John ignored the stares. It was very obvious that goblins were not common here. He could feel the eyes on him from every direction, nobles whispering behind their gloved hands, serving staff freezing mid-step with trays of champagne, guards tensing with their hands on their sword hilts. A goblin at a high society gala in the heart of Thornheim?
Unheard of. Disgusting to them.
Dangerous, probably.
John didn't care. He didn't know why he'd picked his goblin version for this, maybe out of habit, maybe because he liked the look of confusion on their stupid faces. Whatever the reason, he was here now, and he wasn't going to change just to make them comfortable.
He strode through the crowd with purpose, his boots clicking on the marble floor, his silver-gray curls bouncing with each step. The armor he'd designed, the fitted leather and metal, creaked softly as he moved. He was shorter than most of the nobles, shorter than the guards, but he carried himself like he owned the place. Because technically, he did. Not this castle, not this kingdom, but the planet. The whole fucking planet. These people just didn't know it yet.
The tension in the room was palpable, a thick wave of unease that followed him like a shadow. Nobles stepped aside to let him pass, their faces a mixture of disgust and fear. A woman in a massive pink gown actually gasped and clutched her pearls when he walked by. John winked at her, and she turned so pale he thought she might faint.
He reached the dark corner at the back of the hall, the one tucked behind a tapestry of some old battle, away from the chandeliers and the music. And there was Alrick.
The scarred man had the serving woman pinned against the wall, his body pressed against hers, one hand holding a small knife to her throat. His other hand was fumbling with his pants, working the button and zipper one-handed with practiced ease. His face was inches from hers, his breath hot on her cheek, and he was whispering to her in that flat, dead voice.
"I bet you're so tight," Alrick murmured, his lips brushing her ear.
"So warm. I can't wait to sample you while you're still alive. And then again after. When you're still warm but not... thinking anymore. When you're just a body. A pretty, soft, warm body."
The woman was crying silently, tears streaming down her cheeks, her body trembling so hard her teeth chattered. She wasn't fighting. She wasn't begging anymore. She had gone somewhere else in her mind, somewhere far away from this corner, this knife, this man.
John stepped into the light, and Alrick's head snapped toward him.
The scarred man's eyes narrowed, taking in the goblin features, the armor, the silver curls. For a moment, just a moment, something flickered across his face. Surprise? Annoyance? It was hard to tell with Alrick. His face was so scarred, so broken, that most expressions looked like pain.
"A goblin," Alrick said, his voice flat. "Very unusual here. Especially one in cheap adventurer's armor." He tilted his head, studying John like he was a bug on a wall. "What do you want, creature? I'm busy."
John didn't move. He just stood there, arms crossed, yellow eyes fixed on Alrick's face. "Put the girl down."
Alrick sighed, a long, exaggerated sound of disappointment. "Run along now. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. Before I decide to add you to my collection."
John's jaw tightened. "It's way too late for that."
Alrick's eyes lit up with something that might have been excitement. "Fine," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You can have the body too when I'm done with it. I don't mind sharing. Her mouth will still be warm. Her ass too. You goblins like that sort of thing, don't you? Fucking corpses?"
John felt the rage building in his chest, hot and sharp. But he kept his voice calm. "I'm not here for that. Put the fucking girl down. Now."
Alrick grinned, and it was the worst thing John had ever seen. His scarred face twisted into something grotesque, something that looked more like a death mask than a smile. He looked at the woman, then back at John, and then he dragged the knife across her throat.
It was quick. A single, practiced motion. The blade was sharp, so sharp that at first there was no blood. Just a thin red line that bloomed like a flower, then burst open in a torrent of crimson. The woman's eyes went wide, her mouth opening in a silent scream, and then she collapsed, her body sliding down the wall, leaving a smear of red on the stone.
"Oops," Alrick said, still grinning. "My hand slipped."
John didn't hesitate. His threads lashed out, ultra-thin strands of razor-sharp silk that whipped through the air faster than thought. They wrapped around Alrick's neck, tightened, and sliced clean through. The scarred man's head tumbled off his shoulders, bounced once on the floor, and rolled to a stop against the woman's hip. His body stood for a moment, blood fountaining from the stump, then crumpled.
"Yeah," John said, his voice cold. "Oops."
He looked down at the woman's corpse. Her eyes were still open, still wide with fear, still wet with tears. Her chest wasn't moving. Her heart wasn't beating. She was gone, just like that, because Alrick had wanted to make a point. Because he'd wanted to hurt someone, anyone, and John had given him an excuse.
John sighed, long and heavy, and ran a hand through his silver curls. "System. Put her body at the mansion. I'll figure out something to do with her later. Revive her, maybe. Or give her a proper burial. I don't know. Just... get her out of here."
A blue screen flickered to life in front of him.
Why the hell am I always the one doing everything? You kill them, I clean up the mess. You fuck them, I watch. You get lost in your own palace, I have to guide you back. I'm a system, not a personal assistant.
"Just do it," John muttered.
Fine. But you owe me.
The woman's body vanished in a flash of blue light, leaving only a smear of blood on the stone floor. Alrick's body and head vanished a moment later, though John hadn't asked for that. The system was thorough, at least.
John stood alone in the dark corner, surrounded by the sounds of the gala. Music. Laughter. The clink of glasses. No one had noticed. No one had seen. The tapestry hid the blood, and the nobles were too busy with their wine and their gossip to look behind it.
He didn't really feel bad for the woman.
That was the honest truth. He barely knew her. She was a stranger, a face in a crowd, one of billions on this planet. But he could avoid causing harm when he wanted to. He could save people, protect them, even if he didn't feel anything for them personally. It was the principle of the thing. The bare minimum of decency.
Ugh. What a drag.
John stepped out from behind the tapestry, leaving the blood behind, and started walking toward the main hall. He had one more target tonight. Zedrik was still here somewhere, probably upstairs in some noblewoman's bedroom, ruining her life while she was too drugged to fight back.
Time to find him.