Chapter 388 And as the world faded to black, the goblin’s last thought was of them—his little ones—and the hope that they would survive.

The goblin’s body jerked and twitched with every punch, his cries of pain growing weaker with each strike. His vision blurred, his mind screaming for it to end. But the bandits showed no mercy, their fists raining down on him with brutal force.

The bandits finally decided they had enough of their twisted game. The goblin lay broken and barely conscious at their feet, his body trembling with the last vestiges of strength. His swollen belly, now grotesquely deflated, was a mess of blood, filth, and shattered eggs. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle.

“Alright, boys,” the lead bandit said, his voice cold and devoid of any humanity.

“Let’s finish this little rat off. He’s had enough fun.”

One of them drew a blade, its edge glinting in the moon light as he raised it high. The goblin, barely conscious, pried open one of his brutally swollen eyes, the world a blur of pain and shadows. He saw the blade hovering above him, poised to strike, and a strange sense of relief washed over him. At least it would be over soon.

But just as the blade began its descent, a flash of steel cut through the air. The bandit’s eyes widened in shock as his head was cleanly severed from his shoulders, tumbling to the ground with a sickening thud. His body stood frozen for a moment before collapsing in a heap, blood gushing from the stump of his neck.

The second bandit barely had time to react before another swing of the blade arced through the air, slicing deep into his chest. He staggered back, his hands clutching at the gaping wound as he fell to his knees, his blood spilling onto the dirt.

The third bandit fumbled for his sword, his face pale with terror. But before he could even draw his weapon, a blade pierced through his stomach, the tip emerging from his back. He gasped, his eyes wide with shock, as the sword twisted and withdrew, leaving him to crumple to the ground.

The goblin, trembling and broken, pried open his swollen eye again, his vision blurred with pain and tears. Through the haze, he saw David standing over him, his sword dripping with the blood of the bandits. David’s expression was cold and unreadable, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light.

“Pathetic amateurs,” David muttered, flicking the blood from his blade.

He stepped over the bodies of the bandits, his boots crunching on the dirt as he approached the goblin. The goblin flinched, his body instinctively curling in on itself as he braced for more pain. But David simply crouched down, his gaze sweeping over the goblin’s broken form.

“You’re a mess. But you’re still breathing. That’s something.”

The goblin stared up at him, his breaths coming in gasps. He tried to speak, to beg for mercy, but all that came out was a weak, gurgling sound.

David sighed, sheathing his sword.

“Don’t waste your breath. I'm not going to kill you, I'm not kind enough to put you out of your misery. You still can be useful.”

David leaned down, his shadow falling over the broken, trembling form of the goblin. The small creature flinched, his sunken eyes wide with fear as he tried to crawl away. But his body was too broken, too shattered to move quickly. His arms and legs were twisted at unnatural angles, his skin bruised and torn, as if he had been tossed into a blender and left to bleed out.

The goblin’s movements were slow and labored as he dragged himself across the ground with his elbows. His scrawny legs, broken and useless, trailed behind him, leaving smears of blood and filth in the dirt. His hands, swollen and mangled, clawed weakly at the ground as he inched forward, his eyes fixed on the puddle of filth and broken eggs that lay a few feet away.

His focus was entirely on the eggs, his trembling hands reaching out to sift through the mess. He ignored the pain that shot through his body with every movement, his determination overriding his broken state. His broken fingers, slick with blood and filth, shifted through the shattered shells and viscous fluid, searching for any that might still be intact.

Finally, his hands closed around a few eggs that had miraculously survived. They were small and fragile, their shells unbroken despite the violence that had surrounded them. The goblin let out a weak, shuddering breath, his eyes filling with tears as he clutched the eggs to his chest.

With the last of his strength, he rolled onto his back, his body trembling with the effort. His hands, shaking and weak, moved to his lower body, where his anus—bruised and torn—still gaped slightly from the earlier assault. The goblin’s breath hitched as he pushed the eggs back inside, one by one, his movements slow and gentle despite the agony it caused him.

“There…” he whispered, “There… you’re safe now… back where you belong…”

His body convulsed as the last egg was pushed inside, his strength finally giving out. His hands fell limply to his sides. His eyes, filled with pain and exhaustion, fluttered shut as he finally succumbed to the darkness, his body going still.

