Another week had bled away, split between two hells: the relentless, sun-bleached monotony of the Caeloran Wastes, and the worser one:
IRL.
The days had settled into a brutal, exhausting rhythm. Wake up in the dark. Endure the soul-sucking grind of the call center. Log in. Train until my virtual muscles screamed and game-world joints ached with phantom fatigue. Hunt. Get my ass kicked into the dirt. Learn something.
Log out.
Sleep.
Repeat.
For today, the lesson was all about subtlety. Solely tracking my targets was yesterday's duty. Now, it was all about herding them.
The Hobgoblin ahead of me was a grunt, dumber than a box of rocks, but even it had basic survival instincts. It moved with a lumbering, heavy purpose, its ugly, sallow head swiveling as it sniffed the stagnant air, following a trail only it could perceive.
A trail I had laid for it.
Earlier today, For every fifty feet, I'd paused to scrape a tiny, glowing pinch of Glimmer Spore I'd smeared and crushed between my gauntlets, dusting the sticky residue onto rocks or the thorns of shrubs. It was Godspeed who had pitched the tactic, but I had been the one working myself to the bone to find these damned sparkling shroomies.
'Two hours of muddy bullshit,' I grumbled internally, shifting my weight on the branch. 'But hey, I'd rather be over-prepared than under, right?'
The stuff was a rare treat for those midnight-blue [Star-Stags], the exact diet that gave their fur those pulsing, glowing patterns. They were a nocturnal animal, but from what Godspeed said, they would always wake for these type of snacks.
The hobgoblins didn't know that, though. They ain't need to.Just needed to follow the sweet scent of the spores and hope to ambush a stag for dinner. They were smart enough for that, according to creepy-eyes' weirdly wide gamer knowledge.
A thing about the spores: [Glimmer Spores] only thrived above trapped, subterranean moisture. For a lowly grunt—desperate for water yet violently blockaded from the settlement's stream by the High Warriors—a patch of spores meant an 'okay' chance of digging up a fresh, unguarded water vein. A non-zero chance was all it took.
'Screw my original pity,' I thought, watching the brute sniff the dirt. 'I'm going to use that desperation for your pig-faced downfall.'
It was guided away from the shorter grass, nudged with breadcrumbs of crushed spores toward a denser patch of the oasis—a tangled mess of sun-starved trees and thick, suffocating undergrowth. It was the perfect kill box.
My movements were quiet now, a far, FAR cry from the clumsiness and mud-soaked crawling I'd done just a week ago. I moved from tree branch to tree branch much lighter now, as I had take off the majority of my armor for this little hunt. I was careful to ensure any sound I made was masked by the ambiance: rustling of leaves and wind and stuff. It was my best impression of Godspeed—or at least the Godspeed I'd actively observed—mimicking the near-ninja-like demeanor he used to constantly, infuriatingly sneak up on me.
Finally, the hobgoblin lumbered into the heart of the trap. It stopped, grunting eagerly as it sniffed at a large, undisturbed patch of shrooms sparkling like disco balls against the roots of a boulder.
'Here. We. Go.'
I settled onto a sturdy branch, the broad leaves providing perfect cover. Below me, the hobgoblin circled around his dessert, completely oblivious. I unslung the iron-tipped spear from my back, my choice-of-weapon for a quick execution. I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the frantic buzzing of my mind to go quiet. I let the world narrow down until only three things existed: the rough wood of the spear, the tension in my arm, and the target below.
A quick flash of the uncomfortable, agonizing, plethora of hours of throwing this exact weapon at Godspeed while he casually sidestepped it in the sand came through and went by in my thoughts.
As well as the flat critiques on my form.
'Lock your elbow. The power comes from your core, not your arm. Follow through.'
"Let's see if he's right."
My arm snapped forward.
**THWIP!**
The spear flew perfect and straight, like a bullet. It struck the Hobgoblin in the neck, burying its heavy iron tip deep into the soft, meaty tissue just below the jawline.
"--GURGLE!"
It didn't even have time to scream. A wet, sickeningly thick choking sound escaped its throat as its hands flew up, clawing frantically at the wooden shaft protruding from its neck. Its legs immediately gave out. It collapsed into the mud in a heavy heap, its limbs twitching violently.
Incapacitated; not dead.
I dropped from the branch, my boots hitting the soft earth in a silent crouch. I drew a shortsword—back-up weapon—from my hips(not the back, this time) in one smooth motion and closed the distance. One clean, practiced slice across the nape, and the ugly head rolled into the dirt.
