The wind of the Howling Hills is my only ally. It covers the sound of my breathing, it makes the shadows dance, it sings a funeral dirge for whichever one of us is about to fall. Grishnak stands before me, a mountain of muscle and fury. His massive axe carves a furrow in the dirt as he drags it beside him. The difference in size, weight, and raw strength is comical. He could break me with one hand.
But the weakness I analyzed is clear: Limited tactical intelligence. He thinks strength can solve everything.
"Are you done trembling, little one?" he growls. "Death does not wait."
He doesn't wait for my answer. He charges. It is not a run; it is an earthquake. His feet pound the ground. He activates his Berserker Charge skill. A dim red aura envelops him. He becomes even faster, more savage.
I do not move. I wait for him. It is a game of nerves. My heart is a frantic drumbeat, but my mind is a frozen lake.
At the last moment, as his axe is already descending in an arc that could split a boulder, I throw myself to the side. Not back, to the side. I roll on the rocky ground, my Stone Skin protecting me from the shallow cuts. The axe smashes into the spot where I was, sending up shards of dirt and rock. The force of the blow makes the ground tremble.
I am already on my feet, inside his guard. He is immense, but slow to pivot. I am an eel; he is a bear. I drive my dagger into the gap in his armor at his thigh.
HP: 350/350 → 335/350
My blade sinks into the thick muscle. It is a mosquito bite to him, but it is a bite that bleeds. He roars in rage and surprise, not from the pain, but because I have touched him. He swings his free arm at me. I don't have time to dodge. The impact sends me flying several meters.
HP: 65/65 → 52/65
I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me. Brute force is a convincing argument. I cough myself back to my feet, the taste of blood in my mouth. I must not stay within reach of his fists.
"You move well, little rat," he says, slightly less arrogant. "But you can't run forever."
He readies his next attack. Shattering Strike. The blade of his axe begins to glow with a dark red energy. I know I cannot parry it. I cannot even take the hit. I must dodge it.
He doesn't attack in a straight line this time. He whirls his axe, creating a vortex of death around himself, forcing me to retreat. Each impact of the axe on the ground is a small explosion.
This is where I see my chance. His skill is powerful, but it makes him predictable. He is locked into his own movement. And it must consume a great deal of stamina.
I don't try to attack. I simply dodge, keeping my distance, forcing him to continue his attack. It is a risky gamble. A single mistake and I am cut in two. But I trust my agility, my Level 6, the survival instinct that is etched into me.
The whirlwind of the axe slows. Grishnak is breathing heavily. The aura of the Berserker Charge fades. He is tired.
"Enough playing," I whisper to myself.
I stop retreating. I run toward him.
Surprised by my sudden change in tactics, he tries to lift his heavy axe for one last attack. He is too slow.
I slide under his raised arm. I am pressed against him, in the zone where his axe is useless. I do not aim for his armored body. I aim for his head.
I jump, using his own body as a ladder, and grab onto his shoulder. I am on his back, like an insect on a giant.
He screams in rage, trying to grab me, shaking himself frantically to throw me off.
I activate Precise Strike.
My dagger finds the join between his helmet and his gorget. I push with all my strength. The blade sinks into the flesh of his neck.
CRITICAL!
HP: 335/350 → 280/350
A roar of pure agony tears through the night. It is not a fatal blow, but it is a serious wound. Hot blood spurts onto my hand.
He manages to grab my leg and tear me from his back. He throws me to the ground with terrifying force.
HP: 52/65 → 35/65
My head hits a rock. My vision blurs, stars dance before my eyes. He is above me, blood streaming from his neck, his face a grimace of absolute hatred. He raises his axe with both hands for the finishing blow.
This is the end. I was too arrogant.
But as the axe comes down, something unexpected happens. His wound, the critical hit to his neck, must have hit a nerve. His right arm spasms. The trajectory of the axe is deflected by a hair's breadth.
The blade smashes into the ground right next to my head, so close I feel the wind of its passage.
He tries to lift it, but the heavy weapon is stuck in the rocky earth.
He is exposed.
I don't think. My body acts, driven by years of survival. I kick his injured knee. He grunts in pain and his balance falters.
I slip under him, crawl between his legs, and get up behind him.
He turns, abandoning his axe, trying to hit me with his bare fists.
I am faster. My dagger is already in motion.
A cut to his hamstring. Another to his flank. A third to his arm. I am no longer a fighter. I am a butcher. I am methodically dismembering him, cutting his tendons, robbing him of his mobility, his strength.
He falls to one knee, then to both. He tries to crawl toward his axe, his only source of power. He is reduced to a wounded beast.
I stand before him. He raises his head, his eyes filled no longer with rage, but with confusion. He does not understand how he, Grishnak the mighty, could be defeated by a... a little rat.
"You fight... like a shadow..." he rasps, blood escaping his lips.
"That's because I am one," I reply.
And I slit his throat.
The giant collapses in the dust, his last breath a bloody gurgle.
Silence returns, even heavier than before. The wind howls its lament.
You have defeated [Grishnak, Chieftain]!
1200 XP
Experience: 155/800 → 1355/800
EXPERIENCE SUFFICIENT. YOU HAVE REACHED LEVEL 7!
The wave of power is the most intense I have ever felt. It washes away the pain, the fatigue, and even some of the horror of what I have just done. I am Level 7. In a single night, I have made a leap that most adventurers take months to achieve.
I stand there, over the corpse, trembling from the adrenaline comedown. The fight was the hardest of my life. Every second was a gamble with death.
Now, for the reward.
I place my hand on the Hobgoblin's massive chest. His essence is a bonfire of martial power.
"Devour."
The absorption is almost painful. It is like swallowing molten metal. I feel his strength, his rage, his warrior's experience pouring into me, being filtered, analyzed, assimilated by Gluttony.
You have devoured the essence of [Grishnak, Chieftain].
High-quality martial essence detected.
Your Strength and Constitution have been permanently increased.
Skill Assimilation successful!
You have learned the active skill [Berserker Charge (Lvl. 1)]!
I have it. I have stolen his most powerful skill. A skill that, combined with my agility, will make me an unstoppable force of destruction.
When the process is complete, all that remains of Grishnak is a pile of dust and his bloodied armor.
I am alone in the night, under the silent moon. I have killed the king.
But a king has a crown. And a kingdom.
I look toward the cave. It is filled with goblins, now leaderless. And filled with looted treasure.
The night is not over. The feast has only just begun.