Kaelan awoke with a gasp, his body jerking upright as if electrocuted. For a disorienting moment, he didn't know where he was. The oppressive darkness, the rough bark against his back, the damp, earthy smell – it wasn't the fetid undercroft of the Cathedral. Then memory, sharp and brutal, slammed back into him: the escape, the impossible speed, the terror, the forest.
His entire body throbbed with a deep, resonant ache. Every muscle screamed in protest. His throat was sandpaper-raw, his lips cracked and dry. Hunger, a fierce, twisting knot, clawed at his insides. He glanced at the translucent blue System interface that hovered faintly in his vision.
[Name: Kaelan Richards]
[Level: 1]
[Trait: Fleeting Steps (Rank F)]
[HP: 95/100]
[MP: 10/120]
Ten mana points. Barely enough for two fleeting activations of his Trait, and that was before discovering the stacking. Now, it meant two base activations, or a single, slightly more potent burst if he managed to stack them perfectly while already moving. It was practically nothing. He was vulnerable, exposed, and utterly drained. The euphoria of his discovery last night was now tempered by the stark reality of his situation.
The Whisperwood, as it was aptly named, was alive with sounds. The rustling of leaves in the unseen canopy above, the distant hoot of some nocturnal bird, the scuttling of small creatures in the undergrowth. But beneath these normal forest sounds, Kaelan's ears, still unnaturally attuned from his brief periods of hyper-acceleration, picked up something else.
A wet, snuffling sound.
The snapping of a twig, too deliberate for a foraging animal.
And then, a guttural, phlegmy chuckle that sent a spear of pure ice through Kaelan's veins.
He wasn't alone.
Panic, cold and sharp, seized him. He scrambled to his feet, his aching muscles protesting, and peered frantically into the pre-dawn gloom. The forest was a confusing tapestry of dark trunks, tangled roots, and deep shadows, the faint light of the twin moons barely penetrating the dense foliage.
Then he saw them. Three of them. Small, hunched figures, no taller than his waist, with sallow green skin that seemed to glisten unpleasantly even in the dim light. Their faces were all snout and needle-like teeth, their eyes beady, red, and filled with a rapacious, malevolent intelligence. They clutched crude, jagged weapons – one a sharpened stick that might generously be called a spear, the other two wielding rough, knotted clubs studded with what looked like sharpened stones. Goblins. The classic, cannon-fodder monster from a thousand fantasy tropes, made terrifyingly real.
And they were sniffing the air, their piggish snouts twitching, their beady eyes swiveling directly towards his hiding spot. They'd smelled him.
Kaelan's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. No mana, no weapons, exhausted. He was dead. He was so utterly, hopelessly dead. The brief, exhilarating taste of freedom soured into the bitter ashes of despair.
The lead goblin, the one with the crude spear, let out a series of excited, guttural grunts and pointed directly at Kaelan with its weapon. The other two chortled, their voices like rocks grinding together, and began to advance, their movements surprisingly quick and agile despite their hunched postures.
No! A surge of pure, defiant terror coursed through him. He hadn't escaped the Cathedral, hadn't discovered the incredible secret of his Trait, just to die here, torn apart by these… these things.
He scrambled backwards, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon, finding only a loose, fist-sized rock. It was pitiful, but it was something. His mind raced, faster than his depleted mana would allow his body to move. Think, Kaelan, think! Can't outrun them without mana. Can't fight them head-on. Distraction? No, they're focused on me.
The goblins were closing in, spreading out slightly to flank him. He could smell their foul, carrion-like breath.
Desperation fueled a spark of an idea. He was near the ancient tree he'd collapsed against. Its roots were thick and gnarled, creating a tangled maze at its base.
He had to risk it. He had to make his 10 MP count.
As the spear-wielding goblin lunged, its jagged point aimed at his stomach, Kaelan dumped all his remaining will, all his focus, into his Trait. Two stacks! Give me two stacks!
[Fleeting Steps Activated. Cost: 5 MP. Remaining MP: 5/120.]
A faint surge, a flicker of the power he'd tasted last night.
[Fleeting Steps Activated. Cost: 5 MP. Remaining MP: 0/120.]
Another flicker, overlaying the first.
It wasn't the mind-bending acceleration of five or six stacks, but it was enough. The world didn't slow to a crawl, but it noticeably stuttered. The goblin's lunge, which had seemed terrifyingly fast an instant before, now appeared telegraphed, almost clumsy.
