Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

He was screwed.

The shimmering blade was a breath away from his neck when the sharp hiss of something slicing through the air split the tension.

Then came the scream.

”Aaaargh!”

Amon staggered back, his attack cut short as an arrow punched clean through his hand.

His staff slipped from his grip, clattering against the ground as he clutched his wrist with a snarl of pain. Blood dripped between his fingers, his eyes wide as he snapped his head toward the source of the strike.

Zarah.

He recognized her instantly, the defiant archer who had once fallen into his hands during his first encounter with Eli. She was no longer a captive, no longer trembling in fear.

Now she stood tall, bowstring drawn taut, her gaze locked on him with steady, merciless focus.

Her next arrow was already loosed, whistling through the air with deadly precision.

But Amon reacted with desperate speed.

He dove toward his fallen staff, snatching it up in his uninjured hand even as the arrow closed the distance.

With a guttural growl, he summoned a shield, the talisman at his chest flaring once more.

The projectile slammed into the magical barrier, shattering in a spray of splinters, the impact cracking the air like stone striking steel.

”Enough!”

Amon roared, his fury boiling over.

With his staff raised again, he unleashed a bolt of dark lightning in retaliation.

But as the bolt ripped free from his staff, the talisman at Amon’s chest shattered with a sharp crack. Splinters of jade rained down, and the glow extinguished in an instant.

That was it.

That particular well of power was dry.

He could no longer call forth another bolt of dark lightning.

All that remained to him now were the vine talisman, the shield talisman, and the one whose purpose still lay hidden.

Zarah had already leapt clear, her instincts carrying her to safety as the beam tore into the ground where she had stood. The explosion flung earth into the air, showering her in dust and grit, but she rolled to her feet with practiced ease.

Without hesitation, she drew another arrow, bowstring pulling back until it quivered with tension.

Her aim fixed unerringly on Amon.

She had noticed, even amidst the chaos of cutting down his soldiers, that Narg was under greater pressure than the others.

Dribb, Gobbo, Thok, and Zonk were holding their ground against the horde, carving through with a ferocity born of Eli’s training.

But Narg’s duel with Amon was another matter entirely. If he fell, the tide could turn swiftly. And so she chose where her arrows would matter most.

Amon clicked his teeth, frustration etched deep in his face as he saw her evading his strike and preparing to loose another. His first instinct was to lash out, to cast his vines and tear her down before she loosed the shot.

But in that instant, he hesitated.

Narg—bound or not—was the greater threat, and should be eliminated first.

But he figured that out late, as from within the writhing coils, Narg forced his arm upward.

The vines groaned under the strain, tightening cruelly against his chest and limbs, but his will pushed through.

His staff rose just high enough, mana flaring at its tip, and with a sharp word of power, he released a spell—just before the vines dragged his arm back down, pinning him once more against his body.

The spell descended upon Amon.

At first, he didn’t recognize it.

He moved to retaliate anyway, raising his hand to trigger the vine talisman, intending to crush Narg outright by tightening the coils already binding him.

But as he tried to lift his staff, something felt wrong.

His arm dragged through the air as though submerged in tar. His fingers clenched slower than they should have, his movements halved in speed.

The realization struck him with a flash of dread.

A movement-restricting hex.

His teeth ground together as he forced his arm higher, but the spell clung to him like invisible chains, slowing every reaction. It was as though his body had been reduced to half-speed, each motion painfully sluggish compared to his normal pace.

How long would it last? He didn’t know.

And that uncertainty clawed at his composure. This was bad. Very bad.

He turned sharply toward Zarah, as she would no doubt take advantage of his slowed state.

And she did.

Her bow string twanged, and an arrow streaked across the battlefield, too fast for his dulled body to react. He swung his staff instinctively, trying to deflect it, but the movement lagged. The arrow hissed past his cheek, grazing him and leaving a thin line of blood.

His head snapped with the impact, teeth bared in a frustrated snarl.

Another arrow followed, even faster.

This time, Amon knew he wouldn’t raise his staff in time. His only option was defense. With a guttural growl, he willed his pendant to flare. The shield talisman lit with a harsh glow, and a translucent barrier snapped into place just as the projectile closed in.

The arrow struck and shattered harmlessly against the wall of light.

But the problem came after.

The talisman shield, as powerful as it was, carried a brief cooldown before it could be summoned again.

For that short space of time, Amon stood exposed—vulnerable.

And as if Zarah knew it, her bowstring thrummed three times in rapid succession, each arrow loosed with merciless precision.

They cut through the air like fangs, and before Amon could so much as react, they buried themselves into his flesh.

One tore through his arm, another punched into his chest, and the last drove deep into his thigh.

”Dammit!” he howled, his body crumpling under the sudden storm of pain.

He collapsed to the ground, clutching at his wounds, blood spilling between his fingers.

His scream rang raw across the battlefield, his pride cut just as deeply as his flesh.

Still, fortune had not abandoned him entirely.

None of the shots had landed fatally.

”They hurt...gods, they hurt...”

But they hadn’t struck his heart, his throat, or his skull.

He was wounded, weakened, but not yet finished.

Zarah’s eyes narrowed.

She saw him down and knew hesitation would be foolish, so, without pause, she drew again, firing arrow after arrow with cold intent to finish him where he lay.

But Amon...