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Goblin Chapter 50: Surviving
🕑 Added 2025-07-20 19:43:58 +0000 UTC“Watch out! A monster’s coming!”
The moment Gauss confirmed the approaching figure wasn’t human, he immediately shouted a warning to the others, who were still focused on looting the water ghoul corpses.
Meva was the second to spot it. After Gauss's alert, she quickly locked onto the figure approaching across the riverbank.
“A ghoul...? No—it’s stronger. That might be a ghast.”
The second she got a clear look, her calm heartbeat suddenly began to race.
“What are you talking about? Didn’t we just wipe out the water ghouls?” Doyle hadn't caught on yet.
He followed her line of sight—and when he saw what she was talking about, he immediately jumped to his feet, face pale as a sheet.
Unlike water ghouls, ghouls and ghasts were monsters that only professional adventurers could realistically handle.
Everyone immediately dropped what they were doing, grabbed their gear, and regrouped. An anxious tension filled the air.
Water ghouls were easy prey, but ghouls—especially ghasts—were in a completely different league. For most rookie adventurers, running into one meant game over.
And this one didn’t look like some sloppy brute either—it had the build and bearing of a seasoned warrior.
“Don’t panic. I don’t think it’s here to attack us,” Meva said after watching it for a few moments.
She pointed out that the creature was walking up to them in the open—no attempt at stealth or ambush. That suggested it wasn’t looking for a fight.
Even though ghouls were serious threats, they weren’t brainless. They’d avoid danger if they could. And the six of them were decently geared.
Most importantly—the twenty or so rotting water ghoul corpses lying on the ground were probably more than enough of a meal.
“Yeah... it probably just wants us to leave,” Gauss agreed, putting the pieces together.
The missing water ghouls from earlier? It all made sense now—they were likely killed by this thing.
That realization calmed everyone slightly, though they still kept their weapons ready.
“Don’t turn and run,” Laevin warned, sweat pouring down his forehead. “It might take that as aggression. Back away slowly—but be ready for a fight.”
The ghoul’s movements seemed sluggish at first, but in just a few steps, it was nearly on top of them.
“LEAVE. LEAVE NOW!”
The creature raised its head, red eyes glowing like embers. Its tongue lashed the air as it growled in broken Common.
The raspy, gutteral voice sounded more like a sick dog growling than anything human.
Whether it was the creature’s horrific appearance or the sheer predatory pressure it radiated, Gauss actually felt sick just hearing it speak—as if something inside him was being corrupted.
Sweat trickled down everyone’s faces. The monster’s presence alone felt like it came from another plane of existence.
“Are... are we fighting this thing?” Doyle's voice trembled, his grip on his sword unsteady, though he still looked to his teammates for a decision.
“No—we’re leaving.”
No hesitation. Gauss and the others all came to the same conclusion.
Sure, Gauss had just leveled up, gotten a new spell (Mage Armor), and his agility stat had increased... but that didn’t mean he was ready to take on this.
And honestly? There was no reason to.
If it came to a fight, they might win—but they’d take massive losses.
Retreat wasn’t cowardice. It was smart.
Doyle let out a long breath of relief.
The group slowly backed away, weapons in hand, keeping their eyes on the monster.
Meva took rear guard, eyes scanning the terrain in case this was an ambush.
But no trap ever came. Even after they had retreated dozens of meters, the ghoul didn’t chase—it simply walked up to the corpses and began devouring them hungrily.
Only after they’d put enough distance between themselves and the creature did the party turn and rush back toward the village.
…
“Hah—”
The warm glow of lanterns spilled across the streets.
Back in civilization, surrounded by light and people, the party finally relaxed.
Their breathing was ragged, their chests heaving with adrenaline and relief.
“We’re... alive!”
Oliver wiped the sweat from his forehead and smiled with the giddy relief of someone who’d just cheated death. No shame in that.
They were rookies—unranked adventurers without class paths. Escaping from a ghoul was practically a miracle.
And in a tavern setting? That’d make one hell of a drinking story.
“Pffft. What’s the big deal?” Doyle straightened his back and tried to act cool. “I wasn’t even scared. If you guys hadn’t said to retreat, I’d have been ready to fight.”
“If your hand wasn’t shaking like a leaf, I might believe you.” Meva shot him a deadpan glare.
Gauss followed her gaze—yep, Doyle’s hands were still trembling noticeably.
Whether it was from fatigue or sheer terror was anyone’s guess, but it made his bluff fall completely flat.
“I-It’s from running. I’m tired. That’s all!” Doyle muttered, trying to save face.
“Alright, let’s head to the tavern and report this to Harvey,” Laevin said, getting back on track.
The danger might have passed for now, but the threat of the ghoul still loomed.
They’d been lucky. The ghoul hadn’t been hungry enough to hunt them—but what about next time? What about the villagers?
Someone needed to inform the locals so they could decide whether to post a formal bounty.
Also, the team hadn’t finished collecting all the water ghoul loot. They were missing enough ears to fully claim the bounty—they’d have to explain that too.
…
They arrived at the Mermaid Tavern, the only watering hole in town.
At night, the place was even livelier than during the day.
Tankard-swinging traders with big beards toasted loudly. Sailors yelled numbers as they rattled dice. A shirtless, hairy-chested man danced drunkenly in the middle of the hall.
It was chaos. Glorious, drunken chaos.
Creeaakk—
The tavern door slammed open with a boot kick.
Even before the group stepped inside, a foul wave of fishy stench swept in like a plague.
A drunk who had been slumped lazily near the door bolted upright, startled by the noise. He wrinkled his nose, face turning red in disgust.
“Ugh! Who let in the damn sewer rats?! Get outta here!”
SMACK!
Before the drunk could swing, his arm was caught—gripped tightly by a strong hand.
Everyone turned to look.
There, illuminated in the doorway by pale moonlight, stood a group of battered, blood-stained adventurers.
Their armor was filthy. Guts and bile clung to the seams. Gore, sludge, and things that shouldn’t have names were stuck to their clothes and weapons.
In that moment, they didn’t look like heroes—they looked like they’d just crawled out of hell.
The entire tavern went dead silent. It was like someone had pressed mute on the whole room.
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