Chapter 24: (part 5- progress, guilt and deal)
As I moved forward, something felt wrong. Very wrong. It was like someone was watching me very close.
"Were these rocks here earlier... or did I walk the wrong way?" I whispered under my breath.
"I need to find the spring... my sword's there." I turned around—and froze in an instant.
Standing just a few steps away from me was a humanoid creature with dark green skin and a bloated stomach. Its arms were thin yet muscular, veins showing beneath the skin. It stood around five feet tall, its flat face marked by a broad nose, pointed ears, and a wide mouth lined with small, sharp fangs. A torn rag hung loosely around its waist, and in its right hand it held a worn, rusty yet sharp sword.
Its eyes is wide and orange it's fixed on me.
The air grew heavy. My throat tightened. Standing in front of that thing, I felt like a small animal cornered by a predator.
I didn't need a book to tell me what it was. I'd read about creatures like this in legends, folklore, mythology and even fantasy novel it's a *GOBLIN.*
I swallowed hard, slowly raising a stone from the ground, my hands trembling. But before I could throw it, the goblin opened its mouth and spoke in a language I couldn't understand.
"Cyuuk... cyuuk... cyuuk!!!"
Its voice cracked through the quite forrest, and then it charged. Screaming, it leapt at me with its sword raised high.
I turned and ran. My legs shook, my breath broke apart in gasps. I couldn't think, couldn't plan—only run. The only thought in my head was escape.
The book slipped from my hand. Both my palms scraped the ground as I stumbled forward, but I didn't stop. I didn't look back. The sound of its feet thudding against the ground chasing me relentlessly.
As I ran, my hand brushed against the ground and caught a stone. I didn't think—just turned and threw it with everything I had.
The stone struck his elbow. He halted for a moment, his body twisting from the pain.
But then it screamed. A raw, animalistic roar that shook me. His eyes burned with fury as he charged once again, his steps pounding against the ground, each one heavier and faster than before.
My chest tightened. I turned and ran, gasping, until something glinted faintly in the dirt ahead.
There—buried halfway in the soil—lay an old sword. Its blade was extremely rusted, its edge chipped, its handle was completely worn. It looked like it was from the war long ago... and judging from its look it shouldn't even be used again.
But I had no choice. It was the only thing that i could use to defend myself. Between me and death.
As I hurried to grab the sword, the goblin suddenly raised its arm and hurled its weapon at me.
"What—what is that...? Why does my leg feel... hot? And why... why am I falling?"
My body collapsed before I could understand. When I looked back, I saw it the goblin's blade had pierced through my right leg. The dull iron was buried deep, and blood was already flowing down my skin in thick, crimson lines.
The goblin's laughter echoed through the forrest. It wasn't that loud, but it crawled under my skin, mocking me—as if it enjoyed watching me in pain.
"Damn it... damn it—!"
With trembling hands, I reached for the broken, rusted sword stuck in my leg. My vision shook as I gripped it tight. The pain shot through my leg the moment I pulled, blood bursting out from the torn flesh.
"Urrgghhh... it hurts... it hurts—it hurts!! Get away from me!!!" I screamed in fear.
I tightened my grip on the sword, my palms slick with sweat, and pointed it toward the goblin. But he didn't flinch. He just kept walking toward me, that twisted smile on his face, laughing as if he already knew how this would end.
I swung the sword wildly, the blade cutting through empty air. My second swing missed too, and he kept coming closer, his eyes locked on mine. On the third swing, the blade finally met his flesh—a shallow cut across his arm. Blood dripped from the wound, and his grin turned into a snarl.
He roared and leaped forward, slamming me to the ground. The sword slipped from my hand. My breath caught as I clenched my fist and hit him hard in the temple. He staggered, his balance breaking for a moment. I used that chance to shove him down and pin him under my weight.
Beside us lay his sword. The goblin's claws slashed at my arms, tearing the skin open. Blood ran down my forearms, its warm and sticky. I reached out with trembling hands, grabbed the sword, and hesitated for a moment. My heart was racing so fast it hurt.
Then I closed my eyes, raised the sword high, and with every bit of strength left in me—
I drove it down into his forehead while I'm on top of him.
