021 Super Duo - Part 1 - Mark’s POV

021 Super Duo - Part 1 - Mark’s POV

I held onto Mirai’s hand gently as she took the lead.

“For your luck to work, you need to actively guide it, right?” I said.

“Yeah,” Mirai nodded, her grip tightening around mine.

“Then you lead,” I said. “I’ll cover our rear.”

She didn’t argue. Instead, she pulled me forward, picking up speed as we navigated through the cave-like pathway of the dungeon. The air was damp, the stone uneven beneath our feet. From the distant echoes of guttural snarls, I could tell we weren’t alone.

The first goblin lunged from the shadows—rusted dagger in hand, snarling with rows of jagged teeth. I flicked my wrist, sending my butterfly knife spinning in a flash of steel. The blade buried itself between the goblin’s eyes, its body crumpling to the ground with a dull thud.

“Knife,” I said.

Mirai yanked it out in one fluid motion and we kept moving.

Another goblin appeared at a fork in the path, standing between us and the correct route. It had a club, bigger than its arm, and it raised it high.

Mirai didn’t hesitate. She threw the knife toward me, and I caught it midair. Without breaking stride, I slashed across its exposed gut, and the goblin howled as it collapsed.

More footsteps.

Three goblins from the left tunnel. One from behind.

Mirai tugged at my hand, and without needing to look, I knew she wanted me to throw it back.

I flipped the butterfly knife toward her. She caught it by the handle and spun on her heel, jamming the blade into the throat of the nearest goblin.

I swung my free hand backward, catching the ambusher behind me with an elbow. It staggered, hissing, just in time for Mirai to plant a foot on its face and shove it backward.

“Knife,” I called.

She tossed it, and I turned, slashing through the last two goblins in a single downward motion.

Silence followed.

For now, at least.

We were both breathing hard, still holding hands.

Mirai gave me a side glance. “This is working way better than I expected.”

I smirked. “Guess we make a good team.”

Mirai gave me a sideways glance. “Why’s your nose twitching?”

I took a deep breath, inhaling slowly through my nostrils. Something was off.

“I’m smelling something,” I muttered.

Mirai raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What is it?”

I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t blood, wasn’t sweat, wasn’t even the rotting stench of goblins. Just something faint, something clinging to the air like an afterthought.

I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead. Why was I feeling so tired? Fighting goblins shouldn’t have drained me this quickly. I had trained for years under Mom. This level of exertion should be nothing.

It wasn’t exhaustion from earlier classes either.

No.

There was something in the air.

I came to a stop. Mirai pulled up short beside me, her eyes scanning my face. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “Something’s off. The air… It’s not right.”

Mirai reached into her pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief. “You got one too?”

I nodded and took out mine, still crisp and clean from this morning.

She dug into the waistband of her skirt and produced a tiny vial of alcohol. Before I could question her, she popped it open and doused her handkerchief, then reached over and did the same to mine.

I stared at her. “What the hell?”

She didn’t even look up as she folded the cloth over. “Cover your mouth with it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You think that’ll work?”

She smirked. “Of course. It’s like movie magic.”

I blinked. “What’s a movie?”

Mirai paused, then slowly turned to face me with the most pitying stare I had ever seen.

I frowned. “What’s up with that look?”

“Nothing,” she said, her tone thick with secondhand embarrassment.

“Yeah, that doesn’t feel like nothing.”

She sighed, tying the handkerchief over her mouth. “Look, it’s my own twist on plot armor and luck. In some media, heroines pull off the craziest, most improbable things and still succeed. This is just one of those moments.”

I exhaled through my nose, feeling like I was missing something important, but I tied my handkerchief in place anyway.

Whatever was in the air, I wasn’t taking any chances.

Mirai crouched down and picked up a crude wooden club from one of the goblins I had just taken down. She gave it an experimental swing, frowning at the weight before nodding to herself.

“Good enough,” she muttered.

“We’re still holding hands,” I pointed out.

She smirked. “Yeah? So?”

I sighed. “So, this is going to get messy.”

We took off running, still clasping hands. Goblins emerged from the dark, their beady eyes gleaming under the flickering torchlight. Their jagged blades glinted, rusted and chipped from years of neglect.

The first one lunged at us from the right. I yanked Mirai closer, twisting my body to toss the butterfly knife into my left hand before driving it straight through the goblin’s throat. Warm blood sprayed, and I kicked the corpse away.

Another one shrieked from the left. Mirai swung her club with wild strength, cracking its skull open like a dropped watermelon.

She turned to me, looking a little too proud. “See? Told you I didn’t need a fancy knife.”

Yeah, and your face and skirt was splattered with blood.

Of course, I wasn’t able to complain to her.

A third goblin tried to rush us from behind. I spun, still holding onto Mirai’s hand, and used the momentum to throw my knife. The blade embedded itself in the goblin’s forehead with a sickening thunk. It collapsed instantly.

I tugged Mirai forward. “Keep moving.”

More goblins poured in from the narrow passage ahead. Mirai kicked one in the chest, sending it staggering backward into another. Without hesitation, I tossed her the knife I plucked from the dead goblin. She caught it awkwardly but managed to stab one of the goblins in the shoulder before kicking its legs out from under it.

“Give it back,” I said.

Mirai huffed, yanking the blade free and flicking it back toward me. I snatched it out of the air just in time to slash across the gut of another charging goblin.