I wasn't going to be fair.
Just as the notification jangled cheerfully in my head, a familiar, disappointed voice cut through the silence of the oasis.
"You were supposed to engage it."
I didn't even jump. I just sighed, my shoulders dropping as I stared down at the decapitated monster, trying to hold back some ickiness in my throat. I didn't bother turning around. "It is dead, isn't it?"
I heard the soft crunch of his heavy boots on the dead leaves behind me.
[--System Alert--]
[New Skill Unlocked: Javelin Toss (Rank 1)]
[Congratulations, {MOONSHINE}!]
"--I gave you the spear to learn how to fight with it," Godspeed said. His tone was more analytical than anger-ish. "So you understand its range, its pacing, its offensive/defensive capabilities in close quarters."
"Yeah, I tried that," I retorted. I finally turned to face him, wiping the dark, foul-smelling blood off my sword onto a cluster of broad leaves. "And they were pretty hard to make sense of, dude… Your lessons were all jumbled up, talking about pivot this, and lunge at that. All I remember is me getting hit, tbh. My brain is already frying itself trying to learn two other styles concurrently."
I sheath my sword with a sharp snap and pointed an accusing finger at the spear still embedded in the corpse's neck. "But you know what did make sense? The hours you spent making me throw this damn thing at you while you dodged like a flea... no offense~~. Anyways, that stuck... So I used it."
A little bit of something like surprise… Maybe actual acknowledgment? Passed through his tornado-spinning red eyes. He held a stare on me, all silent and for a long moment, before giving a single, slow nod.
"Mmhm. That's what I thought."
[Forwarding Time ... ... ... ]
[[... Three Days Later.]]
[[[May 22. 2038.]]]
My days were mushing all together.
Blurring into a grueling montage—not too different from a low-budget action movie. And amidst some training, Godspeed must have seen SOME merit in my old style, because he eventually brought back the sword and shield. We'd spar for hours under the blistering, unforgiving sun, the **CLANG!** of steel on steel echoing out into the expanse of the Wastes.
He was a relentless teacher; always pushing me to the brink of my stamina, breaking down my sloppy habits and forcing me to be more precise, more deliberate.
"You are reacting, not anticipating," he'd say smoothly, his shield effortlessly deflecting my downward strike. "Watch my feet first, then my blade."
Somehow, it was like each individual training session with him would bleed seamlessly into a real hunt. The sharp hiss of Godspeed's sword cutting the air would be replaced by the guttural barks of a Hobgoblin in the brush. But I'd be ready for them, now. I would see the obvious shift in their ugly, calloused feet. I would anticipate their wild swings. My shield would come up to deflect—not just absorb and block like a sponge—and create an opening. And my sword would continuously, consistently, find its mark. Each and every time, now.
I was...
Winning.
Beating them.
Convincingly.
"--Come on, you overgrown pile of regurgitated garbage! Keep up!" I shrieked, my voice tearing through the humid air of the oasis.
I burst through a layer of dense, thorny brush, broad leaves whipping aggressively against my bare arms. Right on my heels, the furious, wet snarling of a Hobgoblin spurred me to run faster. The heavy, thudding rhythm of its footsteps shook the dirt, snapping branches as it blindly chased the crazy human who had just thrown a rock at its ugly head and called its mother a diseased warthog.
I hit the edge of the oasis and didn't stop. The damp soil instantly gave way to the loose, shifting gold of the Caeloran Wastes.
A towering sand dune loomed directly ahead. I hit the incline sprinting.
'Burn, baby, burn,' I thought, my thighs screaming in protest. The sun beat down on the back of my neck, sweat instantly mixing with the dust kicking up around my boots.
The monster roared behind me, rageful and envious of my non-stubby legs. It was pretty fast on flat ground, but the sand? The sand was MY environment now. I knew how to plant my feet. I knew the shift and spread of the slope. The lumbering Hobgoblin didn't. I could hear it grunting and heaving breath, unsteadiness and shitty grip causing it to slip and flounder in the loose sediment with every step.
I pushed my calves to the limit, scrambling up the steep, shifting face of the dune. Five feet. Ten feet. Fifteen.
I hit the crest.
I didn't pause to catch my breath. I planted my left boot hard into the ridge, anchoring myself against the loose earth, and violently pivoted. My right hand reached over my shoulder, grabbing the bo staff strapped across my back.
The momentum of my spin carried the weapon out of its holster in one fluid, beautifully brutal arc. The Hobgoblin appeared right there as expected, the supporting star of my desert show, snarling its face as it peaked over the top of the dune, a rusted sword raised high to cleave me in two.
