Anthropology Isekai Ch. 03

And we are finally here. Goblins get fucked in this one.

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Conflict was at the heart of men.

Mark had heard that once and he still wasn't sure if the old man he heard it from wasn't just referring to gender, as opposed to some supposed archaic meaning for humanity. The old man liked claiming many things, and occasionally some of them were true. Either way, whether you were working with someone, or working against others, sparks would surface just by the simple act of breathing. Sometimes, things were resolved through peer pressure. Sometimes, things were resolved by being right. Sometimes, things were never resolved.

Just like sometimes, things were resolved through violence.

The setting sun made an outline of the thing sitting on the rocky outgrowth clear, which would have puzzled and amazed him equal measures if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure, without any glimmer of a doubt that he was going to inflict violence upon.

Because, wouldn't you know it, it kind of looked like a short skinny human being.

Mark had never killed a man, not even in the worst fights in the rings. He had come close to it at times, but he was good enough at the whole fighting thing that he had never been forced to step over that particular line. Breaking others was honestly not that hard once you understood how people shattered.

But this creature, this stranger on his rock, had a spear in hand. It was a rather mishappened stick with knots making it sway here and there. There was some polish to it, it wasn't a literal tree limb attached to a knife, but the stone head on its tip would have been comical if Mark hadn't known how sharp a broken stone shard could get.

Silent as Mark was, directly behind the Goblin, it didn't take a lot to stay out of its sight. His steps didn't make much noise in the soft grass of the hill and his boots didn't crunch enough to get over the high winds that embraced them both. The sun, as it was starting to dip beyond the horizon at this time, didn't allow him to make much of it until he was fairly close.

And discovered how similar to him this native was.

Had he been more rational, his first thought would have been how badly this creature needed a trip to town. Because whoever this person was, they needed a trip to town because they were in absolute rags. Fiber that he wasn't familiar with made up its loincloth and the sheets that had been thrown upon its frame. Loose stiff folds of cloth went down like badly done togas down its neck, making it seem bigger than it actually was because good God if this creature wasn't small.

And not just in comparison to him. This native was four and a half feet, if that.

But he wasn't feeling rational and it didn't matter. It could have been ten feet and it would not have changed a goddamned thing. Not a single one. But this close, with its long green ears its small frame and its very green skin, only a single word properly described what this was.

But again, it didn't matter. At that moment, he felt a sense of surreality enter the scene and not just because he was in front of an honest-to-goodness goblin. He didn't know how this would go, be he knew how it HAD to. Two strangers, meeting in the middle of nowhere, weapons in hand, there for their own reasons.

With only murder as a result.

"Goblin?" he said, because that was how the script was written. The goblin followed his role: he was started out of vigorously scratching his ass. His head whipped around and, finally, it met Mark's eyes.

It had a large nose and, as its jaw dropped, it revealed itself to have fang-like front teeth instead of incisors. It had five fingers in its hand, just like Mark. Five toes and a big toe on its bare feet, just like a human. But oh, its pupils were the shape of an hourglass. Yellow like ember and brown like dirt.

Mark didn't know a single thing about the goblin but he knew, he knew, how this would go. There was no kindling around, but a spark was nonetheless produced.

"Hyaaa, Glaraga Ta!" the Goblin's eyes widened in alarm and it screamed as it took hold of its spear with both hands.

Mark saw this and did nothing as it jumped from the rock and ran towards him. Mark passively watched it as it fixed its spear under its armpit and pointed at Mark's chest as it came to its full speed. He watched it brace itself for an impact that it was sure it would feel. It was such a strange feeling, seeing all of this so clearly. Seeing it and feeling almost nothing.

He should have been livid. He should have been angry. He had come in here with blade in hand knowing that this would only result in violence but he didn't feel particularly one way or another. He just knew, knew what would follow.

And so, he saw it through to the end.

Mark's jacket was good thick cotton and leather. It was strong enough to walk through brambles and not get shredded. It was thick enough that repairing it required Mark to really push down on his needles. It was endurable enough that it had broken many of his falls through the hills, leaving him with mere bruises instead of broken ribs.