I could feel it still struggling beneath me—the goblin twisting, trying to break free.
I clenched my teeth and pushed the sword deeper, pouring all my strength into my arms, pressing down with the weight of my whole body.
The rusted blade met resistance for a second... then gave way.
It went straight through the goblin's skull with a sharp, sickening crack.
The struggling stopped.
Its body twitched once, then went completely still.
For a moment, I couldn't move. My breath came out in short gasps, my hands trembling on the hilt.
When I finally opened my eyes, I saw its face—
a face that had been full of anger and life, now empty and pale.
Blood slowly leaked from the hole in its head, dripping down into the dirt.
I forced myself to stand, but my legs were shaking violently. My heart wouldn't calm down.
"I... I killed someone," I whispered, my voice barely reaching my own ears.
But it wasn't just a monster. It wasn't some wild animal. It looked too human—its face, its eyes, its expression... too close to a human.
My stomach churned. I dropped to my knees and vomited. "Bluurgh!" the sound echoed weakly as I stared at its lifeless body, Blood splattered over the blades of grass, staining them and red blood pooling beneath it.
I turned away, dragging my injured leg. blood trickling down nonstop in my arms and leg as I limped back to the direction of the cave. Every step felt heavy, my body trembling from fear, exhaustion and guilt.
Then, in the distance, a familiar sight caught my eyes, it's the spring. My old familiar sword lay beside it, dull and chipped due to my constant chores, the frog can't be found anymore. But I still picked the sword. My grip was weak, but I held it close as I walked—limping, shaking, and afraid.
After I reached the cave, I sat down near the cold wall and took out the roasted crickets I made two days ago. I tried to eat, but I couldn't. My stomach felt tight, and every bite made me want to throw up. I took one potion and drank it slowly. It spread through my body as the pain faded. The cuts on my leg and arms began to close, leaving only faint marks behind. I wanted to sleep, to forget everything that happened—but I couldn't close my eyes.
Each time I tried, I saw it again—the goblin's eyes, filled with killing intent. I could still feel its warm blood running through the gap in its broken forehead, and the awful pressure of its skull cracking under my shaking fingernails. The smell. The sound. The weight of it. It wouldn't leave me.
When morning came, I was still awake. My whole body felt heavy with guilt. But I knew that in this place, hesitation means death. If I had hesitated, I would've been the one lying on the ground—torn apart, eaten.
"Do I need to ask Bahamut again?" I whispered to myself. "No... no. He already gave me a chance. He said I could take anything from the treasure chamber. If I keep depending on others, I'll never survive here... But what if I die if I don't ask for his guidance?"
My thoughts tangled together. I felt sick with confusion and guilt. I didn't want to rely on anyone again. Depending on others was a curse—it always ended in loss, just like with Mother and Grandma.
Days passed, and I started to feel it—a presence. Sometimes behind me, sometimes beside me, sometimes right in front. A faint shadow that crept closer each night, whispering things I couldn't understand. I stopped sleeping. I stopped eating.
For nine days, I survived only on water and small amount of cricket but the cricket lasted only for 4 days. I clutched my stomach with both hands, trying to ease the pain.
"I'm hungry... I'm going to die"
At the 9th night, desperate, I searched through my storage box for a another potion, hoping it would somehow fix my hungry stomach and me. But the whispering grew louder as I dug through the bottles, my hands shaking. Then my fingers brushed against something rough.
It was the book—the one I got from Bahamut. The one written by that arrogant commander. I hadn't touched it since that day. But I still remembered what Bahamut told me when he gave it.
"if you ever feel powerless and afraid, with no one to rely on and pushed to the edge with no choice, just 'OPEN IT'"
"There will be 'SOMEONE/SOMETHING' that can company you that will help you 'JUST SHAKE HIS HAND'"
For some reason, my hand moved on its own toward the book. I picked it up and opened it. What was once a self-defense now held only a single poem on its pages. I could read and understand every word of it—without the monocle.
The forest dies when he walks through,
The air grows cold, the sky turns blue.
