Chapter 43: The Goblin’s Torment

Gima re-cocked the crossbow before snatching a short spear from the ground. Gripping it tightly, she began methodically stabbing the goblin corpses littering the cavern floor, a grim precaution against any playing dead. She’d seen that trick one too many times during her days of slaughter in the demon realm.

As she worked, she grumbled, “George really should have bought some kind of superweapon a rookie could use. That wand Liz has would be perfect.”

She patiently skewered one corpse after another until a thought struck her. She could just use her Eyes of Desire to see who was alive and who wasn’t. Slapping her forehead, Gima activated the power, and her gaze revealed that the scrawny little goblin she’d shot earlier was, incredibly, still clinging to life.

Listening closely, she could even hear its faint moans.

“I know you’re still alive,” Gima said, approaching it, the spear aimed squarely at the little creature.

“I… I surrender, I really surrender!” It cried, genuine tears streaming down its face. Everyone knew that the young long-legs, especially the females, were supposed to be naive and foolish. How had it run into this one?

The swirling blue cyclone of Greed on its chest instantly shrank to a sliver, as did the one for Wrath.

Gima decided to trust it for now; she knew that goblins were cowardly by nature, terrified of the strong. Still, she kept the spear leveled at it and said in a cold voice, “Throw me the dagger. Hilt first.”

The shortsword that had belonged to Strong, the red-haired brute, clattered at Gima’s feet.

Gima picked up the exceptionally sharp magical blade, a welcome sense of security washing over her as her fingers closed around the grip.

“Very good. Congratulations on surviving,” she said, offering a cute, disarming smile. “Now, stuff all the gold coins into that pack. There’s a white bottle inside. Pull the arrow out of your stomach, then rub the ointment from the bottle onto the wound.”

The scrawny goblin complied. With the pack slung over its shoulder, it hunched over, clutching its freshly staunched wound, and shuffled toward Gima.

“O, hero,” it whined. “Me, wounded. Pack is heavy, will slow you down. You have more medicine?”

Gima had a little bit of healing potion left, but not even enough to fix her own swollen ankle.

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s your problem. If you can’t carry it, well, you can die.”

“Okay, hero,” the goblin mumbled, lowering its head.

Just then, a clamor of goblin voices echoed from behind them. Another search party was getting close.

“Move,” Gima commanded, positioning herself behind the goblin as it led the way forward.

Absolute darkness enveloped them. Even for a goblin, sight was limited in this pitch-black environment.

“O, hero, light a torch, please. I can’t see,” the goblin whined, before promptly tripping and falling to the ground. “Stepped on a rock, oww, oww,” it whimpered.

Gima watched coldly as the blue cyclone of Greed on its chest began to swell once more.

“Then you might as well die,” Gima said flatly. “A pack mule that gives away our position is useless to me.”

“Wait, I can do it!” the goblin scrambled to its feet. After a few more steps, it stumbled again, only to hastily pick itself up.

Their pace slowed to a crawl. Fortunately, the sounds of their pursuers began to fade into the distance.

It was a classic goblin work slowdown, but Gima wasn’t quite ready to kill it. Her hard-earned money was in that pack. She was greedy too; how else was she supposed to buy materials and get stronger?

“Alright, new plan. I’ll tie a rope to you,” Gima said. “I’ll lead the way, you just follow behind me.”

“Yes, yes!”

The goblin shot up, and in Gima’s eyes, the blue vortex of Greed on its chest pulsed, growing larger and larger.

Turning my back to it is an open invitation for an attack, she thought.

“Hold out your hands and place them on that rock. The one to your left. I’m going to tie your wrists.”

“Okay, okay, great hero!” The goblin eagerly placed its hands on the cold stone.

Gima took out the styptic ointment and mixed in the last few drops of her healing potion.

“Straighten your fingers,” she cooed softly. “Stack your hands one on top of the other. Yes, yes, just like that.”

As she spoke, she approached the scrawny goblin, shortsword in hand.

The goblin could only make out Gima’s silhouette. It realized she was even thinner and weaker than it was. A greedy thought sparked in its mind. When she was busy tying its hands, it could bite her, tackle her to the ground. Or it could quietly grab a rock and, while she was leading the way, smash the back of her skull.

Then, not only would all the shiny gold coins be its, but it could play with her soft, warm body. It would pin her down, shove its stick up her hole, and listen to her beg for mercy. That would be especially fun.

“Yes, just like that,” Gima said, her cute smile returning. Then, with a sudden flash of movement, she brought the shortsword down. The razor-sharp blade sliced clean through all ten of the goblin’s fingers.

First came a chilling cold, then a searing pain. The goblin yanked its hands back, felt nothing where its fingers should have been, and stared in stunned silence for a few seconds before a piercing shriek ripped from its throat.

“MY HANDS!”

“Here’s some medicine. Put this on and you’ll be fine,” Gima said lightly. “Scream again, and I’ll stab you in the neck.”

“I’m going to die!” the goblin shrieked, writhing on the ground in agony.

“You’ll only die if you don’t stop the bleeding.”

Trembling, the goblin held out its fingerless stumps. Gima brutally smeared the paste onto the wounds. The goblin’s lips quivered from the pain, but soon, the bleeding stopped.

“Get up.”

Gima’s voice was still soft and delicate, but to the goblin, it was an unquestionable command. It shuddered and scrambled to its feet.

