Smoke hung over the ruins like a wounded sky. The smell of scorched wood, burned leather, and goblin blood soaked the clearing. Flames still gnawed at the shattered tents, but even their crackling seemed small against the sound rising from the trees.
A roar.
Low and deep—so deep that it crawled under Yukio’s skin and set every muscle on edge.
Then came the footsteps.
Thud.
The ground shivered.
Thud.
Dust rained from the splintered beams around them.
Yukio’s heart climbed into his throat before he could stop it.
Beside him, Michibiki was all focus—no trace of the usual smug grin. She knelt and pressed her palms against his chest. A soft green glow flared between her fingers, seeping into his skin.
“Light of Nature: Heal,”
She murmured.
Warmth spread through his ribs, knitting bone and easing the ache that had crushed the air out of him minutes ago. Each breath came easier, though it still burned. He blinked against the brightness, flexing his fingers as strength trickled back into them.
“Feels like I could take on the world again,”
He said, trying to grin.
“Thanks.”
Michibiki’s hands fell away, the glow fading. Her eyes—usually sharp with teasing—held a rare flicker of worry before she masked it.
“Don’t thank me,”
She said quietly.
“That’s all the help you’re getting. When the boss gets here, you’re on your own.”
“Fine by me.”
Yukio forced the grin wider, trying to sound braver than he felt.
“Wouldn’t want you stealing my glory anyway.”
He brushed a smudge of soot off her cheek. She jerked back, color rising.
“Idiot! Focus on the fight, not me.”
He chuckled—but the laugh died when another thud rolled through the clearing, louder than before. The forest went still. Even the fire’s crackle seemed to hush.
From the line of shadows, something moved.
A shape taller than any goblin they’d fought so far stepped into the orange light. Its bulk filled the ruined gate. Muscles layered its frame like coiled ropes, and thick plates of blackened iron clung to it—scarred, battered, but solid. In one hand it carried a crude club the size of a log, crusted with dried gore.
Its eyes glowed red, intelligent and cruel. When it exhaled, the air steamed.
Yukio felt his grin falter. His hand tightened on his sword until his knuckles whitened.
Michibiki whispered the word they were both thinking.
“Boss.”
Their shared vision shimmered blue.
Monster Type: Goblin Chieftain
Level: 20
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The numbers hung in Yukio’s mind like a guillotine.
He gave a short, shaky whistle.
“Yeah… that’s not fair.”
“How the hell are we supposed to beat him?”
He muttered. The thing wasn’t a goblin anymore—it was an army in one body.
Michibiki tilted her head, her tone dry.
“We? I thought you didn’t need my help.”
“Fine,”
Yukio said, rolling his shoulders.
“Just don’t complain when I die.”
The Goblin Chieftain let out a roar that shook the dirt under their boots. Yukio’s pulse hammered so loud it drowned out everything else. He raised one hand toward the smoky sky.
“Wheel of Providence!”
Light exploded before him—blinding, golden-jade light forming a massive wheel etched with sixteen shimmering symbols. It hovered in the air, humming with the rhythm of fate itself.
Yukio’s breath hitched. Every spin of that wheel was a gamble between life and death. He felt the weight of every eye—real or divine—watching.
“Alright,”
He said under his breath, forcing a grin.
“Let’s see what kind of hand I get.”
The Chieftain charged, each step a quake. The Wheel spun faster and faster, question marks blurring. Each tick felt like a heartbeat.
“Don’t screw me now…”
Yukio muttered.
The Wheel slowed, landing on a question mark. One slot flared blood-red.
Debuff: Shared Weakening
Both user and target’s stats reduced by 50 % for 5 minutes.
“…you’ve got to be kidding me.”
His strength drained instantly, muscles turning sluggish. Even his sword seemed heavier. Across from him, the Chieftain’s massive frame slowed as well, its roars rougher, less controlled.
Yukio steadied himself, swallowing panic.
“Guess that’s what I get for gambling with fate.”
The beast dragged its club through the soil, eyes burning. It didn’t need full strength to crush him.
“Fine,”
Yukio said, voice hard.
“If I’m weaker, so are you.”
He ran forward.
The club swung—wide, brutal. Yukio barely ducked, the wind of it brushing his hair as the weapon buried itself in the ground with an impact that cracked the earth. The shockwave tossed him sideways. He hit hard, rolled, and came up coughing dirt.
“Even halved,”
He groaned,
“You hit like a damn mountain.”
He lunged back in. The sword cut across the Chieftain’s side—a shallow slice that drew dark blood but not enough to matter. The monster’s growl rumbled like thunder. It swatted him with its free hand. The blow caught him square in the chest and hurled him several meters. He slammed into a half-burned tent post, wood splintering around him.
Every nerve screamed. His vision blurred.
He spat blood and forced himself to stand.
“You think I need power to win?”
He rasped.
“I’ve lived my whole life on bad hands and dumb luck.”
The Chieftain raised its club again. Yukio staggered right—then kicked a cloud of ash and dirt straight into its eyes. The beast bellowed, swinging blindly. Yukio darted in, every step agony, and drove his sword into its thigh. This time it sank deeper, biting to the hilt. The creature dropped to one knee, snarling.
Before Yukio could move, a massive hand closed around his torso. The pressure was instant—air crushed out of him, ribs creaking. He wheezed, stabbing uselessly at the fingers trapping him.
Panic clawed at his chest. His vision tunneled.
No… not yet.
He reached down, found the dagger on his belt hand jammed it into the monster’s wrist. The blade barely sank an inch, but the Chieftain roared and flung him aside.
Yukio hit the ground, rolled, and forced himself up on trembling legs. His lungs burned; blood trickled from his lip. The Wheel above him flickered weakly, still humming.
He stared up at it.
“Come on, Fukui,” .
He whispered.
“Give me one more chance.”
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the Wheel shivered. A single slot ignited with gold.
Critical Chance Doubled
Yukio blinked.
“You actually listened?”
The Chieftain stomped forward, shaking off the dirt from its eyes. Its roar was pure rage now, its swings wild but deadly. Yukio dodged left, feeling the club graze his shoulder hard enough to rip cloth and skin. He hissed, blood running warm down his arm.
He tightened his grip. The blade hummed with golden light.
“Let’s finish this.”
He sprinted forward, ducking under another swing. Each step sent pain shooting through him, but he used it—let it sharpen him. When the club came down again, he sidestepped so close he could smell the rot on the beast’s breath, and drove his sword straight up into its chest.
Light exploded. The blade sliced through flesh and bone as if the world itself had willed it. The Chieftain’s eyes went wide. Its roar turned to a choked howl before it disintegrated into a storm of ash and glowing fragments.
Silence followed—only the hiss of dying flames and Yukio’s ragged breathing.
He sank to one knee, sword still buried in the dirt, shoulders shaking. Sweat and blood streaked his face, his grin a broken slash across it.
He managed, barely a whisper.
“I don’t lose.”
The Wheel of Providence flickered, its golden light fading until only darkness remained.
Michibiki walked over slowly, her boots crunching over ash. She looked him over—the trembling arms, the cuts, the manic smile—and exhaled.
“Reckless fool,”
She said, But there was no bite in her tone this time—just something like… respect.
Yukio laughed once, breathless, before collapsing backward into the dirt. The stars above were faint through the smoke, but he watched them until his eyelids grew heavy.
Michibiki stood guard beside him, eyes scanning the forest as the last fires burned low. The night was quiet again, except for the sound of Yukio’s uneven breathing and the soft, tired chuckle that escaped him every few seconds—as if he still couldn’t believe he’d survived.