But it was not armor.

The stone tip stabbed into his coat and the goblin's speed didn't give him a lot of time to move out of the way. But not a lot of time wasn't the same as none. Mark watched numbly as his body twisted on instinct, following along with the blow. The goblin transferred the inertia of his run into the tip of his spear running into his body as the stone point sunk and disappeared into Mark's jacket.

Mark's coat stretched and slid with the spear point. Mark's body turned with it as the spearpoint overcame the resistance of Mark's jacket, and managed to punch through it but...it didn't punch through Mark.

"Hya?" Goblin gasped as his spear came out through a second hole in Mark's jacket, missing him completely.

Mark looked at the Goblin.

The Goblin looked at Mark.

Mark still had his machete in his hands.

Well then.

"Ga," The goblin managed to gasp as Mark buried his machete into it's skull. It was practiced blow, one he had repeated on young trees many times. Splitting a skull was apparently much like splitting a coconut, really. At least, it felt like that as Mark's blade wedged his blade into the goblin's skull.

Blood seeped down the goblin's face as the small creature's grip on its weapon went slack.

And then it finally collapsed on the ground, unwedging its head from Mark's blade as it went.

"...well then," Mark murmured to himself again. He just took a life. He had never taken a life before. Never contemplated it, even. And yet, here he was, a native's blood in his hands. He had snuffed this light out of the world and it...it...

"It feels like nothing!" Mark wildly laughed at himself, because what else could he do?

He gingerly reached for the spear still trapped in his jacket as he pushed his unfortunate assailant away.

"Hya, Hya, Glaraga Ta!" another voice screamed and made Mark whipped his head around.

It appeared that this goblin hadn't come alone, as another one crested a small hill. But the worst part? The other screams were coming in the direction of his home.

"No," Mark informed the goblin that was running towards him, drawing his hand back on its spear. Mark had been stockpiling things in the foundation of his house for months now. He had taken good care to put it underneath a floor that he had painstakingly prepared but, ah, it didn't matter, now did it?

The goblin cast its spear once it was thirty feet away. He was aiming for Mark's center mass, but the goblin's aim was bad and Mark, well...now was the time for his next step in this macabre dance. The thrown spear managed to cut a jagged line across Mark's shoulder as he turned. His own hands were seizing the spear already stuck to his person and were setting it's center of balance squarely on his right hand.

"My turn," Mark said, not being able to keep a meaningless small smile from coming into his face as he aimed at the goblin and tossed.

He was merely repeating what the goblin did, really. And he would be the first to admit that he wasn't the greatest pitcher or quarterback. But he wasn't aiming for a little imaginary rectangle and he didn't have to guess where the goblin would be because he was still running at him!

Mark's spear did not make an arc. It flew straight right into the goblin's in the stomach, catching it just below its ribs. The stone point punched into its diaphragm and stopped it cold as it looked in shock between the spear and Mark.

"RATAG!" it bellowed in agony, to the point that even Mark's sting, as it cradled the spear in its gut and went down to its knees.

Unlike the first, this one wasn't immediately dead. But not all tempos were the same and victory for him here had the same end.

"Glaraga Ta!" more voices screamed in the direction of his house and Mark, who saw the fight expand before him, went to meet the end.

Mark said nothing as he passed by the goblin he had impaled. He should have been horrified to see the spearpoint was pointing from its back but all he could feel at that moment was curiosity and intrigue. This wasn't normal, he knew. There was something wrong with him, he understood. But god damn him if he could do anything about it.

His fingers were still tightly wrapped in his machete as he crested the hill where his house was.

Four goblins.

There were four goblins skulking around his house. Or, well, the foundation he had made. They had dug up all of the food that he had saved up, as well as many of the materials that he had gathered.

Ever since he saw his first victim lazily perched atop his rock, he knew that his dream was over. Even had the goblin been alone, well, he would not have been able to live here. Others could and would have come by when he needed to go back to town. They would have taken all his hard work and done...this.

