The Skeleton Soldier Failed to Defend the Dungeon
Chapter 66. Victory of Humanity (6)

Chapter 66. Victory of Humanity (6)

[The duration of Dash has ended.]

Dash had lasted ten minutes, and during that time, I dealt with twenty men. Although the skill duration had ended, I was fine. The situation was completely under control.

All the men had fired arrows, which only went through the empty spaces between my bones. The weapons they had prepared were the worst possible match against me. Even without the resistance, arrows were a poor weapon to use against a skeleton.

Of course, my victory wasn't purely due to favorable compatibility. It was also a testament to how much stronger I'd become. Gone were the days when I barely survived, broken and lucky to rise again without so much as a coffin to lie in.

As a mere Lv. 1 Skeleton Soldier, I couldn't even handle one goblin back then. Now, I had wiped out a horde of humans exploiting those goblins.

I glanced down at the corpses strewn across the floor. Whether they had charged at me with maces and shields instead of crossbows, the outcome would have been the same. It might have been more labor-intensive, and I'd have taken more damage, but I was certain of my victory.

"T-this way..."

The three men who surrendered bowed deeply, wearing pitiful expressions as they led the way. I remembered the cruel smiles on their faces from just an hour ago as they bludgeoned other bandits to death with iron clubs.

Their current expressions overlapped with those memories. The human facade was complex. Their outward expressions and attitudes shifted dramatically depending on the situation. In contrast, their inner workings remained simple. Their logic was always painfully clear: exploit and punish the weak while groveling and currying favor with the strong.

Pondering these thoughts, I casually addressed the men leading the way. "I'd like to hear a little more from you."

The men flinched as they answered, "Y-yes, of course! Ask us anything!"

Slime didn't assign me this request by coincidence. I suspected that he hadn't received this request from someone but had created it himself. He knew I was curious about the Necron Shrine Society, and this was his way of helping me. He had set me up to deal with the organization's lowest ranks. I had to make the most of this opportunity.

"Tell me everything you know about our organization."

"Uh... well..."

By "our organization," I meant the Necron Shrine Society. Of course, I wasn't an inspector for the Necron Shrine Society. I knew it, and so did they.

But maybe, just maybe, they hope otherwise?

My blunt question made them squirm nervously.

I pressed on and rattled off the details I'd learned from Yublam's former innkeeper. "The Necron Shrine Society is a human-trafficking group with branches in every major city."

"..."

"They enjoy putting insects in people's ears during torture, dabble in contract killings and drug manufacturing, and they've infiltrated the guard."

That was the extent of my knowledge.

One of the men hiccuped. "Hic!"

Another cautiously added, "You... seem to know everything already. We really don't know much more than that."

My sword rang out as I drew it, and the men's faces turned pale as death. They had just seen me slaughter seventeen of their comrades. Their terrified eyes seemed to imagine that I could easily leave them in a half-dead state.

I wasn't particularly skilled in torture, but given their past actions, the three before me were definitely skilled. Their trembling confirmed as much.

One of them pleaded, "W-we're not even official members! I swear, it's true!"

Another exclaimed, "The inspector is coming soon! He'll know more than us! If you're planning to trap him, we'll help you!"

Clink.

I chuckled softly. "Why is the inspector coming?"

"Uh, um... to establish a distribution route for the bloodstones. To connect us with alchemists... High-ranking alchemists would never meet with lowly people like us directly."

Alchemists, huh...

Elite alchemists typically worked directly for wizards or assisted them. Although they didn't possess raw magical power, their skills were valued at the highest levels of society, and they carried immense pride. Unlike magic, which required a connection to the Arcane, anyone could theoretically attempt alchemy. Even street alchemists making energy tonics held their noses high.

Hmm...

"Fine. What about the men deeper inside? Do they know anything?"

"There are ten of them, but they don't know much either. The squad leader is an arsonist. He is an empty-headed brute who only likes setting fires and torturing people."

The scar-faced man knocked his own head as if to emphasize its hollowness.

"Squad leader?" I asked.

"Yes... Three squads rotate shifts, with ten men per squad. Two squads are resting, while the third is currently inside hunting."

The first two squads were already sprawled on the cold dungeon floor, resting as corpses.

I gestured for the three to lead the way. "Let's go."

As we advanced deeper, the space gradually opened up. The ceiling and walls stretched wider. There was no sky, but to my surprise, vegetation had grown within the cave. The ground was littered with massacred goblin corpses.

I said, "There are only corpses here."

The three men trembled slightly as if they expected me to punish them for the slaughter they had committed. Of course, I had no such intention.

One of the men stuttered, "Th-those are from the group I mentioned earlier..."

"..."

I ignored their useless excuses, and we walked further. The crackling sound of something cooking reached my ears, accompanied by murmurs.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of an arrow being fired.

Whiz! Thwack!

Screech!

A scream echoed through the air, raw and guttural as if it had come straight from the heart. I turned my gaze in that direction. A man grinned smugly while aiming his bow at a tree.

