As the goblins closed in, Corvin stood still, thinking. Can I run? Maybe I could dive into the stream and swim downstream, but that would leave my back wide open…

  Aaaah, damn it all. I’ll fight. If it goes bad, I’ll jump.

  He had trained with his father for four years, but never under such pressure. His father always said he’d make him hunt and fight monsters once he had his Icon, fighting while Iconless was too great a risk. Well, that turned out well… Corvin scoffed inwardly as he took a fighting stance.

  He slid his right leg forward and raised his broken blade to chest height, elbow bent, waiting for an opening to dash and strike.

  The goblins laughed, a high-pitched, almost childlike sound, cheerful in a way that made his skin crawl. They stared at him, then one in the back shrieked, giving the signal.

  Two goblins lunged from behind, stabbing with makeshift spears, while the one in front swept low, aiming to slice his ankles. Their attacks were swift and precise, but Corvin had trained with a Paladin. Such attacks, even though strong and fast, were far too simple.

  He lunged forward, vaulting over the sweeping strike and twisting away from the stabs as his blade slashed toward the goblin’s head. The creature panicked, trying to leap back, but the attack's momentum slowed it just enough to let Corvin’s blade carve across its eyes, severing an ear.

  The goblin’s scream tore through the clearing, echoing far beyond as it clutched its face and writhed on the ground, green blood spilling like a river.

  Corvin rolled, sprang to his feet, and bolted in a zigzag pattern. I did it. That was a good plan, he cheered silently, until a scorching pain ripped through his left thigh.

  “Aaaaaaaaah!” His cry split the air as he stumbled, staring at the spear tip protruding from his leg, blood gushing like a hot spring.

  His heart clenched. One goblin stood laughing, arm still extended from the throw. The other charged, leaping high, spear raised for the kill.

  I’m so stupid. I really thought an Iconless child could win this. Tears blurred his vision, his heart pounding as the strike descended. Then, time seemed to slow. Whether from blood loss or sheer terror, he couldn’t tell, but clarity returned in that frozen instant.

  Damn it all. Who cares if I’m still a child? I’m not dying to some damn goblins.

  Adrenaline surged. He rolled left just enough to dodge the attack before the spear's shaft stabbed into the dirt, halting his escape. Seeing that he had no time, he snapped it off, leaving the tip buried in his thigh, as the goblin closed in.

  The goblin stabbed again, but Corvin roared and hurled himself forward, dodging the thrust and driving the broken shaft into the goblin’s chest. The creature’s eyes widened in shock as the improvised weapon pierced deep into its lungs, making it choke in its own blood as it fell onto the ground.

  Seeing his comrade fall, the third goblin, the one who had pierced Corvin’s thigh, snatched the still screaming goblin’s spear and hurled it. The weapon sliced across Corvin’s left shoulder as he twisted aside, barely dodging a fatal blow. Gritting his teeth, he seized his fallen blade and launched himself at the attacker.

  The goblin lunged as well, meeting Corvin mid-air as the two collided, falling into the dirt. Goblin, in its madness, bit deep into Corvin’s trapezius as Corvin drove his blade into its gut again and again. After countless fury-fueled stabs, the green monster released its grip and collapsed, lifeless.

  Corvin, drenched in blood, his own and theirs, staggered toward the last goblin. Blind and writhing in agony, it barely sensed him before he crashed down, stabbing wildly as he roared, “Die! All of you, die! I’ll show you; I won’t be erased so easily from this world!”

  When the frenzy ended, Corvin lay sprawled across the corpse, his body numb, heart pounding like a war drum. He was smeared in green gore, wounds scattered across his frame: a pierced thigh, a torn shoulder, and a mangled trapezius, likely poisoned by the goblin’s bite.

  I must stand. I must move. If I stay here, I’ll die.

  That stubborn will to live dragged him upright. He crawled to the rushing stream, plunging his face and wounds into the icy water until every trace of green fluid washed away.

  With tear-streaked eyes, he crawled back to his bag and pulled out an oversized shirt he’d scavenged earlier. Tearing it into strips, he bound his shoulder first, then looped another strip under his armpit and over the ragged bite, wrapping again and again until the bleeding slowed. Infection was inevitable, but survival came first.

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  Then he sat on a cold stone, staring at the spear tip jutting from his thigh. I must pull it out.

  “I must!” he roared, gripping the broken shaft. With a savage yank, he tore it free from beneath his leg. Agony exploded through him, his scream echoing across the clearing, as blood gushed like a burst pipe.

  Gritting his teeth, he snatched the remnants of the oversized shirt and wound them around his leg, repeatedly pulling them tight until the bleeding slowed to a sluggish seep.

  He crawled to one of the fallen spears and used it as a makeshift cane to push himself upright.

  “Fucking goblins… You couldn’t just let me run!” The curse tore from his lips; a word he’d only ever heard his father spit at servants in rage.

  “You wanted my life, but instead you all died!” he shouted, voice cracking as pain and fury spilled out in waves.