Just as Gima was about to tie the rope around the goblin, a faint light appeared in the distance. Another goblin patrol.

The scrawny goblin’s eyes lit up. “Aiyo!” it yelped, collapsing to the ground. “I… I can’t carry the pack! I’m dying!”

“You still have legs, don’t you? Get up,” Gima said, crouching down. “Or were you planning to bite me? Go ahead. It won’t kill me, but I’ll certainly kill you.”

The goblin didn’t dare to slack off again. Now completely ruled by fear, it gritted its teeth and stood. Gima looped the rope around its neck and, with a slight limp, led her captive deeper into the caverns.

The tunnels twisted and turned, sounds bouncing off the cavern walls, making it impossible to pinpoint their source.

From far away, in some unknown direction, came the muffled sounds of furious roars and the clang of steel on steel. Gima listened intently, but the echoes blurred everything. Unable to determine the direction, she gave up.

The light from the torches in the darkness behind them grew closer, a weak glow spreading through the inky black.

Gima glanced back and saw that the search party was nearer now. She also saw a flicker of hope on the goblin’s fear-stricken face. Sensing that Gima had stopped, it quickly straightened its posture, terrified she would decide it was a poor pack mule and run it through with her sword.

A smile touched Gima’s lips. After being so stifled under George’s—no, beside George for so long, she was finally reclaiming a sliver of the old thrill she used to feel as a demon lord, all thanks to a miserable goblin.

She wasn’t worried about the pursuers. If worst came to worst, she could just use the same trick again. As she was thinking, her stomach began to rumble.

Hungry again.

She licked her lips, a sudden longing for the taste of George washing over her.

After I use up my “energy¹” this time, I’ll have to properly feast on that damn virgin when I get back, she thought. With that decided, she tightened her grip on the magic shortsword and raised it.

The scrawny goblin immediately started begging. “Hero! I’ll walk faster! I’ll help you bite people!”

It realized Gima was about to use her old trick again—using it and the backpack as bait. A dead version of it, of course.

“Oh?”

Gima hesitated. The goblin was trembling from head to toe, feeling as if it wasn’t a petite girl standing before it, but a true demon lord.

In that brief moment of hesitation, a series of horrific screams echoed from behind them.

“The big metal block!”

“Run!”

In the next instant, a cluster of torches appeared before Gima as terrified goblins fled directly toward her.

George had finally followed the slave contract to find her.

The torchlight fell upon the succubus and the goblin, illuminating Gima’s form. The scrawny goblin felt as though it were seeing the dawn of its freedom, tears welling in its eyes. But contrary to its expectations, Gima didn’t run.

She simply gave a slight tug on the rope, turned her head, and asked in a soft voice, “How does the expression on my face look right now?”

On her youthful face, the corners of her mouth were turned up in a wicked little smile. The scrawny goblin shivered. “Majestic. Very majestic.”

“Oh.”

Gima’s expression instantly changed, morphing into one of panicked, tearful terror. She even rubbed her eyes fiercely to make them red.

The scrawny goblin was stunned. For a moment, it felt as though it were the one holding her on a leash.

“How about now?”

“...Weak.”

The word had barely left its mouth when Gima plunged the shortsword into its chest. The goblin’s eyes went wide as it stared at her in utter confusion. She then shoved her forearm into its mouth. The last thing it ever heard was her final command: “Bite me.”

It bit down.

The panicked, fleeing goblins swarmed toward Gima.

Clutching her bleeding arm, Gima cried out in a trembling, tear-filled voice, “No! Don’t come any closer!”

The goblins at the front of the pack couldn’t understand why a human girl had suddenly appeared, but their confusion didn’t last long.

The instant her words fell, a man’s roar that struck terror into their hearts boomed through the cavern.

“Let that girl go!”

The next second, a goblin corpse shot through the air like a cannonball, bowling over the confused goblins in its path.

Gima watched as George charged forward, carving a path through the horde. The bodies of two goblins were still impaled on his greatsword. In his haste, he tossed the sword aside, grabbed the nearest goblin by the arm, and swung it with all his might, smashing it against a large rock.

CRUNCH!

The goblin’s neck snapped as its arm shattered in several places. A moment later, another goblin met its fate.

George’s iron fist smashed directly down onto the crown of its head. The goblin instantly became half a head shorter as its skull was driven down into its chest cavity.

Damn! Maybe you should just change your name to the Doom Slayer… Gima thought, her eyes wide.

Seeing that Gima was unharmed, George retrieved his greatsword and finished clearing out the remaining goblins. He took off his helmet and looked at her.

Gima threw herself into his arms, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes as she sobbed, “George, you’re finally here!”

“Yes, I’m here.”

George gripped Gima’s shoulders, gently pushing her back. He saw her left arm, dripping with blood. He quickly grabbed her hand and saw a clear row of teeth marks. Gima’s small face was streaked with tears.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

A look of unbearable pain crossed Gima’s face as she simply shook her head.

George looked up, surveying the scene. The dead goblin had a shortsword stuck in its chest, and Gima’s pack, nearly torn to shreds, lay discarded beside it.

He pictured it all: Gima, fighting for her life against the goblin. The creature latches its teeth onto her arm, and she, enduring the agony, plunges the shortsword into its chest.

And she’s just a child.

Guilt flooded George’s heart. He pulled Gima into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I was late.”