“Not bad,” I admitted.

“Not bad?” she echoed, swinging the club into another goblin’s side. “I’m doing amazing.”

A goblin tried to grab my ankle. I stomped down hard on its fingers, then finished it off with a quick slice to the throat. Mirai bashed another one over the head so hard the club splintered in half.

She clicked her tongue. “Damn. I liked that club.”

“Then get another one,” I said, pulling her forward as more goblins started shrieking from deeper in the cave.

With our free hands wielding a knife and a broken club, and our other hands still stubbornly clasped together, we tore through the goblins like a whirlwind.

It wasn’t the most conventional way to fight, but somehow, it was working.

“Oh, a club…” She picked up a new club as we made haste.

We cut, crushed, and carved our way through the goblins, leaving behind a trail of bodies. The flickering torchlight barely illuminated the narrow path, but we kept moving forward, our hands still clasped together. It was ridiculous, but we were making good time.

“We’re actually doing great,” Mirai huffed between swings of her broken club.

“Yeah,” I admitted, wiping some goblin blood off my cheek with my sleeve. “At this pace, we might just—”

A sudden wave of pressure filled the cave. It was subtle at first, like the air had gotten thicker, heavier. A deep, raspy cackle echoed ahead, bouncing off the cavern walls.

Mirai and I slowed to a stop.

“…That’s not a hobgoblin,” I muttered.

“No kidding,” Mirai said.

We stepped forward into a wide chamber, and there—standing at the very end—was something far worse than the hobgoblin I had expected.

A Hobwitch.

She was hunched over, her frame towering over the goblins we had faced before. Her skin was a mottled green, sagging in places but stretched tight over gnarled bones in others. Blackened claws curled from her knobby fingers, each one as long as a dagger. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and gleamed with an unnatural yellow glow. Strands of greasy, tangled white hair clung to her face, partially obscuring a twisted grin filled with black, needle-like teeth.

Her tattered robes, stitched together from the skins of unfortunate adventurers, dragged against the ground as she swayed, moving with an unnatural fluidity. The air around her shimmered with miasma—thick, swirling, and reeking of rot.

Then, she threw her head back and let out another shrill, piercing cackle that sent shivers down my spine.

Mirai tightened her grip on my hand. “I really don’t like that laugh.”

“Same.” I exhaled slowly. “But we have to go through her to get out.”

The Hobwitch suddenly stopped laughing and stared at us.

Then, she raised one of her clawed hands and pointed directly at me.

Her voice was a rasping whisper, but it carried through the chamber like a curse:

"Boy… you smell like Death.”

Of course, it had to be sentient too.

As if a regular hobgoblin wasn’t bad enough, this one could talk. Worse, it could see me. That meant my ESP, Nth Person, wasn’t foolproof against it.

That was dangerous.

“Mirai,” I muttered. “Split.”

I let go of her hand and surged forward, my butterfly knife flashing in the dim torchlight. The goblins clustered around the Hobwitch hissed and chattered, but they were slow. Sloppy. I wove between them, flipping my knife from my left to my right hand in fluid motions, cutting through flesh with practiced ease.

A goblin lunged—I ducked under its swipe and sliced across its throat. Another tried to grab me from behind—I twisted and drove my knife into its eye socket.

Behind me, I heard Mirai grunting with effort as she swung her club. I stole a glance over my shoulder—she was doing fine. Better than fine. She crushed a goblin’s skull with a brutal overhead swing, then pivoted and bashed another in the ribs.

A thunk echoed as her club connected with another goblin’s gut. The thing wheezed and crumpled.

Then, the Hobwitch moved.

She reached into her ragged robes and pulled out a small vial filled with a thick, bubbling liquid. I saw the way the fumes twisted and warped the air around it.

“Shit.”

She threw it.

Mirai caught me by the waist before I could react.

We rolled, her grip tight as she pulled me toward the thinnest part of the goblin horde. Heat flared behind us as the vial shattered, coating several goblins in a searing, bubbling substance. Their screams were short-lived—within seconds, they were nothing but burning husks.

Mirai held me by my shoulders as we crouched, catching our breath.

Then she whacked the side of my head—lightly, but enough to make me wince.

“Are you stupid?” she scolded. “Don’t try to be a hero!”

I blinked. “I wasn’t—”

She stepped in front of me, brandishing her club.

“That’s my job,” she declared.

Mirai didn’t hesitate.

She swung her club with brutal efficiency, smashing one goblin’s head after another in rapid succession. Bones cracked. Bodies crumpled. A goblin lunged—she sidestepped and brought the club down hard on its skull. It twitched once before going still.

She was relentless. Almost reckless.

I grabbed her wrist just as a runt of a goblin darted in from her blind spot, its jagged stick aiming for her side.

The moment my fingers closed around her, I smelled it—something sharp, metallic, wrong. Poison.

I yanked her back, twisting to kick the goblin square in the chest. It let out a pathetic squeak as it flew back into the crowd.

“Cheeky and corny,” I muttered. “You have to practice your lines…|

Mirai turned to glare at me, her ears tinged red. Gotcha.

She punched my shoulder—not hard, but enough to make her point. “Shut up.”

She stepped beside me, club still at the ready. We stood shoulder to shoulder, watching as the goblins regrouped in front of the Hobwitch, their numbers growing.

The Hobwitch cackled, shifting behind them like a shadow, her beady eyes gleaming.

This was going to get messy.