He hit the ground hard, rolled, and scrambled upright—his heart thundering in his ears.
Mana’s too low, he thought, glancing at the nearly empty blue bar flickering at the edge of his vision. No fireballs, no Mana Bolt. Not unless I want to pass out the second I cast it.
His hand went instinctively to the small, chipped dagger he’d kept since the goblin camp. Not ideal—but it was all he had.
“Guess it’s time to see if that sword training stuck.”
The Komodo hissed and charged again, jaws wide. Max ducked low, eyes narrowing. His footing shifted automatically as if pulled by invisible strings—light stance, lead with the off-hand, strike just after the dodge.
He moved with the flow drilled into him during the warrior alcove training. His muscles remembered even if his brain still hesitated.
As the beast snapped at him, Max twisted to the side and brought the dagger down hard—plunging the blade deep into the thick hide at the base of its neck.
The Komodo let out a strangled, wet screech, thrashing violently. Max held on as the dagger tore free, now slick with dark, viscous blood.
It stumbled. Legs buckled. Then the giant lizard collapsed with a heavy thud, its body twitching once before finally going still.
Max staggered back, panting, blood dripping from his blade. His whole body trembled—part from exertion, part from disbelief.
He’d just taken down a Level 5 creature.
A soft chime rang in his mind, and though no numbers or bars filled his vision, he could feel it—an unmistakable surge pulsing through his limbs. His breath came easier, his heartbeat steadied, and a low warmth flickered in his core.
So close to leveling up… I can feel it. That fight pushed me right to the edge.
He waited for a moment, expecting a loot notification—but nothing came.
“No drop?” he muttered. “Seriously? Not even a scale or a claw?”
But he wasn’t that upset. The experience alone was worth more than any item. The beast had forced him to fight without spells—rely on instinct and training. And somehow… he'd pulled it off.
He looked down at the dagger in his hand, its blade now chipped even worse than before.
“I need a real weapon,” he muttered. “But until then… this’ll do.”
Max slumped down next to the dying fire, breath still uneven, hands stained with blood and dirt from the Komodo dragon fight. He meant to rest—just rest—but exhaustion pulled him under faster than he could resist. His back slumped against a tree, and his eyes drifted shut.
When he woke, it was with a sudden jolt—heart racing, hand reaching instinctively for the dagger at his side. The fire had burned down to embers. A few stars peeked through the canopy. Judging by the stiffness in his limbs, he’d been out longer than a few minutes.
“Dammit…” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
He stretched and took a long sip from the waterskin he made from the deer hide. It leaked and didn’t look the greatest but it was functional, and that was good enough right now. Despite the unease of sleeping out in the open, his body felt slightly recharged. Mana was recovering slowly, and he no longer felt like he might collapse at the first sign of trouble.
Still, something gnawed at him.
I need a real weapon. A dagger isn’t going to cut it forever—literally.
And there was only one place he could think of where he might find something better: the goblin camp.
He made his way through the forest in the growing morning light, retracing his path to the site of that earlier fight. The bodies were gone, likely dragged away by scavengers, but the remains of their makeshift camp were still intact—crude shelters of bound branches and tattered canvas, scorched from his spells.
Max knelt beside the cooking pit, looking around. Then he saw it—a faint trail through the underbrush, just off to the side of the camp. Grass trampled down, leaves disturbed. Goblin footprints, almost in single file, leading away into the deeper woods.
“Gotcha.”
He followed the trail cautiously, keeping low and quiet. It wasn’t long before the scent hit him—smoke, refuse, and something sickly sweet that turned his stomach. The forest grew darker, the trees more spaced out. Then he saw it through the gaps:
A larger goblin camp, surrounded by a jagged perimeter of sharpened sticks planted in the dirt like a makeshift wall. Inside, a dozen small fires burned, and shadowy figures moved between crude tents and hanging meat racks. Max could hear them grunting and snarling to one another in some guttural language.
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His eyes scanned the camp, heart racing.
That’s a lot more goblins than last time…
But that also meant more loot. More weapons. Maybe even armor. And, if he was lucky, maybe even something better than a chipped dagger.
Max sank behind a moss-covered boulder, peeking through the underbrush. His mind was already churning with possibilities.
Max crouched behind a knotted tree root, the moss damp beneath his fingers as he watched the goblin camp from a safe distance. Hours had passed—he wasn’t sure how many—and he’d kept low, patient, careful not to be seen. What started as simple curiosity had turned into something deeper. Something strategic.
Every thirty minutes or so, a patrol would exit the camp—four goblins in each group, armed with crude blades or rust-covered spears. But here’s what caught his attention: a different patrol would return later, never the same group. That meant there were multiple outposts, and this one was just a hub in something larger.
Eventually, when one group slipped out into the woods, Max decided to follow.
He moved with practiced caution, ducking under branches, stepping over roots, and avoiding dry leaves that would give him away. The goblins weren’t subtle—they barked at each other, kicked at rocks, and laughed in their guttural language—but they were consistent. After nearly an hour, the group arrived at another camp, smaller than the first but built in a similar fashion.
Max narrowed his eyes. They're rotating guards, he realized. Just like an actual military outpost. These little monsters are more organized than I thought.
