"Aaaaaaah——!!!"

The gut-wrenching scream of the big-nosed goblin shattered the forest's tranquility like a stone thrown into a stagnant pond.

This shriek pierced through the sparse trees, reaching a patch of low shrubs outside the forest.

There crouched another team of over a dozen goblins, led by a slightly more experienced goblin with a scarred face.

They were idly chewing on some foul-smelling roots, waiting for their companions inside to investigate the situation.

When the scream came, the scar-faced goblin jumped in fright, nearly choking on the root in its mouth.

It spat irritably, stood up cursing, ready to teach that alarmist fool who had exposed their position a lesson.

"Which idiot is screaming! Trying to..." Its curses abruptly stopped.

They saw a short green figure tumbling out of the woods—the goblin missing half an ear.

Its face was twisted with fear, snot and tears smeared all over, crawling on all fours, practically scraping the ground as it emerged.

The scar-faced goblin froze for a moment, anger rising in its heart, about to curse this disgraceful waste.

Neigh——!!!

A terrifying neigh with soul-shaking echoes rang out from the forest like an icy death knell.

Immediately after, a tall, horrifying shadow pushed through the sparse foliage, appearing behind the fleeing half-eared goblin.

It was a skeletal warhorse burning with ethereal blue soulfire.

Mounted on its back was a death knight clad in tattered armor, the tip of his lance slowly dripping dark green blood, having mercilessly impaled the earless goblin clean through.

Then his hollow eye sockets locked onto the goblin squad behind the shrubs.

The ethereal blue soulfire flickered violently. Though expressionless, the icy killing intent seemed to freeze the very air.

"Eeeek——!!!"

The scar-faced goblin, shrouded in the shadow of death, lost all reason instantly, letting out a short, sharp scream.

Scouting missions, swamp reconnaissance—all were thrown to the wind.

Without hesitation, it turned and fled desperately toward the darker forest to the west.

The other goblins in the squad snapped to their senses, letting out terrified wails, following closely behind, scrambling and tumbling toward the western swamp.

Arthur reined in his burning warhorse, not immediately giving chase.

He lowered his head slightly, speaking quietly to his cold breastplate, "Your Majesty, please grant me leave from the kingdom's border to eradicate these evil creatures defiling life."

A small blob of translucent gel emerged with a "pop" from a crevice in his breastplate.

It stood on Arthur's cold sternum, its soft voice carrying authority.

"Of course, Arthur. Protecting nature's order and eliminating evil creatures is also part of the trial."

"As you command, Your Majesty."

The ethereal blue soulfire in Arthur's eye sockets, which had merely been flickering, suddenly surged violently as if doused with boiling oil.

Neigh——!

The skeletal warhorse beneath him, seeming to sense the knight's rage and will, let out an even more piercing neigh.

Its four hooves stamped hard, leaving burning scorch marks on the soil with its hard hoof bones.

The next moment, this undead warhorse ignited by soulfire accelerated abruptly like an ethereal blue arrow released from its bow.

No fancy charging techniques, only the most primitive, direct knightly charge.

Thump!

The goblin at the rear didn't even have time to look back before it was instantly pierced through its scrawny body by the bone lance striking from behind.

It let out only a short "urk" before being flung away by the immense impact, tossed aside like a ragdoll, crashing into a tree, falling silent.

"Spare us! Have mercy!"

The goblins fleeing for their lives ahead heard their companion's gruesome death, terrified out of their wits, crying and begging for mercy in their shrill goblin tongue as they ran.

"We shouldn't have trespassed into your territory!"

Arthur silently withdrew his lance, his cold soulfire locking onto the next target.

His voice came through his visor, low, serious, tinged with confusion and anger.

"You... stepped on my flowers!"

Flowers?

The fleeing goblins froze, nearly tripping over their own feet.

He chased them out not for territory, but for... those useless colored weeds?!

An excuse! This was definitely an excuse!

A pretext for this death knight's bloodlust!

The goblins' hearts filled with despair at being toyed with.

Thump! Slash!

The bone lance swung again—either precise thrusts or brutal sweeps—each movement claiming a filthy life.

Where the burning undead warhorse trod, only scorched hoofprints and impaled goblin corpses remained.

Piercing screams rose and fell at the forest's edge, quickly fading into silence.

...

Western Swamp.

Here the trees were taller and denser, their canopies blocking out the sky, with extremely faint light, almost no sunlight visible beneath the crowns.

Only some luminous fungi growing beside rotting tree roots occasionally emitted specks of ethereal blue spores, drifting slowly in the darkness like will-o'-the-wisps, providing the only light source.

At that moment, a panicked goblin was desperately fleeing inward, frantically bumping into a cluster of slowly drifting spores.

The spores scattered like disturbed fireflies.

Amid these dreamlike ethereal blue specks, a lance burning with cold soulfire, like the fangs of death, silently pierced through its back, emerging from its chest.

The goblin's movements instantly froze, the fear in its eyes forever etched, impaled on the lance tip like a tattered banner.

Arthur slowly withdrew his lance, the goblin's body sliding softly to the ground.

He reined in his burning warhorse, remaining in place, silently watching the small corpse rapidly losing warmth on the ground.

The last goblin was dead.

But the shattered golden color still lingered in his mind, an indescribable sadness slowly spreading in his lost heart.

He seemed somewhat... desolate.

Or empty.

Just then, the little slime poked its head out.

"Arthur, there are more goblins peeking ahead."

The soulfire in Arthur's eye sockets flickered as he slowly looked up ahead.

"Run!"

Several terrified shrieks rang out, accompanied by the sound of bushes being frantically pushed aside.

A new round of pursuit began...

After crushing the last goblin's ribcage, the Western Swamp finally returned to complete silence, leaving only the faint crackle of the undead warhorse's burning soulfire and the smells of scorching and blood hanging in the air.

Arthur stood in the messy forest clearing, looking around.

Unconsciously, night had fallen, but the dense canopy blocked everything, with almost no moon visible when looking up.

He remained silent for a moment, then spoke to the slime on his chest, "Your Majesty, I think... I'm lost."

The little slime bounced slightly on his breastplate, its voice very calm.

Lost?

In his dictionary, there was no such thing as getting lost.

It seemed Arthur still underestimated his slime king.

"Don't worry, with me guiding you, you just need to follow these scorched marks and goblin corpses back the way we came to return to the territory."

Arthur nodded, completely convinced.

His Majesty was always full of wisdom, much like Count Bran.

"Yes, Your Majesty, following your guidance."

He turned his horse around, carefully identifying the scorch marks on the ground to return.

Half an hour later.

Arthur, leading his warhorse, pushed aside a dense cluster of large fungal leaves.

Before him appeared an extremely familiar old tree, its trunk clearly marked with a cross-shaped notch.

It was a mark he had made to prevent getting lost.

But it seemed... it hadn't worked.

They had returned to the same spot.

Arthur stood under the old tree, his hollow eye sockets fixed on that familiar notch, falling into prolonged silence.

On his breastplate, the little slime was also quiet, its gel surface slightly undulating as if lost in self-doubt.

Could it be...

That Arthur's talent for getting lost was contagious?