The last hobgoblin, breathing heavily and gripping his axes tight, approached the tent Dylan had taken over. He wasn't dumb—not like the others. He knew a trap was waiting inside. He could feel it in his gut.
So he stopped, right before the entrance, muscles taut like a bowstring about to snap. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the flap. No more fear. Just hate. Raw, unfiltered, almost animalistic hatred.
He held his three axes like extensions of his body. Ready to throw them the moment that cursed shadow made a move. He wasn't going to walk into the monster's jaws. No. He was going to drag it out. And tear it to pieces.
Inside the tent, hidden in the shadows, Dylan watched. Motionless. His icy gaze scanned every micro-movement of his enemy. This one… he hadn't run. He hadn't collapsed in fear. He was here, heart pounding, ready to fight.
A slight smirk curved Dylan's lips.
Finally, one who resists.
He stepped back into the darkness, feet silent on the packed earth. This hobgoblin wouldn't die like the others. Not quietly. Not like a sleeper or a pathetic brute.
This one deserved it. A face-off. A final duel. A clean execution.
But outside, a storm of blades was brewing. Three axes. Three chances to kill.
And Dylan knew it. He wasn't walking out of there casually.
"With that killer look... This one looks determined," Dylan murmured, barely audible, his voice melting into the dark.
The creature, frozen at the entrance, didn't move. Not a step. Not a breath. Just that burning, hateful stare locked onto the barely swaying fabric. Like the rest of the world had vanished. Like everything came down to this. To him.
Dylan stifled a chuckle and thought, mocking:
Please… don't look at me like that.
He slid a hand toward his dagger, fingers brushing the hilt like a pianist on his keys.
You think you're gonna kill me. Avenge your boss, your village, those females you'll never breed again. But you're just a sigh in the hard life I've lived, buddy.
The hobgoblin raised the first axe, ready to throw it at the slightest twitch.
Dylan suddenly stepped forward. Not enough to leave the tent, just enough to make the shadow shift behind the canvas.
Flaaassh! — the first axe sliced through the air, tearing the tent, but struck only emptiness.
Good. Keep going, Dylan thought.
Another step, quicker this time. The shadow darted left.
CLANG — the second axe followed instantly, ricocheting off a wooden post in a burst of sparks.
Only one axe left. Just one.
And Dylan still hadn't left the tent.
He waited. Breath held. Heart steady. He knew this game.
The hobgoblin growled, trembling with rage and adrenaline. He held the last axe in both hands.
And Dylan began to speak. His voice slid out of the tent like a whisper of death.
"You're not gonna throw it. You're gonna come in and plant it yourself, huh? I see it in your eyes… You want to watch me die."
Silence.
Then…
A guttural scream. The hobgoblin charged, axe raised above his head.
And Dylan stepped out.
Like lightning followed by thunder, a bullet burst from his pistol and slammed into the hobgoblin's chest.
The creature collapsed with a muffled groan, hands clutched over his torn-up torso. Black blood oozed between his crooked fingers, but he didn't scream. He just stared. Eyes wide. Still alive. Just enough to hate a little more.
Dylan walked out of the tent. Slowly. Calmly. His shadow stretched across the ground. His boots sank into the mud, now mixed with blood. He crouched down by the body, silent.
The hobgoblin was still breathing. Barely. Too broken to move, not broken enough to die fast.
Their eyes met. The other was full of rage, pain, wounded pride. Dylan saw no fear, no regret. Just a gaze that refused to look away.
He sighed. Lifted his gun, pressing it to the monster's rough forehead.
"I'm sorry," he said in a neutral voice. Not an apology. Just a fact. "I screwed up. And my commander wants answers."
The hobgoblin tried to lift a hand. Slow. Pointless.
Bang.
The bullet did the rest. No scream. Just a breath cut short, and the wind returning to fill the void.
Dylan stood up. Gave the area a quick glance. The village was silent. No more movement. It was over.