Chapter 26: Close-Quarters Clash

Above the wilderness, a mounted party sped in from the southeast—about seven or eight horses in all. As they galloped, dust billowed out behind them. From a distance, only three of the horses bore riders; the others were spare mounts. Judging by the formation, the lead rider was at the head, with the rest fanning out in a wedge behind.

As soon as the riders appeared on the horizon, the group of goblins grew restless, chattering nervously in their guttural tongue. The goblin called Lady Consort quickly dealt out a few strikes with the flat of her blade to quiet them, but she herself was visibly frightened, glancing uneasily at Shaya.

Shaya tugged at his belt, pressed the wretch down beneath the rock, and said in a low voice, “Don’t come out unless I call you!” Then, turning to glare at Lady Consort, he growled, “You too!”

“But…” The wretch was clearly panicked and anxious. “Those people will kill you!”

“Not necessarily,” Shaya’s gaze flickered. “Maybe they’re just a band of passing adventurers.”

“But…” The wretch bit his lip. “They must be the ones who slaughtered that goblin tribe. You know it!”

“Trust me, it may not be hopeless.” Shaya’s eyelids drooped, and a flash of predatory light glinted in his eyes.

The goblin being used as bait was still struggling, though it was nearly spent—fear and blood loss had left it faint, but the clear sound of hoofbeats snapped it back to awareness, and it began to scream desperately.

The riders’ purpose was clear: they were headed straight for this spot. As they closed to within a hundred paces, they didn’t halt or charge in, but instead wheeled their horses abruptly, slowing their pace and circling along the flanks. Caution and experience radiated from their every move; they would not dismount lightly. By circling, they maintained both their speed and a safe distance while they assessed the situation.

Their horsemanship was masterful. They maneuvered with ease, guiding their mounts skillfully. They circled halfway around the pitiful bait-goblin before finally slowing and stopping at a distance.

At their head rode a man astride a magnificent black steed—a horse of such quality that even in the markets of Wildfire Town, few could compare. All their horses were similarly equipped: saddle bags, water skins, bows, and quivers. The spare mounts bore bundles of outdoor gear. Clearly, these men had come well prepared.

The lead rider wore close-cropped, curly hair and had the chiseled features of a Byzantine. He was tall and sat his mount with a ramrod-straight back, a long cavalry saber in hand, his eyes cold and sharp as blades, fixed on the goblin in the center. He wore fine, light cavalry leathers, a medium warbow slung across his back, and two quivers of goose-feathered arrows at his saddle. His bare arms were muscular, skin rough and dark, fingers thick-jointed—his whole presence exuded vigor and deadly skill.

“A goblin? Hmph…” A cruel smile played at the edge of the rider’s lips.

“Captain, there’s something behind that rock. I can smell it from here, ha!” called one of the men behind him, his voice brash. Another had already nocked an arrow, face taut with vigilance.

The lead rider sneered, nudged his horse forward a few paces, his gaze never leaving the rock where Shaya and the others hid, fingers tightening on his saber. “Come out!”

Shaya emerged from behind the rock, striding boldly forward and stopping fifty paces away—right between himself and the bait-goblin.

“Adventurer? Or a thief?” The rider eyed Shaya, surprised by his imposing stature and the enormous shield and battle-axe in his hands. To his practiced eye, the weapons, though finely made, were flashy and impractical; no seasoned warrior would wield such oversized arms, for all their destructive power. True warriors chose weapons that balanced lethality with speed and endurance—only fools fond of gaudy displays used such massive tools.

“I am a demon hunter,” Shaya answered loudly, noticing the man’s interest in his weapons and deliberately raising his shield higher.

“A demon hunter?” The rider chuckled, but his smile was edged with menace. “A demon hunter, here in the Red Wastes? There’s nothing here but goblins and ghouls.”

“That’s my affair.” Shaya’s stance was firm—out here, any sign of weakness only invited trouble. “Who are you?”

The rider did not answer. He glanced at the goblin, immediately discerning Shaya’s intent. “Using it as bait? A pity—goblin blood stinks, it’ll never draw good prey. And you cut it too shallow; not enough blood.”

A nasty grin curled on his lips. “Let me help you, rookie.”

With that, he swiftly plucked a short spear from his saddle. As soon as it was in his hand, a lethal aura burst from him—a killer’s instinct honed by countless battles. He leaned in his saddle, poised in a textbook-perfect javelin-thrower’s stance.

