Extraordinary

Goblin awakening

The earth trembled beneath them. Dust and pebbles rattled as the formation’s residual energy died down, leaving an eerie, expectant silence in its wake. The three cultivators—Kan, Tim, and Zen—stood frozen, watching Dan, their expressions unreadable masks of cautious curiosity.

Then the sound came: a deep, resonating growl that seemed to shake the very bones of the mountain. It was low, deliberate, and it carried a weight that made the hairs on their necks stand on end.

From the cracks in the formation, the goblin emerged.

Its body was massive, far larger than any ordinary beast of this realm, its skin a dark, mottled green. Its limbs were thick and corded with sinew, clawed hands digging into the earth with every step. Two glowing red eyes pierced the shadows, scanning, calculating. The air around it seemed to bend, the very energy of the place warping under its presence.

It had been dormant for centuries, bound by the formation’s concealment, and now that it had awakened, there was no telling what it might do.

Zen took a step back, the grip on his axe tightening. “It… it knows he’s here,” he whispered.

Kan’s face was pale, almost unrecognizable. “The formation… it was supposed to protect us. It was supposed to kill him! How… how is he still standing?”

Dan, on the other hand, stayed where he was, crouched slightly, breathing ragged but controlled. His mind raced with possibilities, but his exterior betrayed nothing. To any observer, he was merely a frightened cultivator who had barely survived the formation’s first attack.

Good, he thought. Let them believe that. Let them taste the panic. Let Kan see that his plan is failing.

The goblin’s gaze fixed on Dan, its red eyes narrowing. It sniffed the air, long, deep inhales that rattled the ground. Then it lunged.

Not directly at Dan. At the others.

Kan’s jaw dropped. “Wait… no!”

The goblin’s first strike was devastating. It swung a massive claw toward Zen, who barely raised his axe in time to block. The force sent him skidding backward, the silver blade groaning under the pressure. Dirt and rock exploded around him, some shards cutting across his armor.

Tim’s fan glimmered as he raised it defensively, forming a thin barrier of shimmering energy, but even that barely held as the goblin’s attack slammed into it with a bone-shaking thud.

Kan shouted, “Stay close! Protect each other!” But the words sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

Dan, crouched and watching, let a faint smile brush his lips.

Perfect. Let them fight the monster. Let them reveal themselves.

He could feel the goblin’s mind now—simple, violent, single-minded in its intent. It wanted prey, yes, but it also sensed manipulation, the lingering intent of betrayal within Kan’s aura. Dan could almost hear it: “This one… not the strongest… but the one who dares to command betrayal shall pay.”

Interesting, Dan thought. Let’s see how clever you are.

He rose slowly, deliberately. Not fast enough to attract attention, not enough to show confidence, yet enough to measure the battlefield. The goblin had turned fully toward Kan, Zen, and Tim, leaving Dan outside its immediate focus.

Kan’s voice trembled as he barked orders, but even he could see the futility. The goblin moved with unnatural speed for its size, each step cracking rock beneath it. The formation that had awakened it now seemed to amplify its power, as though the mountain itself was lending it strength.

Dan’s mind worked like a chessboard, each piece carefully placed.

The goblin is focused on them, but it’s not stupid. It senses intent. I can redirect it—without revealing even half my strength.

He stepped forward lightly, his voice calm but loud enough to catch the goblin’s attention.

“Over here!”

A flicker of recognition passed through the goblin’s red eyes. It snarled, pivoting toward him. Its claws gouged furrows into the ground, tearing the earth with a force that would have obliterated most cultivators.

Kan’s eyes widened. “He’s leading it—no, that’s insane!”

Tim adjusted his glasses, disbelief etched on his face. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? You can’t possibly control it!”

Dan allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible shrug. His aura remained calm, measured, and he kept his body relaxed, letting the goblin believe it was him it sought. Almost, he thought. Just enough.

The goblin charged, and Dan sidestepped slightly—not fast enough to appear powerful, just enough to stay out of reach. Its claws gouged the rock beside him, sending up sparks of stone and dust.

Kan’s heart sank as he realized what was happening. The trap… he’s using it against us.

“Run!” Zen shouted, spinning his axe defensively as the goblin’s attention fully shifted.

Dan’s mind raced. The goblin’s focus could be manipulated—if he timed it right, if he guided its aggression subtly, he could make it chase the ones who had plotted his death, while he remained unscathed.

Let’s see how far they trust their own plan, he thought. Kan wanted me gone… fine. Let him taste it.

With a slight shift of his aura, almost imperceptible, he nudged the goblin’s instincts. A twitch here, a redirection of attention there. The goblin roared, pivoted, and charged.

Kan’s face went pale as the monster barreled toward him. “Wait… no! This isn’t supposed to—”

Too late.

The goblin’s massive claw struck the rock where Kan had been moments ago, the impact sending him sprawling and his protective barrier cracking under the sheer force. Zen and Tim scrambled backward, but the goblin’s new trajectory was clear—it had locked onto them.

Dan stayed still, hiding his satisfaction behind a mask of shock. His breathing was ragged, blood from the formation attack still staining his lips, yet inside he was fully in control.

They think I am weak. They think I barely survived. Let them believe it. Soon, they will realize that the mistake wasn’t mine—it was theirs.

The goblin’s red eyes swept over the three cultivators, sensing their fear, their betrayal, and its instincts flared. It lunged, relentless and merciless.

Dan stepped back lightly, just enough to let the chaos unfold. He could feel the latent energy in his body humming, waiting—but not yet unleashed. This was a lesson in perception, in patience.