No bird will sing, no beast will stay,
When he appears, they run away.
His smile is wide, his eyes are dead,
He walks where others fear to tread.
He left his pack without a sound,
He watched them burn, he watched them drown.
They begged for help, they cried his name,
He trusts no one, he bows to none,
He walks alone, and always thinks he won.
He doesn't care if others break.
He'd let the world burn for his dream and sake.
He doesn't crawl, he doesn't crack—
The wolf that chose to be alone than walk with his pack,
The injured wolf that chose to be alone than ask for its pack is still wearing a mask.
That same night, something felt off. The air inside the cave was heavier than usual. When I finally closed my eyes, I saw him—
a man reaching out his hand toward me, offering a deal.
His body was covered in black, tattered clothes. A dark red cape hung over his shoulders, torn and burned at the edges. Smoke curled around him, hiding most of his form like a shadow. His face was covered by a copper mask, cracked down the middle. Through those cracks, I saw something move behind it—something alive.
His voice echoed, deep and calm.
"Lost lamb... do you want to survive? Do you want to stop being a burden? Tell me what you want. Say it, and shake my hand. The cost is small—just let me borrow your body from time to time. Under my guidance, you won't only survive... you'll grow stronger. Think of me as your other self—your ego."
I didn't speak. I just stood there, staring at his outstretched hand.
He continued, his voice smooth but cold.
"If you wait too long, your chance might slip away. If you refuse, you might lose it forever. In this world, survival is a gamble. You win some, you lose some. So tell me... will you do anything to survive? Will you take the chance, or let fate decide everything for you?"
He stepped closer, his eyes faintly glowing through the cracks of his mask.
"Fate is like sailing without a compass—lost in a sea of uncertainty. You might drift endlessly, your boat may break apart, or you may miraculously reach your destination. But we never truly know, because too often, we surrender to the wind and the waves, believing they alone choose our path. Along the way, there will be pain, regret, joy, and sorrow. That is the nature of the voyage. But just because you lack a compass doesn't mean you're without direction.
He looked up "Look up. The stars still shine. Constant. Silent. Waiting. If you dare to follow them—not blindly, but with intent—you might not only find your way, but change who you are along the journey. Change is not the enemy of fate or future. It is the very reason that gives it meaning. You are not a toy to be controled by circumstance. You are your own sailor, if you wish to change, it must be your will, your hand on the helm."
Then, he reached out his hand again.
"So, will you shake my hand? Will you try to change yourself—and your fate? Or will you let it slip away and regret it later? This isn't a promise. This is a deal—with a cost."
I swallowed hard. "What's the condition? What's the cost?"
"It's simple," he said. "You will let me take control of your body."
"What!?"
He chuckled behind the mask.
"Oh, don't jump to conclusions. I'll only take over when needed—like what happened with the goblin. You won't have to dirty your hands anymore. I'll do it for you. I'll fight, protect you, and even train you. Isn't that a fair trade? Just a few handshake... for your survival."
I clenched my fists. "Why do you want to control my body?"
He leaned closer. His breath felt cold against my ear.
"To feel alive again," he whispered. "I've lived for more than twelve hundred years. When I died, I asked someone to trap my soul inside this book—the one you're holding now."
His hand rested on my shoulder.
"It's a good deal, isn't it? Just let me take over sometimes, and you'll never need to worry again. So... shake my hand, and seal the deal."
My throat tightened. I knew I couldn't survive alone. Still, I hesitated.
He stretched out his arm again, his palm open, waiting.
"Come now," he said, his tone turning darker. "Shake my hand. Let's work together—**Forever.**"
My hand trembled as I reached out. My fingers brushed his, and he said softly,
"Welcome to the Wolf's Contract." (handshake to seal the contract)
The moment our hands touched, the lower part of his mask cracked and fell away. Beneath it, I saw a smile—one that looked exactly like the men in suits that day.
Am I really making the right choice? Or am I making a bad decision... just like Father was?
Before I could think further, I woke up—drenched in sweat, breathing hard.
The book was in my hand.
My eyes widened.
"That... wasn't a dream."
Is it nature? A curse or devine or blessing in disguise.