He knew his dream was dead, but pain and tears made their way through the mask of indifference that had clouted his mind.

Mark said nothing as his face became wet and the goblins gathered their shit to run towards him. Four versus one? Even with the size difference two against one would have been even due to the use of weapons. As it was? It was a bad fight. A bad, bad fight.

The goblins rushed him, but Mark sprinted towards them.

Live or die, some bets were better than others and some fights worth risking it all. But then, even if had not known that there would be more goblins here, he had known how this would end. Live or die, some fights had to be fought.

Live or die, this could have only ended in blood.

The goblins were slightly taken aback as Mark charged at them. But nobody that would so casually try to kill him would have been a stranger to pressure. They slowed down as they watched him run, and set their feet apart as they drew their spear arms. They twisted their bodies as they put as much energy into their throws as they could, and then reached for stone knives at their waists as the spears flew directly at Mark.

All the same, strangers or not, pressure and stress still had a way of spoiling one's aim. Not that it mattered, honestly, as quantity would have seen some of the spears complete their high parabolic arc into Mark's body. But they all threw the same and that meant that, good aim or not, there was a way forward.

The high arcs allowed them to throw from fifty feet but meant that only the descent was dangerous., so Mark slid under the flying spears.

"Garalag!" One of the goblins jumped back as Mark's body glided through the damp grass. The three that stood their ground readied their knives, but Mark slid and stopped just short of their reach.

But not Mark's.

"Dodge," the human advised as he swung his machete at the nearest goblin's feet.

The goblin tried to make good on his advice and jump back, but it was reacting to Mark's swing once his blade was a hand's breadth away from its shin. This poor choice meant that his machete bit into its tibia and took out one of the goblin's supports in a splash of blood.

Three versus one. Better odds if not for the worst position.

In the time that it took to de-leg this goblin, even as he collapsed, one of the other goblins was already trying to circle around him. The maimed goblin proved to be a bit of a distraction as it gasped in pain, its leg hanging by a bloody thread. The one still behind it had produced another spear from where it was and the one that had shied away was holding its knife at the ready behind them both.

So, it was either get speared through the front or get stabbed from the back.

Mark's eyes followed the circling goblin as far as he could, but the goblin with the spear was already getting ready to cast at him. He briefly wondered which should he tackle first. Wondered which provided the most danger. Which course of action guaranteed the most success.

But in the end, one thing decided his mind.

He wasn't sure how fast these goblins could be, stubby aside. But he was certain they wouldn't be as fast as a thrown spear.

So he charged the spear goblin.

"Hya!" the goblin screamed as he lost his nerve and aborted his throw. No, he instead grabbed his spear with both hands again and desperately thrust it into Mark's face to keep him at bay.

But it was an impure thrust and the goblin was backing away.

Mark stopped just short of the spear's point and swung at the leading hand holding it. The tip of his machete found two of its fingers and the goblin screamed as he dropped his spear with the hand that could no longer hold on to it.

Then he stopped as Mark buried his machete in its clavicle.

Two on one. Still encircled, but now...it was something he would bet on.

The goblin behind the newest dead goblin trembled with its knife in its hand. The screams of the goblin with the sheared tibia could still be heard, but it wasn't either of these that Mark was paying attention to.

The sound of quick short steps running in the grass behind him let him know that the circle was finally closing on him.

Mark immediately turned around, dragged his machete with him. Or, well, trying to.

The blade was firmly wedged in the dead goblin's chest bones, and he found that he was dragging its whole body. The goblin who was charging at him with its stone knife in its hand didn't care about any of that, and Mark had to deal with it somehow.

So he let go of his machete and put a hand on his coat.

"GyaHA!" the goblin at his back screamed as it pounced on him.

"Ratag?!" and then screamed again when Mark threw his now-tattered coat into it.

This didn't cancel the inertia of the goblin's jump, so it still smashed into him. Just not knife first.

Mark grunted as it hit his stomach and then went to the ground. Its limbs flailed to get the coat off of it, but Mark wasn't having any of it.

