Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

But Amon was not so easily ended.

Snarling through the pain, he slammed his free hand into the ground and activated the vine talisman.

The earth split with a guttural rumble as thick roots and tendrils erupted upward, weaving together in a frenzy. And in seconds, a cocoon of writhing vines surrounded him, sealing him away behind layers of living armor.

The arrows slammed into the barrier, their shafts quivering as they stuck uselessly into the dense mass.

One after another shattered, but none found flesh.

Inside the cocoon, Amon gasped ragged breaths, clutching his chest as the vines closed tighter around him, shielding him from her.

Amon could move at full speed again as the hex effect had dissipated, but what did it matter? His body was pierced and bleeding, his strength waning, and for the moment, all he could do was remain sheltered within his cocoon of vines.

Meanwhile, Narg refused to remain bound.

With gritted teeth, he conjured a surge of flame at the tip of his staff, burning away the coils around one arm until he could move it freely. The moment his hand was clear, he unleashed another blast, fire roaring outward in waves.

The vines shriveled and blackened, smoke hissing as the restraints that had pinned him collapsed into ash.

Narg wasted no time.

Freed from his prison, he leveled his staff at Amon’s cocoon and chanted sharply.

A barrage of fireballs erupted one after another, hammering into the woven barrier of vines.

Each explosion blasted chunks from its surface, the heat peeling and curling the layers back.

The cocoon buckled under the relentless assault, unable to withstand the onslaught.

With a final blast, the barrier burst apart, the flames scattering the vines like burning debris.

Amon was revealed within, his body ragged and bloodied, his face twisted in rage and desperation.

He shot out of the wreckage, forcing his battered legs to carry him as he broke into a run, trying to put distance between himself and his pursuer.

But his wounds betrayed him.

His stride faltered, his body sluggish and heavy from blood loss.

He could not escape far.

Narg’s eyes sharpened.

He raised his staff once more, gathering flame into a single searing bolt.

It screamed across the battlefield, striking Amon squarely in the back.

”Ugh!” Amon grunted, stumbling forward as fire engulfed him.

Instinctively, he flared his pendant, forcing the shield talisman to activate.

The barrier snapped up just in time, sparing him instant death—but it shattered almost as quickly as it formed, cracking like glass under the strain.

Both the shield and the talisman itself broke apart, fragments scattering in the air.

Amon was left gasping, his defenses gone, his resources dwindling.

Only two talismans remained—the vine talisman, cracked and barely hanging on, and the last one, the one he had avoided using until now.

He did not want to call upon it, but the way things were unraveling, he might not have a choice.

*

Meanwhile, down among the melee, the rest of the battle raged with brutal intensity.

The tide had shifted.

The number of goblins Amon had brought was dwindling fast, their bodies littering the ground, their cries growing fewer with every passing moment.

Eli’s clan had proven too strong, too disciplined, but even so, they were not machines.

Their stamina was finite, their muscles burned with exhaustion, and the weight of prolonged combat was beginning to show.

Dribb cleaved another foe in half with a mighty swing of his axe, his chest heaving as sweat streaked down his scarred skin.

He raised his weapon again, but this time the motion was slower, heavier, his fatigue catching up to him. Before he could bring the blade down, the goblin before him lunged, driving a jagged dagger into his side.

Dribb grunted in pain but did not collapse.

With a roar, he swung his massive arm backward in a brutal backhand, sending the enemy sprawling across the dirt. He lifted his axe again, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

But Gobbo was already there.

The Shieldblade Goblin crashed into the fray with raw momentum, his weapon flashing as he split the wounded goblin cleanly in two before Dribb could finish him off.

Then, he turned towards Dribb:

”Switch?!”

Dribb retreated a step, blood seeping from the wound in his side, while Gobbo immediately stepped forward to take his place, shield raised and feet braced like a wall of iron.

The frontline did not falter.

Zonk clashed with two enemies at once, his blades flashing as he alternated strikes, parrying with one hand while lashing out with the other.

Thok, ever the blur, had already scaled the back of a hulking goblin, his daggers plunging again and again into the thick neck. Hot blood sprayed in arcs as the brute staggered, trying in vain to tear him off.

It was then that Flogga emerged from the cave entrance, Snibb, Krosh, and Zox at her side.

Unlike the others, the three were still classless, their frames leaner, their hands unsteady. Yet each of them carried something that could change the tide—a pale, bulbous sphere clutched carefully in their arms.

They resembled crude balloon-sacks, their thin skin pulsing faintly with the volatile liquid within.

[Evil Ball]

The same weapon Flogga had once shown to Eli:

When thrown, the fragile casing burst apart, releasing a thick, noxious cloud that carried a stench so vile it clawed at the throat and burned the eyes. Anyone caught in its fumes was left coughing, blinded, and choking, their senses overwhelmed.

Flogga met the gazes of the three with a sharp nod.

That was all it took. They understood immediately.

Without hesitation, Snibb, Krosh, and Zox darted forward, each clutching an [Evil Ball] to their chest.

Thok, who had just defeated his foe, dripping in blood from head to toe, his daggers slick and his chest heaving, turned just in time to see Snibb, Krosh, and Zox hurling themselves into position.

His eyes widened at the sight of the alchemical weapons in their hands.

”Gobbo! Dribb! Zonk...retreat!” he roared, his voice sharp.

Gobbo, who had just torn his axe free from the chest of a foe, glanced over his shoulder.

Without hesitation, he pivoted, grabbed the staggering Dribb by the arm, and dragged him away from the front.

Zonk, quicker on his feet, had already broken into a retreat, his weapons flashing defensively to cover their withdrawal.

A heartbeat later, the three classless goblins hurled their [Evil Balls].

The fragile sacs arced through the air before crashing into the midst of Amon’s forces.

Then they...