His leathery skin was a mottled brown, stretched tight over muscle that shifted and bulged with each step. But it was his eyes—black, empty, and unblinking—that locked onto mine with predatory malice. He tilted his head slightly, nostrils flaring, as if he could smell my fear.

  I swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at me to run. But there was no escape. My only weapons were the potion bottles stashed at my belt, and the poison I'd brewed wouldn't pierce his rough hide. I had to get him to ingest it, but how?

  The chieftain advanced with deliberate slowness, each step measured, his long, clawed fingers flexing menacingly as they caught the shifting rays of sunlight. He closed the distance between us until he stood centimetres from my face, his breath rancid and hot as he leaned in to inspect me like a predator sizing up its prey.

  Without warning, his hand shot out, and in an instant, I felt his iron grip around my throat. My breath hitched as I instinctively grabbed at his wrist, but it was like trying to bend steel.

  He lifted me off the ground with ease, my feet dangling uselessly as I gasped for air. Desperation surged through me, and I swung my mana bottle at his side in a last-ditch effort—but the strike was weak, the bottle slicing through empty air as he shifted effortlessly.

  He sneered a low, guttural sound, and then slammed me to the ground. The impact rattled my bones, knocking the breath from my lungs. Dazed and gasping, I struggled to focus, my head spinning. The chieftain loomed above me, his expression cold and disdainful, as if I were nothing more than an insect beneath his boot.

  Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he thumped his chest and growled—a deep, primal sound that vibrated in the air. His eyes never left mine, and suddenly, the goblins around us stirred. They gathered closer, eyes gleaming with anticipation, murmuring to one another.

  The goblins formed a loose circle around us, their excitement palpable. I pushed myself to my feet, shaky but standing. The chieftain roared again, pounding his chest with both fists this time, a savage display of strength. The crowd screeched and squealed, the air thick with their nonsensical chatter.

  He kicked an axe at me. It was blunt. Clumsy and dull in my grip. I had lost my potion bottles in the chaos, thankfully my grip had never let go of the poison.

  The chieftain smirked, fully confident in his strength. He began whipping the air with his stone axe, roaring at his followers and basking in their cheers. He was showing off now, feeding off the attention.

  Pretending to inspect the blunt axe, I uncorked the poisoned health potion, letting the liquid drip discreetly down the blade. The goblins didn't notice—or didn't care.

  The noise grew louder, the goblins closing in as the chieftain thrashed his weapon through the air. The crowd's excitement swelled to a fever pitch, their chants and screeches echoing through the forest. He revelled in it, roaring and beating his chest, completely absorbed in his own display.

  I steadied my breath, fingers tightening around the dull weapon. Then, with a quick flick of my hand, I opened my stat screen and applied a point to strength.

  Waves of power rushed through me, my body thrummed, every muscle hardening, growing, and hardening again into dense ropes of pure power. I felt the churned plant matter and mud squelch between my toes as I sank deeper into the earth, my frame noticeably heavier for a moment. I looked down, and my legs were flush with strength and varicose, like a kick could fell the oaks around.

  The chieftain rolled his shoulders, eyeing the glow that radiated from me with suspicion. Around us, goblins shifted nervously, scuffing their feet in the dirt, their eyes flicking between us.

  Then the goblin witch clapped her hands.

  Silence fell.

  "Wargh!"

  Her primal yell split the air, freezing the moment. Then, without warning, the chieftain's bat-like skin rippled over his dense muscles. His obsidian eyes blinked, and suddenly—he vanished. A blur. He leapt impossibly fast across the mud pit, his entire frame a shadow of speed.

  Warrior Spirit.

  My body reacted on instinct. I dove sideways, my vision sharp, catching every detail—the slight distortion in the mana trail he left behind. He slammed into the ground where I had stood, sending dirt and debris flying. I barely ducked in time as his club whipped past my head, the air hissing with the force of his swing.

  He was fast. Incredibly fast.

  I stumbled back, barely staying ahead of his next swing, and then the next. Each wild arc of his club forced me toward the edge of the circle, step by step. He was laughing, confident, pushing me to my doom. There was nowhere left to run.