With a gasp of effort, Kaelan threw himself to the side. Not a graceful dodge, but a desperate, rolling scramble. The spear tip hissed through the air where his stomach had been a microsecond earlier, embedding itself with a sickening thunk into the soft earth.
He was up, moving through the gnarled roots of the ancient tree. The 1.44x boost was active for ten precious seconds. His aching body protested, but the adrenaline, the fear, the sheer will to survive, overrode the pain.
The spear goblin shrieked in frustration, yanking its weapon free. The two club-wielders were on him, their crude weapons whistling through the air. Kaelan ducked under a wild swing from one, the club smashing against a thick root with a crack. He used the brief momentum of his Fleeting Steps, the slight edge in reaction time, to weave through the roots, forcing the goblins into the tangled terrain where their numbers were less of an advantage.
One of the club goblins, overeager, stumbled on an exposed root. Kaelan saw his opening. It wasn't heroic, it wasn't skilled, it was pure, brutal opportunism. He brought the rock in his hand crashing down on the side of the goblin's exposed head with all the desperate strength he could muster.
There was a sickening, wet crunch. The goblin let out a choked gurgle, its beady red eyes rolling up into its head, and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
[You have slain a Forest Goblin Scuttler (LVL 2)!]
[+20 EXP Gained!]
The System notification flashed in his vision, almost making him stumble. Twenty experience points. It meant nothing to him in that moment, as the spear goblin and the remaining club goblin were now shrieking with rage, their attacks becoming more frenzied, more reckless.
His Fleeting Steps stacks had expired. His mana was utterly gone. He was back to his normal, F-Rank, exhausted self.
The club goblin swung its weapon in a wide, vicious arc. Kaelan tried to dodge, but he was too slow, too tired. The studded club connected with his left forearm with agonizing force. Pain, white-hot and blinding, exploded up his arm. He cried out, stumbling back, dropping his rock.
[HP: 75/100]
His arm felt broken, or close to it. Stars danced in his vision. The spear goblin was lunging again.
This was it. He was finished.
But then, something happened. The act of killing the first goblin, the raw, visceral experience, the System acknowledging his kill… a tiny, almost imperceptible trickle of warmth flowed into him. He glanced at his MP bar.
[MP: 2/120]
Two points! Not much, but… was it natural regeneration, finally kicking in albeit at a snail's pace now that he was out of immediate, extreme stress? Or did killing grant a minuscule amount of mana recovery? He didn't know, didn't care. It was enough for nothing.
The spear was coming. He threw himself clumsily to the side, pain lancing through his injured arm. He felt a searing pain along his ribs as the spear tip grazed him, tearing through his thin polo shirt and drawing blood.
[HP: 65/100]
He was on the ground, scrambling, desperate. The club goblin was looming over him, raising its weapon for a finishing blow.
Kaelan's eyes fell on the crude club dropped by the goblin he'd killed. It was just within reach.
He lunged for it, his fingers closing around the rough, splintery wood. As the goblin brought its club down, Kaelan, with a desperate roar that was more animal than human, swung his newly acquired weapon in a wild, upward arc.
Wood met wood with a jarring crack. The goblin's club was knocked aside. Kaelan didn't stop. He surged upwards, adrenaline masking the pain in his arm, and brought the club down again and again on the goblin's head and torso, fueled by terror and a primal rage. Each blow was a desperate prayer for survival. Thud. Crunch. Thud.
The goblin shrieked, then gurgled, then went limp.
[You have slain a Forest Goblin Bruiser (LVL 3)!]
[+35 EXP Gained!]
Another trickle of warmth. [MP: 5/120] Five points! Enough for one stack!
The spear goblin, seeing its two companions fall, hesitated for a fraction of a second, its beady eyes flickering between Kaelan and the escape route. That hesitation was all Kaelan needed.
[Fleeting Steps Activated. Cost: 5 MP. Remaining MP: 0/120.]
The familiar 20% boost. It felt sluggish compared to what he'd experienced before, but it was a godsend. He surged forward, his borrowed club raised. The goblin, surprised by his sudden burst of speed, tried to bring its spear to bear, but Kaelan was already inside its reach. He swung the club like a madman, not caring about technique, only about impact.
The club connected with the goblin's skinny legs, eliciting a howl of pain and knocking it off balance. Kaelan pressed his advantage, raining blows down on the creature until it too lay still.