  Limping from corpse to corpse, he scavenged what he could: scraps of dried meat in rough cloth pouches and a handful of berries. He devoured them quickly, hunger gnawing at him as much as desperation. The meat was tough and tasteless. I don’t even want to know what this came from, he thought grimly. Then he shoved a mouthful of red berries past his lips; he had recognized them to at least not be dangerous, but what kind they were exactly, he couldn’t remember through the pain.

  Sweetness burst across his tongue, washing away the bitter aftertaste. Relief lasted only a moment before a surge of energy hit him like a hammer. His heart raced, and suddenly he spat a mouthful of black blood onto the ground.

  “What the hell?!” He stared at the dark stain, realization dawning. Antitoxin berries… No wonder they carried them. The goblin’s bite had been venomous, and without the berries, he would have been dead before long.

  Strength trickled back into his limbs. He drank deeply from the stream, cold water soothing his throat and clearing his head. After a few moments, he rose, leaning on the spear like a crutch, bound his broken blade at his waist, slung the half-empty bag over his shoulder, and limped toward the shadowed woods, as blood slowly dripped through his makeshift bandages. Staying here was no longer an option.

  ***

  Slowly, Corvin made his way through the woods. Luckily, he hadn’t run into any predators or any other goblins. Judging by the fish bones scattered in the small cave, those scouts were probably the only ones who frequented this part of the forest.

  Using his spear as a crutch, he limped on for what felt like an hour. He couldn’t tell how long it had really been; pain and pounding, fatigue-born headache made time blur.

  What damn luck I have. It’s like fate is playing a joke on me, he thought, stopping to rest against a tree trunk, mind racing. The last two days had been hell. For a boy his age to survive all this, was it a miracle, or just another cruel twist of fate to make him suffer longer?

  Suddenly, as if struck by lightning, he shivered and shook his head. “No. If I think something bad will happen, then it probably will. Damn unlucky.” He spat on the ground and forced himself westward.

  Another hour passed before he stumbled upon a small hill overlooking a man-made dirt road winding northwest. Finally, a sign of civilization. Let’s hope I find someone decent enough to help me mend these wounds, he prayed, descending the hill slowly, his leg screaming in agony.

  His makeshift bandages were soaked through, deep red. Soon, he’d have to tear up his last shirt to keep infection at bay.

  Just as he reached the bottom, a horse-drawn wagon thundered past, then stopped abruptly. A shout rang from inside as the two black horses neighed and skidded to a halt.

  The carriage door creaked open, revealing a burly, bald man with a thick red mustache. He wore a sleeveless crimson coat over a white undershirt, black cotton pants, and polished boots etched with glowing runes, enchanted, no doubt.

  Corvin’s gut twisted. Not good. His eyes… they look dangerous. He backed away, pain stabbing his leg like a hot rod.

  “Hey there, boy,” the man called with a smirk. “You look like you've seen better days. Why don’t I help you? I’ll take you to my estate, free of charge, of course.”

  “Oh, hello, sir. There’s no need for that. I’ll be on my way. Thank you, you’re very kind.” Corvin forced a smile and turned in the opposite direction.

  A loud scoff cut through the air. Then, with a howl of wind, the man appeared in front of him, grinning. “White hair. Red eyes. Do you think I’m stupid?” he barked.

  “Sir… what do you mean?” Corvin stammered, heart pounding, palms slick with sweat.

  “Don’t play games with me. What’s a demonic offspring doing out here, and in that condition?” The man’s tone was sharp, but he kept his distance and his guard up.

  “I’m no demon,” Corvin said stubbornly. “Just a regular kid who got lost and hurt.” He didn’t want to admit it to the man or to himself. He still clung to the hope that his father had been wrong.

  “Bullshit.” The man’s eyes hardened. “Look, I don’t care if you’re the son of a devil incarnate or a fallen god. I can smell danger on you. And you see…” His grin widened, greed gleaming in his eyes. “…I might have some use for a creature like you.”

  The situation had gone from bad to worse. Corvin yanked out his broken blade and drove his spear into the ground for support, gripping it tight.

  “Oho, look at you,” the man chuckled. “Nice stance. Smart move with the spear. You really are a fine little monster.” His boots flared blue, and with a gust of wind, he exploded forward.

  Corvin barely saw him move before a fist slammed into his gut. “Aaargh!” He bit his tongue to stay conscious as the blow crushed the air from his lungs. I’m not falling here, he swore, driving his broken blade toward the man’s eye with every shred of strength he had left.

  The blade struck the man’s cheek, carving a bloody line, but stopped short of the eye. A thin wind barrier shimmered around it. A skill! flashed through Corvin’s mind just as another punch smashed into his face, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

  “Fucking monster,” the man snarled, kicking him hard. “Almost took my eye out. Good thing I was prepared for any tricks.” He laughed, grabbing Corvin like a sack of grain and hauling him into the carriage. “I struck it rich!”

  The doors slammed shut, and the horses bolted down the road.

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