  But his arrogance was my opening.

  He raised his club high, preparing to finish me off. At that moment, I lunged forward.

  "AARGH!"

  His bellow tore through the clearing as my axe handle smashed into his face, reshaping his nose with a sickening crunch.

  Hot searing pain raced across my midriff, and his long jagged nails came away coated in blood and skin. I hadn't expected his swipe; it sent me stumbling. Luckily I had the sense to backpedal away from the wall toward open ground as he still keeled, holding his nose.

  He turned to me again and I felt the hum of mana fill the air; time slowed as his legs bunched. Before I could even think, he was upon me. I had tried to dive to the side again, but it did not matter. Wrestling on the ground, he pressed down on me from above, clawing hands with all his might. Grabbing them with my own, I grit my teeth and pushed.

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  His eyes grew wide as I brought his arm to a standstill, and widened further as I began to push him back.

  With a desperate yell, I slammed my forehead into his broken nose, sending him reeling. He howled in agony, staggering back as blood spurted from his face. I didn't give him a moment to recover—scooping up my axe, I swung it into his side. A satisfying crunch echoed through the clearing, and he screamed again, but there was no time for triumph.

  Suddenly, a sharp, crushing pain bloomed in my arm. I was flung sideways, hitting the ground hard. Stars exploded behind my eyes as I writhed in the dirt, pain and shock stealing every thought, every movement from me.

  Dazed, I caught sight of a wooden cudgel retreating back into the crowd of goblins. Someone had interfered. I lay writhing in the dirt for a moment, the pain and shock stealing my body from me.

  I was cowed, my arm bent at such an angle vomit danced at the back of my throat at the sight. His smirk dripping with hatred, blood smeared from his face across his body, death incarnate as he stalked towards me.

  My eyes flicked down to his side. The blade had left barely a scrape, one that welled softly with tiny droplets of blood. The chief's eyes swivelled to it, then returned to me. A wide sneer of triumph split his face, jagged teeth unnervingly shark-like.

  Only a few more steps and his triumphant grin began to falter. At first, it was subtle—a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Then, a sheen of sweat appeared on his brow, trickling down his leathery skin. His breath hitched, shallow and ragged. His expression shifted, confusion seeping in as his once confident eyes blinked rapidly as if trying to clear away some unseen fog.

  He lifted his arm for another swing, but it trembled, betraying him. The club he wielded so effortlessly moments ago now seemed heavy, his grip uncertain. He stared at his shaking hand as though it belonged to someone else. His wide, obsidian eyes locked onto mine, his head tilting slightly as if silently asking what was happening.

  The poison had taken hold.

  I met his bewildered gaze with a cold, victorious snarl. I could see the moment he realised it—the flicker of panic deep in his eyes, the dawning understanding that his strength was slipping away, and with it, his chance at victory.

  I rose to my feet, pushing down the searing pain in my side and the wave of nausea threatening to overtake me. My body screamed for rest, but I ignored it. This was the moment.

  The hobgoblin swung at me, but it was a lazy, half-hearted swipe—his muscles no longer responding as they should. I sidestepped easily, my movements sharp in contrast to his sluggish attacks. He tried again, weaker still, and I danced just out of reach.

  His eyes grew wide with fear now, the panic fully setting in. He bunched his legs as if gathering all his remaining strength for one final attack. I could taste the acrid bitterness of mana on the air as he launched himself toward me in a desperate leap.

  But it was too late.

  I swerved out of the way just in time, his body soaring past me before crashing into the mud. Before he could recover, I brought my flint axe down with all the strength I could muster, the blade biting deep into his back.

  "Ugh!" The sound that escaped his lips was more pitiful than fierce.

  He sprawled across the ground, limbs twitching as he tried, in vain, to push himself up. The mighty chieftain, who only moments ago towered over me, now looked fragile, broken.

  This was it.

  I approached slowly, savouring the sight of him in his final moments. His body trembled, poisoned and exhausted, as he struggled to rise one last time. But I didn't give him the chance.

  Without hesitation, I swung my axe once more, aiming for his skull. The crack echoed through the clearing like the snapping of a dry branch, final and absolute.