[You have slain a Forest Goblin Spearthrower (LVL 3)!]
[+35 EXP Gained!]
[Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 2!]
[All Stats +1. You have gained 5 Distributable Stat Points (DSP).]
[HP and MP fully restored and increased!]
Silence.
Sudden, deafening silence, broken only by Kaelan's ragged, gasping breaths. He stood there, trembling, clutching the crude goblin club, his body slick with sweat and splattered with something dark and viscous that he knew, with a sickening certainty, was goblin blood. The adrenaline began to ebb, leaving him shaky and nauseous. The pain in his arm and ribs flared with renewed intensity.
He had killed. Three living creatures. He had taken their lives to save his own. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow, making him sway. His stomach churned. He stumbled to the side and vomited, the meager contents of his stomach bile and fear.
When the heaving subsided, he slowly straightened, looking at the carnage around him. Three small, twisted bodies lay still on the forest floor. His first taste of combat in Aethel. It wasn't glorious. It wasn't heroic. It was brutal, terrifying, and sickeningly intimate.
But he was alive.
And he had leveled up. The System notification brought a sliver of detached pragmatism to his reeling mind.
He focused on his status.
[Character Status:]
[Name: Kaelan Richards]
[Level: 2]
[Trait: Fleeting Steps (Rank F)]
[HP: 115/115]
[MP: 135/135]
[Main Stats:]
[Strength (STR): 6]
[Intelligence (INT): 11]
[Dexterity (DEXT): 11]
[Vitality (VIT): 6]
[Distributable Stat Points (DSP): 5]
The full restoration of his health and mana felt like a divine blessing. The aches and pains were still there, lingering reminders of the brutal fight, but the deep, crushing exhaustion had lifted, replaced by a wired, shaky energy. His injured arm still throbbed, but the searing agony had dulled to a manageable ache. The +1 to all stats was a welcome boon. He felt… marginally stronger, quicker, more resilient.
Five more DSP. His mind immediately went to his core needs. [Fleeting Steps] was mana-hungry. Dexterity amplified its effectiveness and his general agility. Vitality… after that beating, Vitality seemed incredibly important for survival.
Decision: 2 points into INT, 2 into DEXT, 1 into VIT.
[Stat Allocation Confirmed.]
[Intelligence (INT): 11 -> 13]
[Dexterity (DEXT): 11 -> 13]
[Vitality (VIT): 6 -> 7]
[HP: 115/115 -> 125/125 ]
[MP: 135/135 -> 155/155 ]
His mana pool had increased again. Now he could sustain more stacks, for longer. The thought sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline, of possibility, through him.
Then, his gaze fell on the goblin corpses. Loot. The pragmatic gamer part of his brain, long dormant, flickered to life.
He cautiously approached the first goblin, the one he'd killed with the rock. A faint shimmer of light enveloped its body before dissipating, leaving behind a few items.
[Loot Acquired: Crude Stone-Studded Club (Poor Quality), Tattered Loincloth (Worthless), 15 Copper Bits, Forest Goblin Ear.]
He picked up the club. It was heavier than the one he was currently holding, better balanced despite its crude make. The loincloth he ignored. Three small, dull copper coins. Currency. And a goblin ear… a trophy? A quest item? He pocketed the coins and, after a moment of grimacing, detached the ear with a sharp tug and stored it in his pocket. Waste not, want not.
He looted the other two goblins, yielding another club (which he left), more copper and silver bits (18 copper and 4 silver), and two more ears. No food, no water. Just crude weapons, worthless scraps, and a pittance of money. It wasn't much, but it was his. Earned through blood and terror.
He stood there for a long moment, the goblin club heavy in his hand, the forest silent save for his own breathing. He was Level 2. He had a weapon. He had a handful of coins. And he had a Trait that was far more than F-Rank.
But he was also alone, injured, in a hostile forest teeming with things that wanted to kill him. Lumina was behind him, a prison he'd escaped. Ahead lay… unknown dangers, and perhaps, a chance. A chance to grow stronger, to truly understand the limits of [Fleeting Steps], to survive.
He needed water. He needed food. He needed shelter.
Taking one last look at the grim scene, Kaelan adjusted his grip on the club. He was no hero. He was a survivor. And his journey had just begun. With a newfound, grim determination, he began to move deeper into the Whisperwood, his senses heightened, every shadow a potential threat, every sound a warning.