He nearly turned back—until he saw one of them.
The goblin at the back of the patrol wasn’t like the others. This one carried a sword—a proper sword, not a jagged piece of metal—but long, well-balanced, and faintly glowing at the edges like it had been enchanted. Its bearer was taller, leaner, and moved with a confidence the others lacked.
Max’s pulse quickened. That sword… I want it.
He waited. Watched.
When the group split temporarily, one goblin wandered ahead to relieve himself, and another dropped behind to pick something off a tree. The moment came—and Max struck.
His first fireball hit the straggler square in the back, sending the goblin tumbling forward in a burst of smoke and flame. Before the others could react, Max burst from the brush, dagger in hand, and plunged it into the neck of a second goblin.
Only two remained.
The sword-bearing goblin let out a war cry, stepped between Max and his comrade, and swung. The blade sliced through the air faster than Max expected—he ducked just in time, stumbling back.
This one’s no normal goblin.
Max focused on the creature and a quick HUD marker identified it:
[Goblin Duelist - Lv. 6]
The goblin roared again, teeth bared, and lunged. Max barely avoided the strike, rolling to the side and sending a Mana Bolt into the other goblin’s chest. The beast flew back and crumpled, leaving only the duelist.
Max raised his hand to cast another spell—but the duelist was already charging. With no time to cast properly, Max leapt back, barely escaping a slash aimed straight for his ribs.
He tried a fireball next—this one charged longer than usual—but the moment he released it, a shimmer of blue light erupted before the goblin, a magical shield absorbing the impact in a burst of sparks.
“What the hell?!”
He wasn’t prepared for that. Magic resistance? Or was it casting too?
The goblin was already closing the distance. Max raised his dagger to block, but the goblin sidestepped and stabbed—deep—into Max’s abdomen.
Pain lanced through him as he staggered back, blood soaking into his robe. Gritting his teeth, he gathered the last of his mana, hand trembling, and cast one final fireball.
This one connected.
The blast hit the goblin square in the face. The duelist screamed as the flames consumed its head, the magic shield failing to react in time. It collapsed with a thud, smoke curling from its charred remains.
Max dropped to one knee, pulling out a health potion with shaking hands and chugging it before he could even think. He felt it immediately—cool relief rushing through him as the wound in his side knit itself closed, pink flesh sealing over the gash like time was rewinding.
“Gods, that’s… insane,” he whispered, watching the last of the injury vanish.
He turned his eyes back to the duelist’s corpse.
Loot Acquired: Rare Sword – “Spitefang”
Loot Acquired: Skill Orb – [Aegis Ward]
Max picked up the sword first. It was heavier than his dagger but balanced, its hilt wrapped in worn leather, the blade engraved with unfamiliar runes that shimmered faintly in the light. As he focused on the runes a system window appeared telling him what they are and what they did.
?? Item Analysis: Spitefang
Rarity: Rare
Type: One-Handed Sword
Condition: Excellent
Runes Detected: 2 Active
?? Rune of Edge (Sharpness)
This rune sustains the blade’s cutting power through magical reinforcement.
- Effect: The blade will never dull under normal use.
- Passive enchantment; no mana required.
- Notes: Cannot bypass magical armor unless paired with enhancement runes.
?? Rune of Mending (Self-Repair)
Infuses the weapon with restorative energy, repairing chips, cracks, or minor structural damage.
- Activation: Requires direct mana infusion.
- Cost: 5 mana per use (scales with damage severity).
- Cooldown: 1 minute between uses.
- Notes: Cannot restore lost material or reconstruct shattered pieces.
Max stood there, sore and winded but victorious.
He let out a shaky breath and wiped the blood from his side. The last of the goblin knight’s body was still twitching when his eyes caught something nestled beneath the corpse—a faint glow pulsing softly like a heartbeat in the grass.
He knelt down and picked it up.
The object was small, smooth, and cold to the touch. A faint blue,red and silver light shimmered beneath its glassy surface, and inside swirled a cloudy core of magic that pulsed with slow, hypnotic rhythm.
[Item Acquired: Skill Orb – Aegis Ward]
A new window blinked into existence.
?? Skill Orb: Aegis Ward (Tier E – Defensive Magic)
A condensed magical imprint of a skill. Can be absorbed by a qualifying individual.
- Skill: Aegis Ward
- Effect: Conjures a magical barrier that blocks a single incoming attack completely.
- Cooldown: 1 Hour
- Requirement: Basic Mana Control
- Note: Skill Orbs are consumed upon use. Cannot be traded once bound.
Max raised his eyebrows. That’s... insane. A full block? With no cost but a cooldown?
He turned the orb over in his hands, eyeing it suspiciously. "Okay… but how do I actually use it?"
Was he supposed to crush it in his palm? Channel mana into it? Eat it? That last idea made him gag a little.
The system didn’t offer instructions, and there was no “absorb now” button floating in front of him. It looked valuable—too valuable to waste by guessing.
With a sigh, he pulled open his enchanted satchel and nestled the orb safely between two healing potions. "Guess I’ll figure you out later."
The faint pulsing continued in the dark, as if the skill orb was waiting patiently.