Ch 65

  “Surrender or die,” sneered the man clearly in charge of the group. “You must think rather highly of yourself if you believe you can not only defeat us but also prevent us from summoning hundreds more to fight you.”

  “I wasn’t speaking to anyone but you,” replied Matt coolly. “I have no interest in an all-out massacre or forcing anyone into my group, but I won’t let a threat like yours go unchallenged either.”

  The man burst into raucous laughter, unable to hide his derision. “You come here and—”

  Before he could finish, Matt hurled one of his daggers. The man barely managed to raise his arm in time to intercept the projectile. With no more words needed, Matt melted back into the woods while several of the gathered men lunged after him, their leader vociferating, “Coward! I look forward to seeing just how long you can survive when we capture you.”

  A wry chuckle escaped Matt as he allowed his body to naturally glide through the undergrowth. It wasn’t long before he reappeared at the camp where the wounded were gathered, catching the enemy completely off guard. Though he had no intention of launching a full-scale assault, his swift movements allowed him to slip past the defenders with ease before doubling back. Noticing that he had inadvertently led a few of the enemy’s more monstrous members to the wounded, a flicker of guilt stirred within him; however, they seemed capable of handling the situation on their own. Meanwhile, the men chasing him had begun bickering amongst themselves, which was ample distraction for Matt.

  He quickly made his way back to the dilapidated watchtower, where only five men remained, including their leader sporting a crude bandage fashioned from a tattered shirt wrapped around his arm. Expecting reinforcements to return within minutes, Matt decided to strike without delay. He lunged forward and threw another dagger. This time, the leader failed to react swiftly, and the blade sank into his gut, sparking chaos among his remaining comrades. A pleased smile crept across Matt’s face as he slowed his pace to speak calmly.

  “Now, if you want healing, you’ll come with me and leave orders for others to escort the rest of your wounded to my group.”

  The leader scoffed, his voice laced with defiance. “Ha, you are a coward. I’d rather die and have you live with the knowledge that you killed someone.”

  Suppressing the curse he nearly unleashed, Matt listened as the man smiled defiantly, ignoring the searing pain coursing through his body.

  “You would rather die than accept help from me?” Matt asked quietly.

  “Help? Ha. No, I’d sooner die than be used by you to win the battle that’s coming. We could even say I was wronged—assassinated by you, no less—” the man retorted fiercely.

  The man fell silent as Matt hurled another knife, which embedded itself deep in his throat. The remaining men froze for a moment, absorbing the shock of what had just transpired—a mistake they would soon regret. Without hesitation, Matt drew two of his last three throwing daggers and charged forward. In the ensuing chaos, he scattered the other men from around their fallen leader and managed to recover two of the three daggers he had thrown.

  As the remaining four adversaries regained their composure, every one of them charged with murderous intent. Two daggers were launched in unison: one caught a man’s guard, while the other found its mark in his thigh. Then, two more daggers whistled through the air, and within mere feet of Matt, two of the assailants fell, each suffering a dagger impaling his foot. Now armed with only a single dagger, Matt narrowly parried a sweeping sword stroke aimed squarely at his head.

  “You’re dead,” declared the sole unscathed opponent. “Even if you manage to escape after dispatching us, no future exists in which you live long enough to return to Earth.”

  “That's where you’re mistaken,” Matt retorted, determination glinting in his eyes. “I’ve already secured a way off this rock. I need only reach level 9, and I suspect none of you are eager to become experience points like your fallen leader.”

  “Even now, you’re nothing but a coward, unwilling to do what must be done unless forced,” the man sneered. With that, he charged, and the remaining three men pushed off with all their might, their sturdy legs carrying them into the fray. Matt found himself battling four attackers with a single dagger at his disposal—three of the strikes aimed at him came not from his own hand but as counterattacks. In a display of daring, Matt allowed all four blows to land in areas that, while typically vital, were not instantly fatal to him. Activating a hidden ability, he sent each attack ricocheting back upon its source. Cries of pain filled the air as he gritted his teeth and disengaged, slashing the wrist of the sword-wielding man. This swift maneuver forced the foe to release his weapon, which Matt quickly stored in his spatial inventory; yet, the wounds to his torso made breathing a laborious task.

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  “You truly are a madman,” remarked the man nursing his injured thigh. “Why endure those attacks instead of just escaping?”

  Silent, Matt retreated, stumbling away to create precious distance while struggling to stay on his feet. His escape was only partially successful; a dagger hurled at him nearly ended his life, its handle striking his throat and prompting a painful, reflexive cough that surged agony throughout his body. He collapsed to his knees as the man who had lost his sword bellowed, “There is a major flaw in your plan! All we need to do is kill you before you can heal those wounds completely—AAAAHHHH!”

