Chương 3: 1/4th cup of butter

"Ho ho ho!" Santa Claus laughs merrily as we reach the foot of the mountain.

"My Santa-Senses are telling me that fragment of the Babylon Codex is close, close, close!"

"Thanks, Santa Claus, but make like Santa Claus and stuff it," I growl back, putting my ear to the earth to take advantage of my underpowered skill, 'Earthworm Gossip Girl', which lets me instantly chronicle the social lives of nearby earthworms, which I can then use to deduce something useful maybe we'll workshop it. My other companion shoots me with a gun, but I ignore her. She can hate me and my anti-hero antics as much as she wants, my moral compass only points one direction: south. Towards me.

Because I'm only here to look after myself. Others will either let you down, betray you, join your harem, or some sick combination of all three. And I, for one, was tired of it. I stand up and brush the dirt off my knees and the bullet hole off my neck.

"The worms said the door is this way," I point to the door, "quickly, let's get inside before I get absorbed in the intricacies of their social dynamic for six seasons and a two-season sequel series on HBO Max." The door I pointed to was a yawning promise of hitherto unimaginable terrors and horrors, the mundanity of its design a false mask for the nightmares that lurk within the stomach of the looming mountain.

Still, there's no option but to approach, and although I still feel dwarfed by both the mountain and the enormity of the task being asked of me, at least the shuffling of my feet created the spark my companions needed to kindle their own imperfect courage.

"Everyone pee before we get started I don't wanna have to stop halfway through the dungeon," I remind them.

"I'm good I went before we left for this journey 51, 722, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000 years and two days ago."

"Ho ho ho! Santa has a cloaca so he doesn't need to pee pee pee!"

"Heh. That's fine. I can piss enough for the three of us," I say as I piss enough for the three of us.

"Let's go." I step through the door and unlock it from the other side so my companions can open it.

"Ho ho ho! It's so strange going into a home through the door door door," Santa says.

"It's okay Santa Claus. I'm sure the next dungeon will have a chimney," my companion mutters as we traverse the empty veins of this enormous stone titan — passages that would have felt foreboding and unwelcoming were it not for the fact it was in my harem. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Hey did you guys know that the word chimney used to be the 13th century word for 'furnace ' and it comes from an old French word 'Cheminee', which means fireplace or hearth and that word comes from the Medieval Latin word 'Caminat' and that word comes from the Latin word 'Caminatus' and that word comes from the Greek word 'Kaminos' and-""-Ooga booga!" The Goblin shouts as it jumps out at us from around the corner.

"Ah!" My companion shouts.

"Ho!" Santa wails.

"Hmph," I stoically grunts.

"Foolish adventurers, group of three — try your strength to get past me," the goblin rapped but, like, in a very un-lyrical, flat way.

"My blade is ready to rip and rend, to render wounds that never mend. My skills are honed by training true, a flash of steel and I'll end you! Hee hee hoo hoo Goblin rhyme, gonna stab you sixty times."

"Well, that's no good," my companion balks.

"My doctor said I have a strict eight-stab limit."

"Ho ho ho! Is it sixty times per person or can we split it? I'll take 13 for you, Ilia Ilia Ilia."

"Thanks, Santa Claus," my unnamed companion smiled at the old jolly man.

"Tis my intent to cause you harm — to scare you off, make you alarmed! Of course I won't accommodate, stabbed sixty times is your cruel fate!"

"Hmph. That's where you're wrong, goblin," I say as I step forward, creating a barrier between the monstrous monster in front of me and the monstrous monsters I call my traveling companions.

"I'm going to stop you. Not because I'm a hero. But because I'm an anti-hero. And since you're the hero of your own story I am anti-you. Your Wario. A Woblin, if you will."

"Ehhhhh?" The goblin leered.

"In fact, to prove my point: I'm not going to rhyme a single time this- oh wait crap let me try again. I'm not going to rhyme at all when I communicate with you. Then I will kill you and use my [F-Rank Copy Skill that Let Me Challenge the Gods] and steal your 'Stabbing Sixty Times' skill for myself!"

"Try if you like, you foolish fool! This goblin something something tool!" It reared its knife back, as if preparing to strike.

"I stab you now then watch you die! Slice you up and eat some fries!" He started the process of stabbing me. Unfortunately for him, in my rigorous cultivation and training that all happened in that backstory you made me skim over in chapter one, I microdosed being stabbed for several years, slowly building up a lifelong immunity to stab wounds. I could take sixty stabs no problem. Or so I thought.

But I forgot that I was also [Reincarnated as the Strongest Hero who has a Fatal Weakness to Being Stabbed Sixty Times by a Goblin] so I died.

"Oh thank god he's dead," Ilia sighed, kicking the corpse of the former party leader.

"Ho ho ho! Santa never celebrates death, but he doesn't have to mourn mourn mourn!"

"... wait, this goblin succeeded his quest? He put his enemy to rest? Truly this is a good day, tis not often Goblin gets his way!" The Goblin lit up, doing a little jig on the bleeding corpse of our overpowered protagonist.

"Yeah. Hey do you wanna be our new party leader? You'll have to drop the rhyming gimmick though."

"Oh yeah okay."