Chapter 28: [With Ulterior Motives]

The iron-black arrowhead was aimed at Shaya, unwavering. Clearly, the archer knight's hand was exceedingly steady; his eyes, fixed on Shaya, held a calm so profound that even from such a distance, Shaya felt his scalp tingle. Yet, his nature was such that he could never bear being forced.

Who was Shaya? Raised in the mountains, tempered in Wildfire Town, he was the sort who yielded to kindness but not to threats. If you spoke to him reasonably, all might be well; but the more you pressed, the more you stoked that bullheaded defiance in him. Simply put, he was the kind who, once his blood was up, would charge you even knowing he was outmatched, willing to spill his own blood just to see you suffer.

Facing the cold arrowhead, Shaya's expression changed for a moment, then his gaze turned grim. From the west across the river, the sound of hooves grew faster and closer. Shaya glanced to the side and saw dust rising in the distance—no fewer than a dozen riders, he guessed. He had barely managed to deal with two of the three before him, nearly losing his life in the process. If another seven or eight joined...

Quickly calculating the distance of the approaching riders, Shaya steeled himself and made a decision.

He stared at the archer, his hands yet unmoved. The knight, seeing the change in Shaya's eyes, felt a chill of premonition. Without hesitation, his fingers released the bowstring.

With a twang, the final arrow shot straight for Shaya’s throat! Shaya tensed every muscle, sucked in a breath, and dove sideways. Mid-air, he flung his fire fork toward the distant knight.

There was a sickening sound. Blood blossomed on the knight's chest as the fire fork pierced through him with such force that it knocked him clean off his horse, pinning his body to the ground.

But Shaya felt a coldness at his neck. He had dodged with all his might, but the knight's archery was too masterful; it was as if the arrow had already anticipated all Shaya’s evasions, striking like a venomous snake, biting deep into the center of his throat.

In that instant, even Shaya thought he was done for. He felt the jolt at his neck, and his last thought was:

Damn it, is this the end? I’m still a virgin...

With a thud, Shaya crashed to the ground, dazed and dizzy. Yet when he wiped his neck, there was not a trace of blood. On the ground lay an arrow with a blunted tip. He stared, bewildered, then his hand found something at his neck—a dull gray stone, the only relic left to him by the old man at home. Shaya had never known what it was, wearing it simply out of habit. Unexpectedly, it had just saved his life; the arrow had struck the stone and glanced off.

It was not that the knight’s aim was poor—rather, his aim was too perfect! Had his hand trembled even a fraction, or his aim been less true, Shaya would already be joining the old man below.

The dead knight, pinned to the earth, twisted a few times before expiring, likely never understanding, even in death, that he had lost because his aim was too precise.

Shaya wiped his neck, his spirit returning to his body. He leapt up, spat, then strode over, first kicking the shattered knight leader to the ground before yanking his fire fork from the corpse.

Dense as he was, even Shaya realized his fire fork was no ordinary weapon.

By now, the distant drumming of hooves beat ever more urgently, like a death knell pounding at his heart. Not daring to delay, Shaya ducked behind the rocks and grabbed the dazed wretch by the scruff.

The wretch stared at him, wide-eyed. “You… you defeated Xim…”

“Defeated your mother!” Shaya snapped, slapping her across the face. “Can you ride a horse or not?”

The wretch nodded instinctively, suddenly alert. Shaya tossed her onto a horse. “Ride north, don’t stop!” Without waiting for her shriek, he jabbed the horse’s rump with his fire fork. She barely had time to cling to the animal’s neck as it galloped away madly.

The knight leader and the crippled knight on the ground turned ashen when they saw the wretch escaping, glaring at Shaya with trembling bodies.

Shaya mounted a horse himself, tossing aside all the odd weapons hanging from the saddle. Seated, he spotted the goblins peering from behind the rocks and pointed. “Ox, get over here!”