The goblin lay motionless, his body broken but his final act one of desperate, selfless love. The eggs, safe once more inside him, were all that mattered. And as the world faded to black, the goblin’s last thought was of them—his little ones—and the hope that they would survive.

David reached down, his movements surprisingly gentle as he lifted the goblin into his arms. The goblin winced, his body trembling with pain, but he didn’t resist. He was too weak, too broken to do anything but cling to the faint hope that David might actually save him.

David carried him back to the wagon and carefully laid the goblin down onto the rough wooden floor. The small creature whimpered, his broken body trembling as he curled in on himself. His face was a mess of bruises and dried blood, his once-dull green skin now marred with deep scratches and forming welts. His swollen belly, already heavy with eggs, rose and fell rapidly with his shaky breaths.

Olivia, standing nearby, wiped the blood of the bandits from her sword with a cloth, her sharp eyes flicking toward David as he walked by. She sheathed her blade and approached, her eyes narrowed as she took in the goblin’s condition. His distended belly was bruised and swollen, his skin mottled with cuts and bruises. His face, though barely recognizable, was etched with pain.

“What happened to that poor little guy? Don’t tell me you did this. Helen told me how you used to treat Hermit. I hope this isn’t your doing.”

“What? No, I saved him from the bandits. They must’ve snatched him while we were fighting—or maybe he just up and ran. You know how unreasonable these creatures are. Either way, they really beat him up good.”

Olivia’s eyes softened as she stepped closer to the carriage, her gaze lingering on the goblin’s broken form. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his forehead, feeling the heat of his feverish skin. 

“Poor thing. He’s in bad shape.”

David leaned against the wagon, his arms crossed as he watched her. 

“Yeah, well, he’s alive. That’s more than I can say for the bandits.”

Olivia shot him a sharp look, her tone firm.

 “Lay him down properly. I’ve seen goblins treat their own after we raided the breeding farms. I’ll try to ease his pain. He might still survive if we act quickly.”

The goblin whimpered weakly as Olivia worked, his frail body twitching with every touch. His dull bloodshot eyes were half-lidded, barely able to stay open, but every so often, a sharp jolt of pain would make them widen, only for exhaustion to drag them shut again.

His body was a mess—covered in filth, blood, and old bruises that mixed with the fresh ones from his brutal handling. Olivia didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a rag, dipped it in water, and began wiping away the grime. The water turned murky as she cleaned the dried blood caked on his sunken cheeks, the bruises underneath dark and angry against his sickly green skin. She tried to be gentle, but every touch made him flinch, his breath hitching with each pass of the rag. His tiny fingers curled weakly against the wood beneath him, his body shivering despite the warm night air.

When she reached his limbs, she let out a frustrated sigh.

 “They really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

 His arms and legs were swollen, twisted unnaturally from the breaks. If she didn’t set them right, they would heal crooked—if he even survived long enough to heal.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned, though she doubted he understood.

She took a deep breath, placed her hands on his broken arm, and pulled.

The goblin let out a choked scream, his voice cracking in agony. His tiny body arched, but he was too weak to fight, too feeble to resist as Olivia gritted her teeth and forced the bone back into place. His screams faded into pitiful whimpers, tears leaking from his swollen eyes. His breath came in quick, panicked gasps, his body wracked with shudders.

Olivia moved to his leg next, her hands steady. Another sharp pull—another scream. His tiny fingers clawed at the wooden floor, his body convulsing from the pain. But there was nothing to be done except finish the work.

When she was done, she reached for a handful of small sticks, tying them around his limbs with torn strips of cloth to act as splints. They weren’t perfect, but they would keep his bones from shifting too much.

His chest heaved, his breath shallow and wheezy. Sweat clung to his skin, his face now pale despite the bruising. 

She grabbed the waterskin, lifting his head gently. 

“Come on, drink.”

His lips barely parted, but she tilted the waterskin just enough for a few drops to slip past. He coughed weakly, his throat struggling to swallow, but she kept at it—slowly, carefully—until he had enough to wet his parched mouth.