The wave of goblin weapons rang off the vaulted stone as the left-flank trio pressed deeper into the forge hall. Every new wave that poured from side tunnels crashed against them like surf against a breakwater. Tetsuo waded in first, fists sheathed in a skin of rough granite. A single hammer-blow from his right hand lifted two goblins clear off their feet; the follow-through splintered a weapons rack into tinder. “Step up if you wanna fly!” he boomed, laughter rolling behind the challenge. Aiko slipped through his wake, a blur of controlled momentum. Each time a spear jabbed toward her back, she vanished in a swirl of displaced air, reappearing where a stray pebble, arrow shaft, or loose pauldron had been an instant earlier. “Too slow,” she sang, heel-kicking a goblin between the shoulder blades before swapping again to avoid a cleaver strike. Confusion spread through the ranks as foes swung at empty space. Ryuji anchored the center, skin shimmering. Sword edges screeched over hardened flesh, sparking harmlessly. He answered with piston punches that cracked breast bones and sent helmets rolling across the stone floor. “Toys,” he grunted, knocking three goblins flat with a whirlwind hook. Minutes stretched; sweat slicked backs, but coordination held. The instant Tetsuo’s guard slipped, Aiko blinked behind an attacker to intercept. When Aiko re-materialized with a dagger scratch on her forearm, Ryuji stepped forward to absorb the next barrage. In that brutal choreography, the horde finally lost heart, pulling back in ragged groups toward the deeper vaults. Tetsuo planted fists on hips, chest heaving. “Hah! We just flattened half the roster.” Aiko wiped a smear of green blood from her cheek. “Listen.” She cocked her head; thunderous impacts reverberated through the stone, distant but rhythmic. “That’s Shunjiro’s corridor.” Ryuji’s hardened skin faded to normal. “Leader fight. They’ll need backup.” Back in the runed vault, Brughor fought on, bare-handed. His black-iron spiked club lay far down the passage where Shunjiro had kicked it during the prior clash. The goblin’s tusked grin promised brutality without need of steel. Yoshinori feinted left, loosing a narrow bolt at Brughor’s ear. The goblin rolled a shoulder, the lightning scarring armor but drawing only a grunt. He answered with a straight punch that Shunjiro intercepted; forearms met with a concussive thud, sending tremors up Shunjiro’s bone. Itsuki’s staff glowed, weaving thin streams of energy to repair hairline fractures before they crippled her teammates. Brughor pressed, fists pounding like smith hammers. “Your little spark’s dying,” he taunted, breath hot and ragged. Shunjiro ducked a sweeping hook, countering with two body shots, each denting cuirass plates. “Still brighter than your future,” he shot back. Yoshinori’s eyes flicked toward the abandoned club glinting in torchlight fifty feet behind Brughor. If he reaches that again we’ll lose ground. “We keep his back to the weapon,” he murmured. They tightened their triangle, forcing Brughor away from the club with alternating strikes. Yet the warlord’s sheer drive cracked their formation: a sudden bull rush bowled Shunjiro aside and sent Yoshinori skidding. Brughor bounded past, straight toward his fallen iron. “Stop him!” Itsuki cried, launching a bind. Vines of light lashed Brughor’s calves for half a heartbeat, enough for Yoshinori to hurl a charged bolt. The blast clipped Brughor’s shoulder, spinning him off balance. But momentum carried; the goblin rolled, scooped up the club, and rose with a roar. Brughor twirled the weapon once; air whooshed. “Back where it belongs,” he growled, charging. The first swing cleaved a flagstone ridge, showering chips across Yoshinori. Shunjiro darted inside the next arc, fists flicking jabs to Brughor’s ribs, but the club reversed unexpectedly, catching Shunjiro’s thigh with a glancing blow that numbed muscle. Itsuki flashed healing into the bruise even as she danced away from the backswing. Sweat beaded on her brow; reserves dwindled. Yoshinori narrowed eyes. Armor won’t crack before we collapse. Have to separate him from the club, permanently. He shouted, “Shunjiro, break the grip; I’ll take the handle!” Shunjiro feinted high then dove low, slamming both palms into Brughor’s wrist. The shock loosened fingers for a heartbeat. Instantly Yoshinori stepped in, lightning-wreathed hand grabbing the haft just above the goblin’s knuckles. Current surged; muscles spasmed. With a growl Brughor yanked back, only to find Aiko’s voice call from the archway, “Heads up!” A coin pinged against the dungeon floor near Brughor’s boot, and Aiko appeared in its place, seizing the club’s mid-shaft with both arms. Simultaneously Ryuji hardened skin and shoulder-checked Brughor’s torso. The combined leverage tore the weapon free. Tetsuo barreled past, scoop-tackling Brughor round the waist. The collision drove the warlord into a wall, stone spider-webbing under impact. Aiko flashed away with the club, reappearing beside Itsuki. “Trading this for booze later,” she said, tossing the massive iron far down a cross tunnel. The crash echoed until distance swallowed it. Brughor roared, trying to rise, but Tetsuo used granite fists to pin shoulders while Ryuji hammered ribs with piston blows. Shunjiro rallied, limping, and added rapid strikes wherever armor already buckled. “Pour it on!” Yoshinori barked, channeling a last volt into Brughor’s exposed neck seam. The goblin jerked violently; tusks snapped shut with a clang. Brughor flung Tetsuo off with a final burst of fury, but staggered forward, one knee dipping. Helm dented, vision dazed, he swung a desperate fist; Shunjiro slipped inside, launched a spine-twisting uppercut powered by every spark of spirit he had left. The blow lifted Brughor, driving jaw into helm brim. Purple blood sprayed. When he dropped, legs folded. A deep breath rattled in his chest, then silence. For five seconds no one moved. Torches sputtered. Tetsuo finally exhaled, rubbing a bruised shoulder. “Big guy’s down.” Yoshinori placed two fingers on Brughor’s neck. Pulse faint, alive, but fightless. “Dungeon leader neutralised,” he confirmed. Itsuki sagged against her staff, relief flooding limbs. She began binding runes around Brughor’s wrists and ankles to keep him unconscious. “Radiance guards can collect him.” Treasure chests stacked behind the throne, crammed with dragon coins, were found exactly as the quest poster promised. Tetsuo hoisted Brughor onto one shoulder; even limp, the goblin weighed like wet stone. “Training weight,” he grunted. Aiko watched Shunjiro limp. “Leg okay?” “Hurts,” he admitted, “but it’s a keeper’s bruise.” Itsuki’s gentle pulse of light soothed the throb. They climbed battered stairwells, winded but elated. Late-afternoon sun spilled across Dungeon Valley when they emerged. Fresh air swept dungeon stench from lungs. Shunjiro stretched arms skyward. “Surface never looked better.” Ryuji set the treasure chest down with a groan. “One hundred dragon coins… and booze debt paid.” Aiko tossed Brughor’s spiked club, retrieved on the way out, into a quarry pit, where it clanged far below. “No trophies for him.” Six battered silhouettes started the trek to Radiance, treasure gleaming, prisoner line safe behind, and the sun setting amber over a valley finally free of its iron tyrant.