The goblins shrieked, pounding closer, their crude weapons flashing in the torchlight. The sound of their feet was like a rising drumbeat, faster and faster.

  The elven huntress raised her bow, her voice ringing clear. “Archers! Loose!”

  Dozens of bowstrings twanged, and the night air buzzed with a hiss as a storm of arrows arced into the first ranks. Screams rose as almost two dozen goblins tumbled, tripping the goblins behind them. Blood spattered the ground. And still the wave came on, rushing towards the pits, the spears, and the men and women of Brindlecross who stood waiting, with their hearts pounding like hammers.

  The surviving goblins shrieked as they surged across the clearing, their feet drumming against the muddy ground. Those in front stumbled into the camouflaged pits, their screams cutting off in gurgles as sharpened stakes tore through their bodies. Others fell after them, pressing forward in blind momentum, until the creatures began to avoid the pits.

  Another volley of arrows flew into the oncoming goblins, felling over a dozen more.

  “Hold steady!” William roared, though his voice was drowned beneath the chaos. He braced himself, sword raised, every nerve taut.

  The remaining goblins split apart as some skidded to avoid the now visible pits, only to blunder into another row cunningly reset by the villagers. Bodies spilled into the earth with sickening cracks. But the traps could only take so many. The safe ground became more obvious, and the goblins came screaming through.

  A few more goblins were maimed by the foot-sized traps. The slingers managed three volleys of fast-moving stones this time, felling another half a dozen of the creatures before falling back to safety.

  “Now!” Sibrek bellowed, and with a battle cry, he swung his axe in a brutal arc, cleaving a goblin from shoulder to hip. “Drive ‘em back!”

  Spears thrust from behind the sharpened barricades, catching goblins in the gut and throat. Farmers shouted rallying cries as they pushed their makeshift weapons into the attacking force. Beside them, trained adventurers struck with deadly rhythm.

  Marie’s sword flashed, cleaving through two goblins in quick succession. Blood sprayed across her face, colouring the ends of her cropped blonde hair red, but she only gritted her teeth and pushed forward. “Keep your feet!” She shoved back a snarling goblin by punching it in the face. “They can’t break us if we don’t yield!”

  William stepped into the fray, his sword roaring to life in his grip. We can do this. The blade burned hot and bright, casting golden light across twisted faces. He cut one goblin down, then pivoted, cleaving through another. A third leapt for his throat, teeth snapping as he brought the blade up through its chest, fire hissing as it seared the flesh.

  [XP: +1]

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Fredric fought at his side, thrusting his spear deep into a goblin’s belly before wrenching it free. Another lunged at him, and William saw the opening. He swung, severing the creature’s arm before Fred’s spear finished the job. They moved together like parts of a single machine, villagers watching wide-eyed before finding the courage to match their pace.

  [Warning: Minor Fatigue 75%]

  A carpenter rammed his spear through a goblin’s chest, crying out in disbelief as the creature toppled. Another farmer swung his wood-axe clumsily, splitting a skull with a sickening crunch. Their faces were pale with terror, but their hands held firm.

  Still, not all could hold. Will watched two men falter, fear gripping them as they turned and fled for the village, leaving a gap in the line. Half a dozen fast-moving goblins caught up with the cowards and clawed and stabbed them to death with broken daggers.

  “Don’t falter!” the elven huntress cried from above, loosing arrows as fast as her fingers could move. Amra culled the six fast-moving goblins before they could cause any more deaths. Her arrows skewered more goblins that slipped past the defenders, dropping them before they could cause a problem. Yet still they came, clawing, screaming, and scrambling over the bodies of their dead.

  One goblin leapt high, clambering over the barricade. William met it with his blade, the fire cutting it clean in half. His muscles burned with the effort, but he forced himself to continue to fight.

  A cheer rose as the line held, and more goblins tumbled into the pits nearer the palisade, but Will didn’t join the cheer. His gaze looked past the carnage to the treeline, where the main horde still waited. The orc shamans—three of them—stood unmoved, their glowing war paint and staves pulsing like veins of fire in the dark.

  “They’re waiting for the right moment,” William muttered under his breath as a [XP: +1] notification drifted away.

  Marie heard him, her voice steady, “Then we make them wait longer than they ever imagined.”

  The line braced again as another shriek rose from the forest, sharper and deeper than goblin throats. The cannon fodder test was over.

  The last of the sacrificial goblins twitched in the pits, their shrieks fading into silence. William raised his head and stared at the tree line. The three orc shamans struck their staves upon the earth, a pulse of power rippling outward. Hundreds of goblins howled as one, the sound rolling through the clearing like a storm.

  “Here they come,” Sibrek growled, sweat, blood, and gore matting his red beard. His grip on his axe tightened. “This’ll be the one that breaks us, or breaks them.”

  Over four hundred goblins spilled from the tree line, their guttural screams mingling with the pounding of feet. They rushed in waves, crude blades glinting in the torchlight. Behind them came heavier shapes: a dozen war orcs—one was missing a foot from Nobby’s mines. Each orc was the size of two men, their reinforced clubs studded with iron.

  At their rear lumbered six trolls, even larger than the orcs; their pale grey skin took on an orange hue in the torchlight, their hulking bodies twisted with scars. They carried no weapons, for they had no need for them. As they walked towards the defenders, they chewed on goblin corpses to satiate their constant hunger for flesh.

  “Gods preserve us,” muttered a farmer, his knuckles white on the haft of his spear.

  “Save yer prayers,” Sibrek snapped. “Swing true instead.”

  Arrows hissed from the walls, cutting down the first goblins. The spike traps claimed a few dozen more, wooden spikes stabbing through ankles and legs with wet crunches. Nobby’s exploding mines maimed even more. Screams rose as creatures fell thrashing, but the mass behind didn’t slow. They avoided the already exposed pits or trampled over their own injured and dead, driving forward with a frenzy that threatened to smother everything in its path.

  At the forest’s edge, Pip, the catkin rogue, moved like shadows as she dropped from a tree amongst the goblin warband.

  "It has been said, never bring a knife to a gunfight, but what happens when you bring a gun to a sword fight?"

  Ozzy Irman had always considered himself something of an explorer. Never in all of his wildest dreams however did he think he'd end up in another world. Hell, he still hadn't made it to Yellowstone.

  But when the unthinkable happens, and he finds himself face down cheeks up in a swamp full of monsters he knows something has gone terribly wrong with life. Armed with nothing save his rapidly fraying wits and *cough* an arsenal of magical firearms *cough* he must eke out a place for himself in a world full of magic, corruption, and Gods.

  ?? Great for readers who enjoyed He Who Fights With Monsters, Vigil's Wrath, The Ten Realms Series, and other isekai/flintlock fantasy stories.

  Chapter 030 [Pip’s POV: The Quiet Knife]