Ackster was used to fighting with his fists, and he quite liked the feeling of smashing the goblins' skulls with the reinforced gauntlet-like gloves Tommelier had given him. However, merely fighting with his fists wouldn't be enough. It also wasn't suitable in all situations. For example, when he fought against foes too sturdy for his fists to do any damage.
So, instead of dodging the next wooden club cleaving through the air toward his face, he grabbed it. He almost missed it.
'That's broken.'
Ackster didn't know if he had broken or dislocated his thumb. But whatever it was, he couldn't grip the club with anything but his four mostly intact fingers. Those weren't broken, at least, but they had still taken a beating after his brawling.
He used his four fingers to yank the club out of the goblin's grasp. He quickly delivered the club to his other hand before jabbing the goblin in the face and knocking it back. He then took a step forward and swung widely to finish off the goblin.
It was a movement he wasn't used to, and it felt uncomfortable as his arm and shoulder spun and swung forward with enough accuracy to at least hit the same time zone as the goblin.
The club swung wide and hit the goblin's shoulder instead of the head Ackster had aimed at, but it was better than nothing. Ackster backhanded the club into the goblin's jaw with a diagonal upward swing, and the goblin's head whipped back at the strike. The goblin sank to the ground, senseless or lifeless.
'I'll finish you later.'
Ackster spared the goblin a thought but no glance as he continued on to the next goblin, who definitely wouldn't give him time to finish the one he had just downed, in case he hadn't killed it.
The next goblin in line was already swinging its club.
Ackster's eyes shone in confidence as he could already see the club's trajectory before it had even gotten above the goblin's elbow. He had seen the goblins and their clubs so many times now that it felt like he would see them even in his dreams. And with adrenaline pumping through his veins and boosting his senses, Ackster could even see the grain on the wooden club. He could even see the bloodshot eyes of the goblin gurgling bloody murder with monstrous cries.
Time slowed down again as Ackster's senses sharpened beyond their limits, and the details of his surroundings faded away as he could see naught but the foes in his path and the path itself.
Ackster didn't think. He saw the goblins, their movements, even before they started moving, and he could see the gaps and openings in their movements. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the string of gaps in the goblins' attacks and defenses was his path forward.
But seeing it and following it were two completely different things.
Unlike his senses, especially his sight, which were firing on all cylinders, his body was on the verge of collapse. If he got even a moment to breathe, Ackster was sure his body would sack in on itself, and he would fall to the ground, burdened by his training equipment and fatigue lacing his muscles like lead.
But he didn't give himself time to feel his exhaustion. If he didn't feel it, it wasn't there. And he urged his body forward. His body was his. It followed his orders, regardless of what it had to say about it. His body was subordinate to him, not the other way around.
Ackster weaved through the half-moon-shaped group of goblins. He smashed his club into the second of the seven goblins. Both the club and the goblin's head shattered and turned into fragments that splattered over both Ackster and the nearby goblins.
Ackster didn't even feel the goblin blood and brains dripping down his face and into his eyes and mouth. He had seen a flash of the goblins' movements as well as their openings. That flash was etched in his mind, and with it, he could see what they would do next, assuming they could react before he turned them into corpses.
He had lost his club in that collision, but the goblins had a seemingly endless supply of clubs, and before the one he had just killed could drop to the ground, Ackster grabbed its club to replace his.
It was a short-lived trade since it shattered, just like the one before it, in a shower of brain and skull.
Ackster didn't even try for a repeat since the third goblin's club was too far away. Instead, he used his fingers to pierce the fourth goblin's throat and grab its club while it clutched its throat and sank to the ground, bleeding out with its eyes ablaze in murderous rage.
Since not even a goblin would survive with that kind of wound, Ackster ignored it and moved on to the fifth goblin.
Unfortunately, or fortunately for the goblin, its arms and the raised club it held with both hands shielded its head from Ackster. So, instead, he tapped the goblin's leg with his leg, cracking its knee in the wrong direction. The goblin lost its balance and kneeled. It would have imitated Ackster's previous proposal if it weren't for its leg being bent backward.
Ackster raised his arms and smashed his club straight down on the goblin. The force behind his blow was enough to break through the club and the arms in the way, and he now only had two goblins left to kill.
However, he had been too slow. He had been unable to keep up with the vision his senses had gathered and projected into his brain. The goblins had moved out of the way and distorted it.
But it didn't matter. Ackster didn't even think about trying to enhance his sight or anything to get another such flash where he could see the goblins' movements and the trajectories of their weapons in advance.
He didn't need it.
Ackster discarded the broken handle that remained of the club, which was now lodged in the split skull of the fifth goblin, by throwing it at the sixth. He raised his arm to defend against the seventh goblin's strike. He tried to grab the club but missed.
The blood in his eyes, fatigue, and the sequelae of forcefully breaking through his limits and doing more than he should be capable of were becoming too much and was already turning his previously glass-clear sight blurry. The world was already starting to spin from how overtaxed his mind was.
Ackster only had moments until he collapsed from over-exerting himself.
His pearly white teeth shone through the red blood staining his mouth as he grinned and took a lunging step forward, plunging an extended, dagger-like hand into the seventh goblin's chest and tearing into its ribcage, crushing its heart.
With how many goblins he had eaten by now, their anatomy was like the back of his hand.
Ackster looked at the sixth goblin, who was only two steps away.
"Uff!"
Ackster jerked his head forward to threaten the goblin, which he could barely see due to his swimming vision. He also bit down on his own teeth hard enough to make a clacking noise loud enough for the goblin to hear for good measure.
It was a desperate attempt since Ackster could feel his consciousness slipping away like a lubed-up ice cube.
Fortunately, the last thing he saw before his vision went black and his thoughts stopped moving was the goblin's shrinking silhouette.