Then I shifted my gaze to the tree. A goblin, bound tightly to the tree, could not move, and writhed against its restraints. An arrow protruded from its shoulder, and it twisted in pain, tears streaming from its bloodshot eyes.

The goblin glared fiercely at the surrounding humans. If its gaze alone could kill, every human there would have dropped dead while clutching their chests. But its glare was weak.

The archer nocked another arrow.

Whiz! Thwack!

That arrow pierced the goblin's other shoulder.

"Aaaaaargh!"

Clap, clap, clap!

A man roasting meat nearby applauded mockingly. "Oh, nice shot!"

The archer and the goblin were barely twenty steps apart. Such a short-range shot didn't deserve applause. I quietly observed the goblin tied to the tree.

The flesh on its head was torn, and its shoulders bled from the embedded arrows. Its body was covered in wounds—not injuries sustained in battle, but slow, deliberate knife cuts.

Hmm...

More than the wounds, the goblin's overall appearance that caught my attention first.

A hobgoblin.

The goblin tied to the tree looked different from the corpses scattered on the ground. Its skin was a deeper shade of green, and its teeth were neatly aligned. It stood much taller, nearly the height of an adult human.

Its eyes were clear, not cloudy, resembling those of the long-extinct elves more than a typical goblin's. The hobgoblin was a higher-ranking species. I had encountered one before, albeit rarely. They were significantly more intelligent and stronger than regular goblins as they possessed exceptional regenerative abilities and overall potential.

The current situation proved this. A normal goblin would have succumbed to those injuries long ago, but this hobgoblin, while not as resilient as a troll, displayed remarkable vitality.

The hobgoblin groaned.

Grrrr... Grrrrr...

With their superior intelligence, hobogoblins also had impressive language acquisition capacity. However, this one said nothing to the humans tormenting it. The hobogooblin most likely knew they were not worth reasoning with. Speaking to humans would only increase its suffering and humiliation—a judgment worthy of royalty among goblins.

A different cry echoed.

Roaaar! Roaaar!

The sound came from a large cage opposite the tree. About ten goblins were inside.

Roooaaarrr!!!

They howled at the sight of the hobgoblin tied to the tree, their eyes brimming with tears.

A spear-wielding man standing near the cage threatened the goblins, gesturing to his own chest. "Quiet down! Or else, I'll shoot its heart out this time, you hear?"

Amazingly, the rowdy goblins fell silent.

"Wow, that's incredible. They shut up just like that. Is it some kind of goblin king or something?"

"Ah, you're new, huh? Every time you shoot at that one, the others go berserk. But the moment you threaten to kill it, they calm right down."

"Heh heh... Yeah, it's hilarious. They just sit quietly, waiting to die one by one. Earlier, we even cut off that one's ear..."

Whack!

The man who appeared to be the squad leader barked at them. "Hey, you idiots! Shut up and cook the meat properly. It's too tough when overcooked! Don't you know it's sweeter with some blood left?"

They were roasting goblin meat drained of blood over the fire.

Hunting and eating often went hand in hand, so it wasn't an unusual sight. Freshly hunted meat was as fresh as it could get.

Of course, I had never heard that goblin meat was particularly tasty. They seemed to be demonstrating some twisted form of humanity in front of the goblins.

Finally, someone at their feast noticed us. "Boss, over there!"

The archer, who had half-drawn his bow, lowered it slightly. The squad leader approached slowly, his face filled with suspicion.

He addressed the scar-faced man. "Huh? It's not even time for the shift change yet. Why are you here? Got tired of work early?"

The scar-faced man responded naturally, gauging the situation. "Oh, I'm just out for a stroll. How about you?"

"Well, we're just relaxing, eating some meat, doing some shooting practice. But why are you empty-handed? And who's this guy?"

I tossed my identification card at them and answered, "Inspector."

"Huh? Inspector?"

The squad leader caught the card and frowned. "What's with all those arrows stuck in your armor, Inspector? What are they, decorations? Let's see your face."

Chewing on a piece of meat, he approached with an air of hostility and suspicion—a natural reaction. It made sense to verify my identity first. His response differed from the scar-faced man's.

The one I had met on the road had been excessively friendly—not because he trusted me, but because he wanted to lure me into a trap. It had been a good act. He knew Benson Pretcher and recognized that anyone presenting Pretcher's ID wasn't to be trifled with.

The man in front of me knew none of that.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Take off your helmet," he commanded.

Swoosh.

He reached for my helmet. The three men who had been guiding me gulped audibly.

Thud.

I grabbed his wrist because his touch irritated me.

I didn't mind if my identity was exposed, because I intended to deal with all of them anyway. There would be no witnesses left. However, I couldn't tolerate anyone touching the keepsake armor that Rubia had left behind.

The man said, "What the hell?"

I hissed, "Don't touch it."

"Ugh!"

Veins bulged on his forehead as he strained against my grip. However, his efforts were futile. His Strength was clearly under 20.

"Hey! Surround him, now!"

The others hesitated for a moment before aiming their weapons at me. Slowly, they began closing in, tightening the encirclement.

Fwoosh!

Suddenly, the scar-faced man bolted forward with a desperate shout. "Waaaahhhh!"