"It's over!" Marked hissed from between clenched teeth as he picked up his foot and then brought it down with all of his weight behind it, smashing it down on the goblin's shoulder.

"Gya!" the small green creature screamed and flailed harder as it was smashed against the ground.

Mark viciously picked up his foot again and planted it on its back. He picked it up again and smashed it on its arm. He picked up again and slammed it on the goblin's head.

At some point, Mark heard "cracks" but didn't stop until the goblin went still.

And quiet.

And just like that, it was one on one.

This murder was neither fast nor was it clean. But it did mean that he had to immediately be on the lookout for the other one. Because he had to expect a spear to be thrown at him at any second if not the last goblin jumping on him its knife. But none of that came. And the unexpected had a way of killing.

Mark jerked his head side to side, turning everywhere to see just what the fourth goblin had in store for him but found saw nothing.

His blood was pumping, his adrenaline made staying still unsettling and the smell of blood made him twitchy. He had one more foe to beat. One last challenger. Tired and dirty as he was, wounded as these goblins had managed to make him, things didn't end until they were done. The ground or the bell, that was all there was to fighting!

But no one else awaited him.

At some point, the last goblin had run away while Mark stomped its friend to death.

"...none to one," Mark said and that same feeling of unreality returned.

He had won? He had won. Apparently, so.

But what had he won?

The goblin with the torn tibia sobbed as it tried to crawl away, but by the look of it, it had lost too much blood. The goblin he had stomped to death lay obediently dead inside his jacket and the one that had trapped his machete was still staring at the blade in disbelief.

Aside from the dying whimpers of the dying goblin, there was nothing except the sound of the wind. Well, that and Mark's beleaguered breathing.

He had won, it was true, and there was a primal satisfaction in that, but he was nowhere near the right state of mind to be able to enjoy that. The hardest fight of his life and the only thing he could do was stare at his victims and find no satisfaction in their demise. Their death, after all, did not change facts.

All the years, money and efforts that he had put into building his own place here had been for nothing.

Why did that last goblin have to run away? Why did this fight have to end? Mark didn't want to die, but when he was moving and blood was flowing like oil out of an engine, he didn't have to think. And now? Now he walked a little bit farther where his battle took place.

The hilly terrain did a good job hiding that this was practically his front porch. He only needed but to crest another terrain bump to actually get to what he had always dreamed would be his eternal home. And see his thoughts and emotions made manifest.

Food was strewn about. Construction equipment and even one of his precious power tools. He had no idea how much they had already taken, but this was already ruinous.

The first thing he had built had obviously been the foundation of his house. Even in Stoney terrain, especially if it wasn't solid stone, a good foundation was still essential and the extra space below paid dividends in building materials. In that foundation was point in fact the first thing he had completed, and that was the cellar where he stowed all his things.

The base on top of the foundation had already been marked and prepared for walls. Less useful now that the posts had been yanked out and thrown in the grass but it didn't really matter since this place would never be safe again anyway. Maybe, there was enough here for a few weeks of quiet introspection as he decided about what to do with, well, everything. But, well, he would be lying if he claimed that he didn't want to turn around and never see this place again.

He would salvage what he could. He would collect what fit into his fucking sled and, maybe, hopefully, make enough bank to bank finding another dream he supposed.

The lock on the cellar's wooden door was broken, of course, but there was no way they had taken everything, right? There should still be enough there for him to work with. There should be enough left for him to salvage from this dream.

And, indeed, there was.

It just wasn't something that he had left there.

Bright yellow hourglass pupils stared back at him.

A seventh goblin.

The adrenaline still in his system was starting to give him a headache now that his body wasn't using it, but his brain grabbed onto the go juices and made the world go slow as he reached for his machete and found that it wasn't there anymore. That's right, it was still trapped on another goblin's chest.

He had no jacket either, so stone knives and spears would have no problem finding purchase on his skin. He couldn't see this one interloper well in the dark of his cellar to boot, but he still had a massive height advantage over them and bare-handed was where skills shined anyway.