Chapter 16: Fantasy Skateboard

I don't even know how long I've been trudging through this damn cave. An hour? Two hours? Time doesn't really seem to matter when all I'm doing is slicing and dicing goblins like some medieval lawnmower. One thing I do know is that I'm officially the worst-smelling thing in this cave now. Goblin blood and piss have a way of clinging to you, and no amount of flicking my sword clean is going to change that.

Honestly, it's been almost… boring. These goblins drop in one or two hits, tops, like I'm speedrunning a dungeon in some outdated RPG. But I know better than to get cocky. I've seen enough games—and lived through that trial—to recognize when something is too easy, there's always a big bad waiting at the end of these "warm-up acts."

After hacking through yet another group of the little green freaks, I finally hit a dead end. A literal wall of rock. Great. Love wasting my time for absolutely nothing. I sighed, turning back toward the split in the path I'd encountered earlier.

The way back was… unpleasant. Let's just say the results of my "artistry" were still fresh on display. Severed limbs, crushed skulls, splashes of blood everywhere—it looked less like a battlefield and more like an exhibit in a serial killer's museum. Therapeutic, sure, but not exactly photogenic.

When I finally got back to the fork, I took the right path this time. Something about this route felt different—colder, darker, like the walls themselves were watching me. Creepy, but nothing I couldn't handle. At first, it was the same routine. Goblins rushed at me, I cut them down. Rinse and repeat. But the further I went, the more things changed.

The weapons they carried started to improve. Rusty axes and clubs gave way to steel blades and even shields—actual knight's shields. Where the hell are these goblins shopping? But no matter how well-equipped they were, it didn't make a difference. Steel couldn't stop my blade, not with whatever magic the tattoos were giving me.

Then I met the new guys.

At first, I didn't think much of them—just goblins wearing black hoods instead of the usual tattered rags. But there was something off about them. They didn't charge at me like the others. No, these guys just stood there, whispering. Their voices weren't the usual grunts and snarls, either—it was more… structured. Almost like they were chanting.

And then it hit me.

Literally.

Fire exploded against my chest, scorching my skin through the padded armor. Ice followed, numbing my limbs before I even had time to yell. A gust of wind knocked me off balance, and lightning? Oh, that was the cherry on top, sending searing pain through my body like I'd just licked a live wire.

Four of them. Each wielding a different element. And me, caught right in the middle of their goblin-sized shooting gallery.

I didn't hesitate. The black slime surged over my body, wrapping me in its inky embrace as I transformed into The Seeker. The moment the change was complete, I could see the goblin mages freeze for just a second, their glowing red eyes widening ever so slightly. 

But shock didn't stop them from chanting. Nope, they doubled down, their hands moving faster as glowing sigils began to form in the air.

I gripped the longsword of the Archetype and bolted toward them. The first spell hit—a lightning bolt that seared into my side like a taser on steroids. The second, a wind blast, slammed into me, but I dug my heels in and pushed through. Fire and ice came next, and unlike their predecessors, those weren't something I was about to face head-on. I leapt out of their trajectory just in time, watching the two elements collide and erupt into a burst of scalding steam that filled the corridor.

I wasn't about to give them a second chance to roast me. Dropping my sword to the ground, I crouched, pressing my hand to the blade, channeling wind magic into the steel. With a push, the blade shot forward, gliding across the ground like the weirdest skateboard I've ever ridden.

Using bursts of wind magic to propel it, I practically surfed the sword straight toward the group of goblins. Their chanting faltered for a moment—guess they weren't expecting a guy to ride his weapon into battle.

As the blade reached the center of their formation, I jumped off and unleashed a cyclone spell. The sword became the eye of a storm, whipping up razor-sharp winds that sliced through everything in its radius. The walls groaned under the pressure, their surface etched with countless cuts. The goblins? Well, let's just say they weren't going to be casting spells—or anything else—ever again.

The wind died down, leaving the corridor eerily silent except for the faint hiss of steam. What was left of the goblins was... unpleasant. I tried not to look too hard at the blood-soaked mess as I strolled over to retrieve my sword.

As I picked it up, the black slime receded, and I reverted to my normal form.

Through the dark corridor and the thin steam, I see the end of the path. There was a door. A big one. In an instant I knew, beyond that will be the 'boss' of this dungeon.