The ball of flame grew until it was the size of a basketball. Then the shaman launched it toward Prince, even though they were in a wooden house.
This whole ordeal took a few seconds, which was more than enough time for Prince to get out of the trajectory of the fireball. It was clear that the shaman was worse at magic than the wolf.
Prince felt the heat of the fireball, tongues of flame licking his cheek as he weaved around the fireball. The fireball slammed into the wall.
The ball of fire, for all of its impressiveness, was just a ball of intangible flame. It wasn't solid enough to actually do any blunt damage, instead landing on the wall and spreading like a wildfire.
Idiot, Prince thought, appearing before the shaman in one long stride.
The shaman's eyes widened, but it quickly threw a potion at Prince. He quickly scanned it.
Failed Bottle of Ignition (F-Grade)
A potion meant to be one of volatile Fire Essence. Unfortunately, the alchemist constructing this potion made it go horribly wrong, mak-
All Prince needed to see was ignition before he adjusted himself. He tilted sightly to the side, the bottle flying right past his head.
As soon as the bottle was nearing the middle of its flight, the liquid inside grew too violent from the brutal shaking it had just underwent, and the potion detonated midair.
The liquid erupted, creating a miniature ball of flame for a split second and illuminating the entire room in a orange glow. Shards of glass sprayed everywhere, some pelting Prince's back and burning through the shreds of his hoodie.
Prince did not turn. He did not falter. He was focused on one thing, his fist rocketing toward the goblin shaman's face.
The shaman created a barrier before its face right at that very moment, though it was clear that its talent lied in the flame aspect of magic. The barrier cracked as Prince's fist slammed into it, but did not break.
No matter. He would just punch the barrier into the shaman's face.
So he did.
The back of the goblin's head slammed into the table.
Since the goblin was shorter than Prince, when Prince had punched at the goblin, he had punch downward. And coincidentally, the table with all the potions was right behind the goblin shaman.
The goblin slammed into the table with a bang, cracking the wood—and setting off all the potions. The only reason the goblin survived the punch was because of the shield he had summoned at the last moment.
Prince gritted his teeth as a multitude of colors bombarded his vision. His skin was burned off, ripped to shreds, and assaulted with multiple effects. Unfortunately, the potions the shaman had been working one were geared more offensively.
Prince withdrew himself, immediately grunting in pain. Strips of skin were hanging off of his fist, and he thought he could even see bone. His forearm was wrinkled, though his fist took the brunt of the blow.
The flames from the fireball seemed to stay to their one wall, though flames from miscellaneous potions were now burning.
Prince held his ruined right fist, glaring at the wreckage: a broken table, shards of glass littering the scene and pools of liquid running down the visible legs of the shaman.
Prince released a sigh. He'd done it. He'd killed a level 15.
Prince was gearing himself to allocate his points when he realized he hadn't even gotten a surge of energy, much less a level-up. Prince turned to the wreckage once more surprised.
The goblin shaman released a shriek, before all of the items obstructing it rocketed outward in an magnificent explosion. A glowing circular barrier surrounded the goblin, liquid and glass sloughing off of it.
The goblin shaman itself growled at Prince. Half of its face had been horribly melted off, and blisters had formed all over its skin. Prince grimaced.
The shaman retrieved a Failed Bottle of Healing from its tattered and burning clothes, quickly gulping the liquid down. Visibly, it healed a little bit, but not in too much of a way visible to the naked eye.
The shaman took out two more bottles.
Shit, Prince thought, but he couldn't do anything. The goblin was surrounded by a magical shield, and Prince lost one of his hands. Forming a fist now for his right arm hurt like hell.
The goblin gulped down the potions. For the little quality, it had quantity, and that was quality in and of itself.
The goblin drank five more potions before it seemed to finish its personal stash. It dropped the empty bottle at its feet, and it joined the other potions.
By now the goblin had healed enough that it no longer looked so disturbing. Still, it was more damaged than Prince.
Prince then realized that his chest wound was burning. As it turned out, some drops of an acidic potion had splashed onto his chest wound. Fuck. Nothing to do about that.
Prince thought of using his own potion, but he chalked up that it would have little effect, so it was best not to waste it on something like this.
Prince cracked his neck and raised his left hand, forming a fist. "You done potting? I could do this all day."
The shaman stared at him dismissively. "Lucky human," It said. Then a wave of flame rushed toward Prince, burning anything and everything.
Is it trying to smother me? Too bad.
Prince grinned. it would take a lot more than a wall of fire to dissuade him.
Prince pulled his left fist back, beads of sweat dripping down his face. The wall of fir was just before him now.
"Fuck you all!" He roared, charging into the flame and bursting through it into the other side.
For a moment he was unscathed.
Then his body began to burn. Thankfully, he didn't light on fire due to his inhuman endurance, and also probably due to the face that the wall of flame was more bluff than anything.
Still, his body was growing uncomfortably hot. His skin was turning red. He didn't care.
His fist still landed against the surprised shaman's face, the shield having long since vanished.
The goblin's face cracked and shattered, its head twisting on its neck so far it bent unnaturally. Prince stood over it, triumphant. The flames vanished. The energy poured into him.
Level-up! You are now level 12.
Level-up! You are now level 13.
Before the adrenaline left him and fatigue came pouring in, Prince pocketed what Failed Bottles of Healing he could find laying around and quickly drank one. Thankfully, it abated his wounds for a little bit, though his right arm was unusable.
Prince blinked as he took in the carnage of the scene. The walls of the room had been completely destroyed by the wall of flame, letting the night shower moonlight onto Prince.
Now Prince could see it clearly—directly behind the goblin shaman's house, a worn path led into the forest. If he were to walk on there, he would probably find the boss. But he couldn't fight the Goblin King like this.
Prince turned around and walked out of the goblin shaman's house only to find what seemed to be the whole tribe staring right at him, eyes wide.
They must of heard the commotion and exited their houses to see what happened! Prince mentally cursed at his luck. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't fight off fifty goblins by himself. Even in his peak form, it would take his utmost concentration.
But Prince wasn't in the mood to deal with this. His injuries had yet to register—he couldn't afford dropping to the ground while a horde of goblins mauled him.
He took a step.
The goblins all shrieked and hiss, some excited, the hobgoblins wary.
"FUCK OFF!" Prince roared once more, anger in his veins. Did the world wish for his death?
The goblins flinched, and Prince noticed the window of opportunity. He took off.
Prince dashed toward his left, pushing his legs to the very limit. Thankfully, the worst of his burns had been on his upper body, as he had sweatpants on. Prince weaved in between buildings, skirting the gathering of goblins.
They took chase.