Chapter 18

After the blinding light disappeared, they were greeted with a horrifying sight. Zarku stood before them, his body grotesquely split apart by Aella's powerful attack. However, instead of collapsing, his severed body parts were being held together by a pulsating mass of black tendrils. The sight sent shivers down their spines as they realized this was no ordinary foe.

The writhing tendrils, pulsating with sickly energy, lunged at the trio simultaneously. Aella, driven by instinct, swiftly retrieved the fallen shield and deflected the vicious onslaught. Each clash sent shockwaves of dread through her as if an ancient evil was trying to breach their world.

"Get Edward and fall back!" she urgently commanded, her voice laced with fear and determination. Aella knew they were severely outmatched, and retreating was their only chance for survival. The unsettling disappearance of the surrounding goblins that had been watching when the battle between Zarku and they started only added to the mystery and terror that enveloped them.

Edward desperately tried to stem the bleeding from his severed arm, frantically applying his healing potions. Galahad, quick on his feet, retrieved the severed arm and stowed it away in their mystical storage dimension bag. This enchanted bag was a creation of the witch. If, and only if, they managed to survive this gruesome battle, the witch would likely be able to restore Edward's arm to its rightful place.

The tendrils whipped through the air, striking at Aella, but she skilfully blocked the attacks with her shield. The trio cautiously attempted to retreat from the eerie forest, sensing the lingering danger. Zarku appeared to have suffered grave injuries, yet the tentacles stubbornly clung to him, desperately trying to sustain their host. Although his body showed signs of mending, his eyes remained closed, shrouded in unsettling darkness.

Sensing the urgency of the situation, Galahad wasted no time. He swiftly retrieved a parchment from his pocket and tore it apart, creating a magic circle of protection around them that would teleport them back to the castle. At that moment, as the circle formed, Zarku's eyes snapped open, and he saw his enemy attempting to escape. With a deafening roar, he unleashed an energy ball toward the magic circle. The ball collided with the circle, shattering it and engulfing the people inside. The force of the blast was so powerful that it rendered the knights unconscious.

Zarku's sinister laughter echoed through the desolate chamber, amplifying the sense of impending doom. He reveled in his triumph, his twisted satisfaction oozing from every pore. Approaching the fallen knights with malevolence in his eyes, a wicked smile stretched across his face, reflecting the darkness that consumed his soul. Their heads, a macabre offering, would appease the insatiable appetite of his vicious master.

With his right hand clutching the blood-stained two-handed sword, Zarku prepared to strike down the defenseless knights, their unconscious bodies mere playthings in his malevolent game. The weight of impending death loomed over them, their fates sealed within the grasp of his wicked intentions. Time seemed to slow as the sword's deadly arc drew closer to Aella, the chosen target.

But in that crucial moment, a sudden flash of silver-white light erupted, cutting through the suffocating darkness. The blinding brilliance deflected the swing of the sword, sending it careening off course. Shock and confusion painted Zarku's face as his anticipated victory was abruptly shattered.

Before he could comprehend the sudden turn of events, another surge of the silver-white light materialized. With terrifying precision, it sliced through the air, severing Zarku's neck in a single, swift motion. His sinister laughter transformed into a ghastly gurgle as his head toppled from his shoulders, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

A man dressed in dark armor stood in front of the beheaded goblin king, half of his face concealed by a menacing mask. The sword gripped tightly in his hand was pitch black, yet a glimmer of silver-white light radiated from the blade, an enigmatic sight that defied explanation. The dark knight, known as Harold, had been relentlessly tracking the goblin king, but during the battle between his colleagues and the goblin king. He had no intention of revealing his presence by joining the battle. His skill lies in information collection, but that doesn't mean he is weaker than the rest of the eleven knights. He ranks among the top three most dangerous knights.

