Anemoi 20 – Anemoi 21, Imperial Year 1645
The Eastern Woods – The Goblin Nest
The hole was dark. It always was.
He crouched at the entrance, listening. The wind carried the smell of wet earth and old blood. Goblins. He could taste them.
One. He counted in his head. Not out loud. Not yet.
He checked his gear. Short sword – sharp. Club – heavy. Flask of oil – full. Tinderbox – dry. He had no shield today. Shields were too loud in tunnels.
He stood. Walked into the dark.
The Tunnel – First Contact
The passage sloped down, narrowing. Roots hung from the ceiling like dead fingers. Water dripped. Plink. Plink. Plink. He stepped over a pile of bones. Rabbit. Deer. Something with smaller hands. He didn't look closer.
Two.
A sound. Guttural. Grunting. Ahead, around a bend.
He pressed against the wall. Drew his short sword. Waited.
A goblin shambled around the corner. Short, green, malformed. It held a rusty knife. It didn't see him.
Three.
He moved. One step. Two. Sword through the throat. The goblin gurgled, clawed at the blade, then slid off. It hit the ground with a wet thump.
He wiped his sword on the goblin's tunic. Continued.
Four.
The Chamber – The Nest
The tunnel opened into a chamber. Crude torches sputtered on the walls. The floor was covered in straw, bones, and filth. Goblins. A dozen of them. Some sleeping, some eating something he didn't want to identify.
In the corner, cages. Human women. Naked. Bruised. Their eyes were empty.
Five.
He counted each goblin. His lips moved. "One. Two. Three."
A goblin heard him. Turned. Opened its mouth to scream.
He threw his club. It struck the goblin's skull with a wet crack. The creature fell.
The others woke.
Six.
He charged. No war cry. No words. Just movement.
The Killing – Methodical
First goblin. Sword through the eye. It dropped.
Seven.
Second goblin. He grabbed its hair, slammed its head into the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. It stopped moving.
Eight.
Third goblin. It tried to run. He threw his short sword. The blade pinned its leg to the floor. It screamed. He walked over, pulled the sword free, and drove it into the creature's chest.
Nine.
A goblin lunged at him from behind. He heard its footsteps, turned, and caught its wrist. Broke it. The goblin shrieked. He took its own knife and opened its throat.
Ten.
He picked up his club. A goblin with a rusty spear charged. He sidestepped, swung the club into its knee. It fell. He stomped on its head until it stopped moving.
Eleven.
Two more tried to flee into a side tunnel. He followed. Narrow passage. No room to swing. He used the club as a ram, crushing skulls against the stone.
Twelve. Thirteen.
The chamber was quiet. He stood among the bodies, breathing steady.
"Fourteen," he said aloud. "Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen."
He walked to the cages.
The Cages – The Living
The women stared at him. One wept. Another didn't move.
He cut the locks with his sword. "Can you walk?"
The weeping woman nodded. The others didn't answer.
"The entrance is behind you. Straight tunnel. No turns. Go."
They stumbled past him, clutching each other. He didn't watch them go.
He searched the chamber. In a corner, a pile of stolen goods – coins, jewelry, a child's doll. He took nothing.
He poured oil on the bodies. Lit it. The flames rose, crackling, eating the filth.
He walked out.
The Road – Counting
He emerged into the grey morning. His armor was splattered. His sword was notched. His club was wet.
He walked toward Luminara. His lips moved.
"Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one."
He would report to the Hall. Collect the bounty. Then find the next nest.
There was always a next nest.
The Hunters' Hall – Afternoon
The bell chimed. The clerk looked up. Her smile faded.
He stood at the counter, dented armor, scratched helmet, stained cloak. He set down a leather pouch. It made a wet sound.
"Goblins," he said.
The clerk opened it. Goblins' ears. Counted them. "Twenty-one?"
He nodded.
"Three nests?"
He nodded again.
She made a note in her ledger. "The bounty is two hundred silver."
He said nothing. He didn't need to. He just waited.
She counted the coins. He took them. Turned to leave.
"The goblin slayer," she said. He paused. "Someone asked about you. A hunter in black. Alucard."
He didn't turn. "Not interested."
"He hunts witches."
"I hunt goblins."
He walked out. The bell chimed.
The clerk shook her head and returned to her ledger.
End of Chapter One Hundred Five