Sleep offered little respite. My dreams were a chaotic tapestry woven from the chilling blue of Julius' eyes, the chittering darkness of the cellar, and the flickering parchment of the Quest Board. I woke before dawn, not to the gentle gray light of morning, but to the stark, internal command of my own resolve. Today, I would become a hunter.
Elara was already awake, of course. I found her in the kitchen, a solitary candle pushing back the pre-dawn gloom as she methodically sharpened a large butcher's knife. The rhythmic *shing-shing-shing* of steel on whetstone was the only sound. She glanced up as I entered, her eyes taking in the bedroll slung over my shoulder and the small pack on my back, filled with the hard bread, dried meat, and waterskin she had given me.
"The mines are a half-day's walk east," she said, not breaking her rhythm. "Follow the main road out of the eastern gate. You can't miss the turn-off; it's an old, overgrown miner's track marked by a broken cart. The Whisperwood has been encroaching on it for years."
"Goblins," she continued, her voice a low lecture. "They're not crawlers. They're not beasts acting on instinct. They're cruel, they're cunning, and they work in groups. They set traps. They use crude weapons. Their strength is in numbers. Never, ever let them surround you. Control the battlefield, or they will."
"I will," I promised, my voice steady.
She finally set the knife down, wiping the blade on a clean cloth. "One more thing." She reached under the counter and produced a small, corked vial filled with a thick, crimson liquid. "Health Potion. A cheap one, but it's better than nothing. It'll mend minor cuts and give you a jolt of energy. It won't regrow a limb, so try to keep all of yours attached. Drink it all at once if you need it. Don't sip it like a fine wine."
I took the potion, its glass cool and smooth in my palm. It felt impossibly valuable. "Elara… why are you doing all this?"
She gave me a long, hard look. "Because my tavern has a cellar. And I prefer it to be free of giant insects. And because I once saw a pack of goblins tear a merchant's horse to pieces on the road. They're a pest, and pests need exterminating." She turned away, busying herself with stoking the hearth fire. "Besides, if you get yourself killed, I'll have to train a new dishwasher, and you were just starting to get competent. Now go. Burn them out."
It was the closest I would ever get to a heartfelt farewell from her, and I cherished it.
My first stop was not the eastern gate. My clothes were sturdy, but they were still just a servant's tunic and trousers. Facing down axe-wielding monsters in what amounted to pajamas seemed like a terrible idea. Using the silver coins Elara had given me, I sought out a shop we sometimes delivered ale to, a place near the city wall called "The Practical Plate."
The shop was run by a mountain of a man named Gregory, a former adventurer with a melted-looking face and a booming voice. He looked me up and down as I entered.
"Well now, if it isn't the Griffin's girl," he rumbled. "Here for a delivery, or did you finally decide to trade your dish soap for some proper steel?"
"The second one," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I need armor. Something light. I don't have much coin."
He grunted, a sound like rocks grinding together. "Goblins, is it? It's always goblins for the first-timers. Cheap, plentiful, and just stupid enough to give a greenhorn a fighting chance." He lumbered over to a rack of gear. "You don't want steel. Too heavy for a little thing like you, and it'll make more noise than a tinker's cart falling down a well. Goblins have sharp ears."
He pulled a vest and a pair of greaves from the rack. They were made of thick, dark leather that had been hardened by boiling it in wax or oil. It was scarred and worn, but it looked incredibly tough.
"Boiled leather," he said, tossing the vest to me. It was surprisingly heavy. "Won't stop a knight's sword, but it'll turn a rusty goblin blade or a poorly aimed arrow. It's quiet, flexible. Best you can get for your coin."
The price he named took almost all the silver Elara had given me, leaving me with only a few copper pieces. I didn't hesitate. It was an investment in my own hit points. I changed in the back of the shop, the stiff leather unfamiliar and confining after the soft linen I was used to. But as I strapped the last buckle, a new sense of security settled over me. I was no longer just Maddox. I was armored.
[You have equipped [Boiled Leather Cuirass] (Common)!]
Effect: +10 Physical Damage Resistance.
[You have equipped [Boiled Leather Greaves] (Common)!]
Effect: +5 Physical Damage Resistance.
It wasn't much, but that +15 resistance might be the difference between a shallow cut and a fatal wound.
"Good luck out there, girl," Gregory said as I left. "And a word of advice: aim for the throat. Their hides are tougher than they look."
Finally, I was ready. I walked to the eastern gate, my new armor creaking softly with each step. The guards gave me a cursory glance, their eyes accustomed to the sight of hopefuls marching out to meet their fortunes or their fates.
Stepping out of the gate was like stepping into another world. The familiar, comforting chaos of Oakhaven's streets fell away, replaced by the vast, open sky and the murmur of the wind. The road stretched out before me, a ribbon of packed earth winding through rolling green hills. In the distance, the dark, looming mass of the Whisperwood forest awaited. For the first time, I was truly on my own.
The journey was uneventful, but my senses were on high alert. The Ring of Obscurity was a cool, comforting weight on my finger, but I didn't rely on it. I kept my [SenseHeat] active, not as a constant pulse, but in short, controlled bursts every minute or so. It was a new way of seeing the world. The road was a cold ribbon, the grass a cool carpet. I could see the heat of a field mouse scurrying through the undergrowth, the bright flare of a hawk circling high overhead. It was a living map of the world around me, and it was beautiful.
As I drew closer to the Whisperwood, the forest lived up to its name. The wind sighed through the dense canopy of ancient trees, creating a constant, soft whisper that seemed to come from all directions at once. Sunlight struggled to pierce the gloom, dappling the forest floor in shifting patterns of light and shadow. The air grew cooler, thick with the scent of damp earth, moss, and decay.
