CHAPTER 217: DEFIANCE

I froze at the accusation, her trembling finger still pointed at me. Me?

"It’s because of him!" she shouted again, her voice raw and cracking. "Because of him, I can never make my father acknowledge me!"

I let out a long sigh. Seriously—a goblin with daddy issues.

"That’s unfortunate," I said evenly, my tone measured. "Really, it is. But you have to accept that you’ll never get that chance again. He’s gone."

Nira snapped her head toward me, eyes wide with disbelief, as if silently telling me to stop talking. To her, I sounded cruel, insensitive even. But I wasn’t here to comfort anyone.

Zivra needed to face reality. This world didn’t spare time for grief. Those who spent too long mourning ended up as corpses themselves. Survival demanded detachment.

"Why?" I asked, turning to Nira, unbothered by her glare. "You know it’s the truth."

The moment those words left my mouth, Zivra shot to her feet. Her movements were sharp, fueled by anger rather than reason. In one swift motion, she pulled a small blade from beneath her garment and leveled it at me, her hands trembling.

"Shut up!" she screamed. "One more word... one more word and I’ll slit your throat!"

Her voice cracked under the weight of emotion, but the rage in her eyes was real. The sound of her threat echoed through the clearing, and in an instant, silence swallowed everything else.

Every goblin froze where they stood. Even the wind seemed to hesitate. None of them could comprehend what they were seeing—someone daring to raise a weapon at me. The tension thickened, their eyes darting between her and me, waiting to see how I’d respond.

I won’t lie—I was taken aback for a second.

Not out of fear, obviously, but surprise.

Still, I recognized it for what it was.

Pain, confusion, and grief twisted into defiance.

She wasn’t acting out of courage; she was drowning, and anger was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely.

But she needed to understand something. As brave—or foolish—as her actions were, there was a line she couldn’t afford to cross.

I glanced at the blade she was pointing at me, its tip shaking slightly.

"Why?" I asked calmly. "You want to come at me? Go ahead."

She gritted her teeth, her shoulders tensed, the blade in her hands trembling so much it was a wonder she hadn’t dropped it.

"Don’t worry," I said, taking a slow step forward. "If you come at me, you might die... or you might not. Depends on my mood. So go ahead."

"Chief," Ariel called out from behind me, her tone sharp and irritated. "Why are you wasting time on that little girl—goblin, whatever she is? She’s not worth it."

"Stay quiet," I said without looking back. "And stay behind Gork. That’s an order."

Gork stiffened instantly. He didn’t hesitate after that; he stepped back, his face pale, fully aware that disobedience meant death after the oath he’d just sworn minutes ago.

"Don’t do anything stupid, Zivra. Drop the blade," Nira said, her voice soft but urgent, a hint of pleading slipping through her composure.

Zivra didn’t move. Her jaw tightened, her eyes fixed on me, unwavering despite the tremor in her hands.

"Ziv... please," Talia added, her tone careful, almost trembling. "Don’t do it. Just sit down."

But Zivra wasn’t listening.

"It seems," I said slowly, watching her every twitch, "that you have a desire that can only be eased by drawing my blood." I tilted my head slightly, my voice calm, deliberate. "I can respect that. So go ahead. Come at me. I’ll accommodate it."

The words hung between us, heavy and sharp.

But she still didn’t move. She stood there caught between fury and fear, her arm stiff, her breathing uneven.

"Are you afraid?" I asked quietly.

Her eyes widened for a brief second, and she took a single step forward—then froze, her courage faltering. The same foot slid back almost immediately, dragging across the dirt. Sweat had begun to form on her brow, glistening under the dim light, betraying the fear she refused to admit.

I took a slow step toward her, my tone calm, almost coaxing. "You can make your father proud right now," I said. "Attack me. End my life. Go on."

Still, she didn’t move. Her grip on the blade tightened, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground.

"Didn’t you want your father to acknowledge you?" I pressed, my voice sharper this time.

Her head jerked slightly at that, her focus snapping back to me. I could see the conflict flashing behind her eyes—the pain, the rage, the hesitation all tangled together.

"Then do it," I said, raising my voice just enough for everyone to hear. "Try to do what your weak father couldn’t. Maybe his offspring will finally manage to succeed where he failed."

That broke her.

Her eyes widened, and with a furious scream, she lunged forward.

Nira shouted, reaching out to grab her, but Zivra was already moving. She was faster than expected—her small frame cutting through the air, the blade gleaming as she closed the distance between us in a heartbeat.

And then she stabbed.

CLANG!

The sound rang out sharp and cold, echoing through the clearing. Her blade had stopped mid-strike—frozen inches from my skin.

Zivra’s eyes widened in disbelief, her hands trembling as she tried to push the weapon forward, but it wouldn’t move. It was as if an invisible wall held it in place.

The others gasped, covering their mouths, their faces pale with shock. None of them could believe she had actually done it—that she’d dared to attack me. Even Nira stood motionless, caught between fear and disbelief.

Zivra strained against the resistance, her small arms shaking from the effort. "Why... why isn’t it—" she began, her voice faltering.

I leaned in slowly until my face was just inches from hers. She flinched, but I didn’t stop. I let her see the calm in my eyes, the composure that made her rage seem childish.

"Didn’t you say you wanted to slit my throat?" I said, my voice low but steady.

Then I...