It never got the chance.
**CRACK!**
The solid oak of the bo staff connected flush with the side of its misshapen head. The impact shuddered down my arms—a deep, incredibly satisfying vibration. A sickening crunch echoed in the dry air, and a massive, yellowed fang spiraled out of its mouth, flying off into the desert heat.
The rag-dolled hobgoblin following closely.
The Hobgoblin's eyes rolled back. Its momentum died instantly. With a garbled, concussed groan, its knees buckled, and it tumbled backward, sliding clumsily down the steep incline of the dune in a cloud of dust. Its rusted sword slipped from its three-fingered grip, tumbling away into the sand.
I stood at the top, chest heaving, a wild grin stretching across my face. I loosened my grip, let the staff slide through my fingers, and snapped it into a crisp, tight figure-eight spin, bringing it to rest in a perfect, centered guard.
'Welcome to MY territory, bitch.'
Down below, the monster wasn't dead just yet. It shook its heavy head, spraying spit and blood onto the sand. It locked its furious, bloodshot eyes on me, let out a deafening howl, and scrambled toward its fallen sword. It snatched the hilt and began clawing its way back up the slope, entirely consumed by blind aggression.
I didn't wait for it to reach the top. I took a breath, read its trajectory, and stepped down to meet it.
It lunged upward, driving off its back foot for a desperate, vertical cleave. I saw the shift in its shoulders a second before the blade moved.
I didn't block. I stepped off the centerline, letting the rusted steel hiss past my ear.
**CLACK!**
I slapped the flat of the blade away with the top half of my staff, instantly redirecting its momentum. The Hobgoblin stumbled forward, its balance completely compromised by the shifting sand.
I pivoted on my heel and drove the butt of the staff straight into its exposed ribs.
**THUD!**
It wheezed, the air rushing out of its lungs, but the beast was built like a brick wall. It immediately spun, backhanding its sword in a wild, horizontal sweep aimed at my neck.
I dropped into a crouch. The blade whistled over my head, so close I felt the breeze rustle my bangs. Not allowing myself to miss such an easy opportunity, I swept my staff low in a wide, punishing arc, catching the monster behind both knees.
**WHUMP!**
Its legs went out from under it. It slammed hard into the side of the dune, sand exploding around us. But it was feral, thrashing violently as it rolled, blindly slashing upward to keep me back.
I hopped backward, letting the wild swings cut empty air, my breathing steady, my eyes tracking every frantic movement. It scrambled back to its feet, chest heaving, its remaining teeth bared in a bloody snarl.
It charged again, abandoning all technique for a raw, two-handed overhead smash.
I stepped into the attack, sliding the upper half of my staff against the descending blade.
**SCREEECH!**
The rusted metal slid harmlessly down the smooth wood. I kept the tension, guiding the weapon completely off-target and burying its tip into the sand. With the monster overextended and its arms locked downward, I slid my grip, stepped forward, and drove the heavy, blunt center of my staff directly up into its shattered jaw.
**CRACK!**
The upward momentum of my thrust completely upended its center of gravity. As the bumbling monster began to topple backward down the curve of the dune, I didn't pull back. Simply opening my hands, I let my now-cracked staff fly with the monster, clattering uselessly against its thick chest as it plummeted backward in a chaotic tangle of stringy limbs.
My right hand instantly snapped to my hip.
**SHING!**
I drew the shortsword in a fluid, desperate motion. The blade was a jagged, pathetic excuse for a weapon, its tip completely sheared off from a previous block, but it was all I had left for a true takedown. Had to take the chance. I threw myself forward, dropping low and letting the steep incline of the shifting sand pull me down into a rapid slide.
The Hobgoblin tumbled violently ahead of me, roaring and flailing, flailing and roaring. I tracked its chaotic descent, using my free hand to balance against the rushing golden grit. Halfway down the dune, the monster hit a sudden shelf in the sand—a steep drop-off where the wind had carved out a ledge. Its body was launched into the air, hopping off the dune in a wild and uncontrolled arc before plummeting toward the flat, baked earth below.
'No slowing down!'
I followed its exact movement line, hitting the ledge at full speed. I jumped off myself, rocketing off the dune and into the open air right above it.
We hit the ground at the exact same moment.
**WHUMP!**
The impact rattled my teeth, but my aim was locked. I drove my entire body weight downward, plunging the jagged end of the shortsword directly into the monster's exposed throat.
-------------**SQUELCH!**-------------