  In a swift, brutal reply, Matt silenced him by hurling the dagger he held into the man’s groin. He then snatched up the dagger that had failed to finish him off earlier. Even as he battled searing pain, he was acutely aware that reinforcements—ten more men by his estimate—could be returning any moment. Ignoring his injuries, he yanked the fallen man’s sword from his inventory and charged headlong into battle. Within moments, he overwhelmed the four remaining adversaries, dispatching them with ruthless efficiency as a pair of notifications blinked into awareness.

  Monsters killed: 5 level 5 Humans.

  Base experience divided by two.

  Awarding 63 experience.

  Current experience to next level 5079/6000.

  Title gained: Manslayer (bonus to intimidation of others of your kind.)

  Seeing the title he had gained next to his measly 63 experience points only made Matt feel more foolish. Especially since he had hurried toward the tower after collecting anything he thought might be valuable from the fallen men. He really hadn’t needed to let them stab him as they had, but for some inexplicable reason, he believed that enduring the wounds and then transferring them to his foes was a smart move. Deep down, however, he knew he was simply convincing himself that they were truly willing to kill him before they could do the same to him. Now, as the deed was done, a sickening feeling churned in his stomach—a sensation intensified by the gnawing pain of his gut wounds.

  Relief washed over him as he managed to slip inside the remnants of the watchtower, collapsing onto the cold stone floor while he waited for his wounds to mend. In the distance, he could hear others returning, cursing loudly as they discovered the five dead men. None of them paid any attention to the blood trail that Matt was certain he had left behind while making his way to the tower. Still, he remained vigilant, his ears straining for any approaching sounds as he surveyed the depressing scene around him. The tower was in ruins: the ceiling was completely gone, and the stairs that once climbed to the top of the tower abruptly ended after only five steps. At its highest point, the remaining walls rose to a mere 20 feet, with most barely reaching 15 feet.

  Yet, amid the disrepair, one thing caught Matt’s eye: at the base of the stairs was a gaping hole in the floor that, from his angle, appeared to harbor yet more steps. If that were true, this could mean there was a basement level hidden beneath the tower, and Matt couldn’t help but wonder what secrets might lie down there if the space was still intact. Convinced that he might as well hide down below if nothing else, he cautiously approached the opening and found that it indeed led to a descending path.

  With each step down, Matt had to concentrate on staying quiet and suppressing the pain from his wounds, which, although half-healed, no longer bled. As the darkness thickened to the point where he had to feel each step before trusting its solidity, a new tension rose within him. Part of his mind speculated that he was about to discover another entrance into the goblin city, while another feared he might encounter some horrific atrocity—though he almost expected nothing at all. Then, when he heard a soft whimper echoing through the darkness, he froze to let his eyes adjust.

  Initially, he entertained the thought that the sound might simply be the wind or a wounded animal. But neither explanation felt right. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he discovered that the room was mostly empty, save for a large stone table and two jail cells. Inside each cell, frightened women sat huddled together, their torn shirts attesting to their recent suffering. In that moment, Matt gulped at the realization that the pain he had inflicted while killing the bastards outside was far less than what they had inflicted upon the women before him. Yet, with the distant voices from above still echoing, he was uncertain of the best course of action.

  While his thoughts leaped to the worst imaginable scenarios regarding the six or seven women he could barely make out, he wasn't certain of their true condition. Even if his suspicions were correct, what could he do about it? In their current state—regardless of any injuries—it was unlikely they could flee through the forest. Yet, he could not simply stand by; as he slowly descended into the darkness, he spoke softly, "I am not with those who put you here, but they are close by. Please be quiet and tell me what has been done to you."

  A few pitiful whimpers arose before one of the women replied, "How insensitive can you be? It should be obvious what men would do to women kept in cages."

  Matt's tone remained steady as he asked, "I'm sorry, but do you know where the keys to your cells are?"

  "No, I just know that they're not in this room. Now, can you stop offering false hope and go find them?" she retorted harshly.

  Matt frowned at the woman's tone, though he knew he needed more information. Glancing carefully at the cell bars, he inquired, "Let me inspect the cells a bit more—could you tell me how you all ended up here?"

  "Our groups refused to join theirs, so we were taken prisoner while our own groups were wiped out," one woman explained in a shaky voice.

  "How many different groups did you come from?" he pressed.

  "Seven. We have no idea if anyone else from our groups is even alive," another replied with a note of despair.

  Matt shook his head, fighting the urge to turn back after dealing with the others previously. He knew it would be at least ten, if not twenty minutes before he felt ready for any more combat. Despite the grim situation, a small smile crept across his face when he successfully maneuvered one of the cell doors into his spatial storage. A few of the women gasped in amazement, only to be hushed by their companions. With a renewed sense of purpose, Matt moved on to the next cell, keenly aware that he had just discovered something that could be exploited.