Chapter 30: The Jesters

"Young man, that's too risky. Those goblins, they're... they're brutal. If you're caught..."

"I know," Azrael said, his expression grim, like a hero gearing up for a daring feat. "But it's the only way. I have to get inside, and this is the only way I can do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Azrael replied, his voice resolute.

"I'll help you," the old man offered.

"No, Erik. It's too dangerous. I'll go alone."

"I won't stand by and watch as a young lad risks his life for the rest of us. I won't do it."

"Erik..."

"I don't have anything to lose anymore, young man. And if I'm to die, then I'll do so fighting."

"Fine," Azrael sighed, seeing the unyielding determination in the old man's eyes. "But we have to be careful. One wrong move, and we're done for."

"I know."

"Alright," Azrael said, his expression grim. "Let's do this."

The old man nodded, steeling himself for the task ahead.

For the next 10 minutes, Azrael and Erik enacted their plan with precision. They staggered and stumbled, feigning weakness as they pretended to struggle under the weight of the large boulder.

With each carefully calculated misstep, they drew the attention of the nearby Goblins, who watched with keen interest as the two men stumbled and fell, playing their roles to perfection.

As the duo struggled under the watchful eye of the Hobogoblin, a menacing figure approached, eyeing them with disdain.

"YOU NO WORK, YOU FOOD!" The Hobogoblin's voice boomed, punctuating each word with a threatening crack of his whip, causing the old man to flinch involuntarily.

"Please, sir, please," the old man pleaded, his voice quivering with fear. "We cannot, sir. We cannot do this anymore. Please, have mercy, sir."

"FOOD, HOOMAN SKUM!" the Hobogoblin snarled, whip raised menacingly.

"Sir, no, please," the old man pleaded, fear palpable in his voice as he cowered before the menacing figure. "Please, don't condemn us to be food. Anything but that..."

"HUMM???" the Hobogoblin grunted, tilting his head in confusion, his gaze shifting between the old man and Azrael.

"Yes, sir, anything but that. Please, sir, have mercy," the old man implored, desperation evident in his quivering voice. "Take me, spare the young man. He's just a kid. Please, have mercy, sir."

"No, take me instead. He's too old. I'm young and have plenty of meat. Take me," Azrael joined the act, adopting the role of a weak, scared kid.

"No, no, I'll be the food. You stay out of this," rebuked the old man, a fervent plea in his eyes.

"No, you're too old for that. I'll be the food."

"No, you can't You're a kid. I can't allow that. Take me!"

"I'm not a kid; I'm 16. Take me instead, you monster," Azrael asserted, his voice filled with a mix of fear and defiance.

"You're a kid, a mere 16-year-old. You don't have enough meat. I have plenty. I can provide food. Take me. Don't take the kid. Please."

"No, take me!"

The Hobogoblin stared at the duo, bewildered. The two humans were locked in a desperate struggle, each insisting on being the one taken as food. This unprecedented scenario left the creature utterly confused.

"Please take me. I'm old. He's just a kid. He can't be food."

The Hobogoblin paused for a moment, a sinister smile slowly stretching across his grotesque face.

"FOOD. BOTH YOU."

"What?" both Azrael and the old man exclaimed simultaneously.

"BOTH FOOD. HAHAHA," the Hobogoblin burst into maniacal laughter, his yellow teeth gleaming.

"No, no, no," the old man protested, shaking his head in disbelief. "You can't do that. You can't take us both as food. Please, have mercy, sir."

"FOOD. HAHAHA. BOTH," the Hobogoblin reiterated, finding the situation amusing in his own twisted way.

The large Hobogoblin snapped his fingers, and suddenly, eight green goblins emerged from the shadows, grinning wickedly as they advanced towards Azrael and the old man. With surprising strength, they seized the duo, effortlessly hoisting them into the air.

Four goblins latched onto Azrael, gripping each of his limbs and suspending him mid-air, while an equal number of goblins did the same to the old man, rendering him similarly helpless.

Their cries echoed through the cavern, but the other slaves remained oblivious, accustomed to the regular occurrences of such events. Azrael's convincing act had succeeded, ensuring their passage into the Goblin Chief's chamber, bringing him one step closer to completing his mission.

'Yes! Fuck yes!'

Azrael and Erik were hoisted and transported, their cries resonating through the cavern. The closer they got to the door, Azrael could feel his heart pounding with anticipation. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the chance to fulfill his mission and liberate the enslaved captives.

But, but something felt wrong. This was the path to save his... friends, assuming they were indeed in the dungeon, and the boss room seemed like the most likely place to find them. Yet, a lingering sense of inner turmoil troubled him.

As Azrael approached the door, a wave of apprehension washed over him. The thought of facing the Goblin Chief, a creature that had been lurking in the depths of the dungeon for centuries, filled him with doubt. No matter how skilled he was, a dungeon boss was a formidable opponent, and the Chief's longevity only added to his potential power.

Azrael couldn't shake the nagging feeling that his current body might not be enough to handle such a formidable foe. After all, if the Chief had been lurking in the dungeon for over two centuries, his strength and abilities would undoubtedly be higher beyond measure.

A nervous gulp escaped Azrael's throat, and an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach.

'Calm down, Azrael. Focus on the mission first,' he scolded himself, trying to regain control of his emotions.

Then, a crucial detail rushed back into his mind. In dungeons, once someone stepped into the boss room, they were obligated to defeat the dungeon boss to leave.

The problem was, the unfortunate individuals thrown into the boss room were never a match for a powerful Goblin Chief like the one he anticipated encountering. Given their small numbers—usually two or three—there was little hope for survival. The dismal outcome typically involved becoming the Chief's next meal or just crushed by him like they never existed in the first place.

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