Ox hesitated, then realized Shaya meant to take him along, and whooped with joy. He wasn’t a fool—he’d seen the approaching knights across the river and knew staying meant certain death. Shaya hoisted Ox to sit in front of him, then, after a quick appraisal, selected the smallest goblin left and set it behind him.

Though three riders crowded one horse, the beast was sturdy, and the goblins, being small and light, barely strained it.

Ox, however, was displeased. He believed his status special, that only he deserved to escape on horseback with their human master. Why had Shaya picked another goblin?

But there was no time for argument. Shaya saw the cavalry had already reached the riverbank, the first two riders urging their horses into the water. Shaya kicked his mount’s belly; the horse reared with a shrill cry, nearly unseating Shaya and the two goblins. Only by clamping his legs tight and gripping the goblins with both hands did he avoid disaster.

Furious and anxious, Shaya cursed his predicament—a penniless mountain hunter, he’d never ridden a horse before. But once seated, he repeated his earlier trick, stabbing the horse’s rump with his fire fork. With a pained scream, the unfortunate beast bolted, racing off at breakneck speed.

By now, half the enemy cavalry had crossed the river. Two peeled off to check on their fallen comrades, while the rest gave chase without hesitation.

Shaya spurred his horse, wind howling in his ears as he bounced so hard he nearly lost his breakfast. Behind him, whistles and pounding hooves signaled relentless pursuit.

Glancing back, he saw several riders gaining on him.

Unskilled in horsemanship, Shaya’s mount—though strong—was burdened with three riders, the two goblins together weighing nearly as much as a man. Soon, their speed began to flag.

As the pursuers closed in, Shaya desperately kicked the horse and jabbed its rump with the fire fork. The poor creature, driven to its limits, ran faster than it ever had in its life, foam flecking its mouth.

Just then, Shaya heard the twang of bowstrings behind him. He ducked low, heart pounding.

The pursuing knights, now within range, drew their bows and loosed arrows. Shaya heard the arrows hiss past his ears. He knew nothing of riding, let alone advanced evasive maneuvers. Instead, he simply laughed and, without dodging, grabbed the goblin behind him, holding it up as a shield against the oncoming arrows.

The wretched goblin shrieked, “Ock ock!” as arrow after arrow embedded in its backside, until it bristled like a porcupine with seventeen or eighteen shafts.

Shaya wielded the fleshy shield, blocking arrows left and right. The goblin’s cries faded as it was riddled, leaving no unpierced spot to grasp.

Seeing Shaya’s shameless tactic, the knights refused to waste more arrows, urging their horses on instead.

Shaya gave a loud, raucous laugh and tossed aside the hapless meat shield.

In front, the goblin dubbed “Your Highness” was scared witless. Its slow mind finally understood: this human master had brought the two goblins onto the horse only as expendable shields!

Sure enough, after tossing the first, Shaya grabbed “Your Highness,” snatching it from in front to behind him. Ox screamed, “No, please, not the backside!”

But Shaya, fighting for his life, had no concern for the goblin’s dignity.

After an hour of brutal riding, with Shaya constantly stabbing the horse’s rump, the beast could run no further. Its foaming mouth grew worse, its pace slowed, and the pursuers remained hot on their heels. Worse still, the wretch ahead hadn’t gotten far, and as Shaya pressed on, he gradually caught up.

Just then, the wretch ahead yanked her reins, halting her horse, and frantically waved for Shaya to stop.

From a distance, Shaya saw that the river ahead twisted sharply. The land grew steep, and the riverbed, dried by the winter, had become a deep gorge—at least thirty meters down! Fortunately, the width was much reduced, likely due to the upper stream.

Bracing himself, Shaya pulled up, saw the pursuers closing in, and without hesitation, hauled the wretch onto his own horse. Eyes fixed on the gorge, he jabbed the horse’s rump once more.

Hooves thundered—the horse, forced to the edge, leapt into the abyss, tracing a graceful arc through the air.

And then—they fell.