With a sharp whistle, the spear became a streak of white, hurtling toward the goblin!

Seeing the movement, Shaya’s eyes, previously wide, narrowed to slits. He lunged forward, swinging his left arm to hurl his massive shield—

Bang!

The spear slammed into the shield with a shower of sparks, dazzling even in broad daylight.

The goblin, seeing the flash dart toward it, all but broke down in terror. But when the thunderous crash came and Shaya’s discarded shield blocked the spear, it shrieked in relief.

“Huh?” A flash of surprise crossed the rider’s gaze. This fellow had intercepted his throw with a shield?

Shaya dashed forward, keeping a wary eye on the mounted man, and retrieved his shield. Where the spear had struck, the metal was dented and scarred—a sight that made Shaya’s heart ache; this was the finest weapon he’d ever owned.

“Impressive, demon hunter.” The rider’s tone was grim, his grip tightening on his saber. “But you refused my help.”

“Even a goblin is my spoil,” Shaya said proudly. “If I can’t defend my prize, I don’t belong on the Wildfire Plains.”

“I have a question for you.” The rider circled his horse. “You’ve come from the south, haven’t you? Have you seen any other humans?”

Shaya shook his head. “Only you.”

“Hmph.” The rider sneered. “Really?”

Shaya said nothing, his gaze cold.

“Fine.” The rider muttered, eyes suddenly glinting with bloodlust. “Kill him.”

Even as the words left his mouth, another rider spurred his horse forward! In two paces, the man was on him, saber raised, body bent low—a seamless fusion of man and horse, blade flashing with traces of dried blood, its edge glinting with a chilling menace beneath the sun.

With a whistle and a blur, horse and rider, blade and man all came at once!

The charging rider closed on Shaya in a heartbeat, saber slashing down!

The wretch behind the rock was trembling so badly his legs had gone limp.

As his assailant thundered closer, Shaya’s eyes narrowed to icy slits, glinting coldly. He retreated in quick, shuffling steps, keeping his body facing the oncoming horse, shifting his weight low and to the side.

Bang!

A dull, bone-shaking crash—the two passed in a blur as Shaya raised his shield to intercept the descending saber. The rider’s strength, combined with the momentum of his mount, was immense. Shaya’s shield was struck from his grasp, splitting in two midair!

The impact rattled him to his core—he staggered, breath seizing in his chest, shield arm throbbing painfully, vision swimming.

Yet still he moved.

Twisting his body, he turned and pressed his back against the galloping horse as it swept past, feeling the rider’s leg and saddle brush his spine. With a sudden roar, Shaya threw himself sideways, smashing into the horse with all his might!

With a scream, the mount stumbled and crashed to the ground, taking its rider with it. The force had toppled a galloping horse, though Shaya himself was left gasping, nearly spent. He forced himself to leap up, axe in hand, charging at the fallen rider.

The man rolled upright just in time to see a white blur overhead—Shaya’s axe descending!

The rider hurriedly raised his saber. With a clang, blade met axe, but the force drove the man to his knees; he couldn’t stand, and could only roll aside as Shaya pressed the attack, swinging the axe twice more.

Two thunderous blows—finally, the saber snapped, blood welling from the rider’s hand as he stared in shock at Shaya.

Shaya raised his axe to finish him, but hoofbeats sounded behind him—he spun just in time to see a black shadow bearing down!

The captain had closed in, saber in hand, a savage expression on his face. The blade flashed, already arcing toward Shaya’s head!

Shaya desperately raised his axe to block. With a thunderous crash, he felt as if lightning had struck him. The saber’s edge struck the steel of the axe, and in that instant, a plume of gray energy exploded from the blade.

Within that energy, the saber carved deep into the axe head!

Shaya was hurled through the air by the blow, landing several meters away. His mouth filled with grit and blood, his whole body aching. As he picked himself up, spitting out blood-flecked dust, he realized his prized steel axe had been cleaved in half.

The captain reined in his horse, not triumphant but faintly surprised, glancing down at his own saber: a palm-sized chip had been broken from the edge. He was startled—he knew his own strength, and had used battle aura in that strike, expecting to split the man in two, especially with the horse’s momentum. Yet his attack had been met head-on!

“Not bad, demon hunter.” The captain sheathed his saber and shot a cold glance at his fallen comrade. “Get up, you disgrace! You’ve shamed us!”