Under normal circumstances, an adult Goblin's combat ability could not be considered strong.
There was not even any need for army soldiers who trained year-round, or fully armed village Guards.
A broad-shouldered, thick-waisted farm woman, at most with an old, rusty pitchfork added in, could handle one easily.
But when the numbers of these cockroach-like, low-level Monsters rose to several dozen, or even into the triple digits...
Driven by the elite individuals among them, they gained the strength and courage to attack small human settlements.
"Hiss!"
Cold light flashed.
The One-handed Sword, stained all over with the Goblin's stinking blood, stabbed fiercely into the chest of the Goblin before him.
The blade was sharp. Although the slight marks on the grip and the sword itself showed it had been used for a long time, and was not some new product fresh out of the Blacksmith Shop...
Under its owner's careful maintenance, it was still kept in very decent condition.
The keen sword tip pierced through the Goblin's rough, fragile blue-green skin, like sandpaper, almost the instant its wielder exerted force.
Fat, muscle, cartilage.
Then, amid the sound of metal grinding against flesh and blood, it slowly came to a halt.
It had not pierced straight through the body from front to back. Even its accuracy was somewhat lacking, failing to kill the enemy in one blow.
Naturally, this had nothing to do with how sharp the weapon was.
The hand gripping the sword hilt, trembling violently from exerting too much force, had already given the reason.
Abi held his One-handed Sword in a reverse grip with his right hand, his left palm braced against the end of the hilt.
His body leaned forward and crouched low, almost pressing his entire weight down onto the blade.
"Ah!!!"
He roared loudly and