I found the broken cart exactly where Elara said it would be, half-swallowed by ferns and vines. The old miner's track was barely visible, a faint depression in the forest floor leading deeper into the trees. I took a final look at the open road behind me, then plunged into the woods.
Here, my heat sense became even more crucial. The twisting trees and dense undergrowth limited my line of sight to a few dozen feet, but I could feel the life around me. I gave a wide berth to the warm, sleeping bulk of what I guessed was a wild boar, and I watched the heat signatures of a family of deer as they bounded away from my path.
After another hour of walking, I smelled it. A foul, acrid stench that cut through the clean scent of the forest. It was a combination of woodsmoke, filth, and rotting meat. The smell of goblins.
I slowed my pace, moving from tree to tree, my heart a steady drum against my ribs. I sent out another pulse of [SenseHeat]. Ahead, nestled in a ravine carved into the side of a low mountain, I saw it. The entrance to the old silver mine. And clustered around it, two distinct, man-sized heat signatures. Sentries.
I crept closer, finding a thicket of bushes on a ridge overlooking the mine entrance. From here, I had a perfect vantage point. I risked a peek and used [Observe].
[GoblinGrunt]
Level: 3
Threat Level: Low
Description: A common foot soldier of the goblin hordes. Weak-willed and cowardly on its own, but dangerous in groups. Armed with crude, often poisoned, weaponry.
Weaknesses: Fire, lack of discipline.
There were two of them, just as my heat sense had indicated. They were hideous creatures, with sallow green skin, long, pointed ears, and mouths full of needle-like teeth. They were clad in mismatched scraps of leather and rusty metal and armed with crude, jagged-edged spears. They were arguing in their guttural tongue, occasionally shoving each other. Undisciplined, just as the System had said.
This was a completely different scenario from the crawlers. The crawlers were blind beasts in a confined space. These were sentient (if stupid) creatures in an open area. I couldn't just charge in. I needed a plan.
Elara's words echoed in my mind. *Control the battlefield.*
I had the element of surprise. They didn't know I was here. They were about forty feet away, standing close together. I could take one out before the other even knew what was happening.
I sank back behind the bushes, my mind racing. My mana pool was full, a deep well of 170 points. A standard [Firebolt] cost about 15 mana. A more powerful one, like the one I used to finish the Level 3 crawler, would cost more. I decided to open with overwhelming force.
I took a deep, centering breath, pulling a significant chunk of mana from my core—at least 30 points. I focused it in my palm, compressing it, stabilizing it, shaping it into a bolt not of orange flame, but of white-hot plasma. The air around my hand shimmered with the heat.
I chose my target: the goblin on the left. I rose from my crouch just enough to clear the bushes. My heart was calm. My hand was steady.
I fired.
The bolt left my hand with a sound like tearing silk. It was faster than any I had conjured before. It crossed the forty feet in the blink of an eye.
The target goblin was in the middle of shoving its companion. It never saw it coming. The bolt struck it square in the chest.
There was no explosion. No grand burst of flame. The bolt simply… passed through. It vaporized a dinner-plate-sized hole through the goblin's torso, cauterizing the wound instantly. The goblin stood frozen for a single, stunned second, a look of comical surprise on its face, before it toppled over like a felled tree, smoke pouring from the hole in its chest.
[EnemyDefeated: Goblin Grunt (Level 3)!]
[You have earned 120 XP]
The second goblin stared at its fallen comrade, its jaw hanging open in stupid confusion. It looked at the smoking hole, then looked up, its beady black eyes scanning the ridge. It spotted me.
It let out a piercing shriek of alarm, a sound meant to alert its companions inside the mine. It raised its spear and charged up the incline toward me.
It was fast, but I was ready. I didn't bother with another super-charged bolt. I needed speed and efficiency. A standard [Firebolt] formed in my palm. As the goblin scrambled up the rocky slope, I fired.
The bolt caught it in the shoulder. It wasn't a kill shot. The creature screamed in pain and rage, its charge faltering as its arm was engulfed in flames. It dropped its spear but kept coming, its free hand clawing at the dirt, its eyes filled with hate.
It was more resilient than I expected.
I didn't have time for another firebolt. It was almost on top of me. I fell back on my most basic spell. I thrust my hand forward.
[IGNITE]!!!
I didn't try to make a flashbang or a projectile. I just unleashed a raw, concussive blast of heat and light directly into its face. The *FWOOM* of the spell was deafening at this range. The goblin shrieked and recoiled, clutching its face, its charge completely broken.
It was the opening I needed. I gathered my power for one final, point-blank [Firebolt]. I aimed not for its head or chest, but for its throat, just as Gregory had advised.
The bolt struck true. The goblin's shriek was cut off with a wet, gurgling sound. It clawed at its neck for a moment, then collapsed, twitching, at the edge of the thicket.
[Enemy Defeated: Goblin Grunt (Level 3)]
[You have earned 120 XP]
[Loot Gained: [Crude Goblin Spear] x1, [Pouch of Grimy Teeth] x2.]
Silence descended once more, broken only by my own heavy breathing and the crackle of the lingering flames on the goblin's corpse.
I had done it. My first real combat against thinking, fighting opponents. My plan had worked. I had controlled the engagement from start to finish. A wave of fierce, triumphant pride washed over me.
But the first goblin's alarm shriek still echoed in the air.
I crept to the edge of the ridge and focused my [Sense Heat] on the mine entrance. My blood ran cold.
Two heat signatures had become four. Then eight. Then sixteen. A river of warm, goblin-shaped bodies was pouring out of the mine, their guttural shouts and war cries growing louder. They were armed with spears, crude axes, and shortbows.
Among them was one signature that burned brighter, larger than the rest.
I had won the first skirmish. But in doing so, I had just kicked the hornet's nest. And the entire swarm was coming for me.