Harold was acutely aware that the goblin king would soon recover from his injuries, as the writhing black tentacles had already begun their eerie work of mending the grotesque wounds. With a surge of adrenaline, he swiftly scooped up Aella and Edward, one under each arm, while Galahad clung tightly to his back. Despite the added weight of three individuals, Harold's speed remained undiminished. In a series of graceful leaps, the shadowy knight vanished from the blood-soaked battlefield.

After Zarku's head was reattached to his neck, he realized he had died twice in the battle. Strangely, the power bestowed upon him by his master had kept him alive. However, with each revival, a sinister change overcame his body. It felt as though pieces of his essence were slowly slipping away, leaving him a mere shell of his former self. He couldn't comprehend how he had recovered from those fatal attacks as during both recoveries he had not seen those black tentacles sticking out from his body.

"Goblin, it seems you have perished twice." An eerie voice resonated from the shadows. Zarku shuddered as the chilling words reached his ears. He swiftly spun around, his body trembling, and dropped to his knees, bowing low. "Master," he stammered, his voice filled with fear, "this humble servant has been negligent. I vow to employ my every ounce of strength to slay the three knights and present their lifeless heads before you."

His master's voice echoed coldly, "Their heads hold no interest for me, goblin. It is the power I have bestowed upon you—a power you have failed to harness to its fullest potential. If you meet your demise once more, the very power that courses through you will consume you entirely, and your demise shall be certain."

"I have been watching the Goblins, observing the entire battle between your kind and the humans," a sinister voice hissed through the darkness. "Your general has already fled from the battlefield, defeated by a knight in shimmering silver armor. But what of the man in golden armor? He has yet to make his move, and it seems your army is already crumbling under the weight of defeat. The power I have bestowed upon you is capable of toppling kingdoms, and yet, you cannot even eliminate a single knight."

Zarku's blood turned to ice as the words slithered into his ears. He realized, with dreadful certainty, that he had been under surveillance without his knowledge. The presence of his vicious master loomed over him, suffocating him with a sense of shame and failure. He could no longer ignore the piercing gaze that seemed to penetrate his very soul.

Trembling with fear, Zarku meekly raised his eyes to meet the piercing gaze of his master. He could feel the weight of disappointment in the air, pressing down upon him like an oppressive fog. His voice quivered as he responded, desperately trying to regain favor. "I hear and understand, mighty one. I shall gather our forces anew and meticulously plan for the next attack on the humans. I vow to unveil our true strength—a force so relentless and fearsome that it will shake the foundations of their world."

Astaroth stepped out from the shadows, his robe swaying ominously, and the sword he once carried was nowhere to be seen. His face, now revealed as his hood fell back on his shoulder, exuded an otherworldly presence. As the goblin caught sight of his transformed master, a shiver ran down its spine, intensifying the fear that already consumed it. Something had changed within Astaroth during the short time he had been away from the nest.

Astaroth's lips curled into a wicked smile, revealing teeth sharp as daggers. With a voice that sent chills down the goblin's spine, he spoke, his words laced with a sinister tone. "I shall help you once more, to give you control over the power."

As Astaroth extended his hand, dark tendrils snaked out from his fingertips, reaching out toward the terrified goblin. The tendrils coiled around its trembling form, suffusing it with malevolent energy that sent searing pain through its veins.

With each passing moment, the goblin's features contorted, morphing into a grotesque semblance of its former self. Its body twisted and warped, its eyes turned blood-red, and jagged fangs erupted from its mouth. The goblin king had encountered its third transformation in its lifetime.

Astaroth, satisfied with his work, left the goblin on the floor. The goblin would know what to do after suffering two defeats. If he still loses then he deserved to die despite being given so much power, and all that remained was for the consuming darkness to engulf the goblin. Astaroth would reclaim his essence after the battle. However, the demon king's attention was now fixed on the man in the golden armor.

From his keen observation, it was evident that the man was likely the strongest presence on the entire battlefield. The man in the black armor as well may have been hiding in the shadows tracking the goblin, but he did not know that the demon king was watching his every move. Astaroth muses over the men, this world seems familiar, the same hunger from man and monster to dominate each other. The sword acts as a guide for him to recover his power.