears. As she watched her dungeon inhabitants scurry to subdue the fallen warrior, she ticked off points on a ledger.
'Still… the performance revealed some glaring deficiencies. The armor they wore – primitive at best. Clumsy, restrictive. It served only to hamper their potential.'
She gestured mentally, calling up an image of Rolfe's own armor: intricately designed, segmented for mobility while offering excellent protection.
'With the forge we currently have, scale armor and crude spearpoints are the limit,' she sighed. 'The technology here is… basic. If I want proper defenses for my army, we need access to more sophisticated alloys and fabrication techniques.'
Lyssandra knew such advancements could be plundered from the outside world, but that was a campaign for later.
Another pressing issue was the sword skill displayed. 'Their close-combat techniques have improved dramatically…' she acknowledged, watching the victorious hobgoblin flex his bruised knuckles,
'…but true martial prowess requires dedication I cannot currently spare. There simply isn't enough time to micromanage every creature's training schedule. Fortunately, I have a contingency plan… one that should alleviate that burden.' The corners of her lips twitched upwards into a sly smile at the thought.
Shaking off the strategizing for the moment, Lyssandra issued her order through the dungeon's neural network, her voice resonating in the minds of every monsters within the dungeon:
'Secure the fleeing adventurers. Prioritize capture, not death. Alive and… relatively intact. Disable if necessary.'
All across the second level, monsters surged into motion. Spiders skittered through unseen shafts, slimes flowed through cracks in pursuit, and a dozen hobgoblin warriors shouldered their gear, sprinting for the winding tunnels that led upwards.
The hunt was on.