I froze, tension coiling in my muscles as a shape shifted in the darkness ahead. The moment it skittered into the faint, bioluminescent glow of a nearby cluster of mushrooms, my blood ran cold. It was a spider, but not like any I had seen on Earth. This thing was nearly as large as I was.

  [Spider – Lv. 2]

  The System labeled it a "Spider." Not "Giant Spider," just... Spider. A shiver went down my spine as I wondered what this world would actually consider "giant." Back home, this creature would have reached just above a human’s knees, but in my new, diminished stature, it was a massive, armored tank of bristles and eyes.

  The creature didn't hesitate. With a series of wet, rhythmic clicks, it charged.

  “Shall I, my King?” Morkish asked, his voice eerily calm.

  “What?” I didn't dare turn my head. My focus was locked on the many-eyed horror rushing toward my throat.

  Morkish stepped in front of me and raised a gnarled hand. A sickly green radiance gathered in his palm before a bolt of emerald light hissed through the air. It impacted the spider with a soft thud. The creature screeched, a high-pitched, pained sound, and its momentum broke as it skidded to a halt.

  It hesitated for only a second before lunging again. This time, I stepped past Morkish, brandishing my rusted hammer and knife. As the spider threw itself at me, I side-stepped, my heart hammering against my ribs. I lashed out with both hands. The knife left a shallow, barely noticeable scratch on its thorax, but the hammer connected with a sickening crunch, denting one of its segmented legs.

  I forced my mind to go numb, blocking out the instinctive terror of fighting a literal monster. I narrowed my world down to two things: survival and the enemy in front of me.

  Before the spider could pivot, I charged back in, putting every ounce of my new Strength into the hammer. The creature reared up, its front legs poised to impale me, but another green bolt from Morkish struck it in the side. The impact knocked the spider off-balance, leaving its head wide open.

  I didn't miss the chance. I swung the hammer in a wide arc, catching the creature squarely between its cluster of eyes.

  There was a loud crack, and the spider collapsed, spraying dark fluid onto the cave floor. I raised the hammer for a finishing blow, but a stray, twitching leg lashed out, catching me in the ribs. The force sent me rolling across the dirt.

  I scrambled up, gasping for air. It hurt, but the pain wasn't nearly as debilitating as the blow I had taken from the Old King. Whether it was my increased Constitution or simply the fact that a Level 2 spider hit softer than a Level 5 goblin, I felt remarkably steady.

  The spider was trying to retreat now, its movements clumsy and drunken. It left a trail of foul-smelling black ichor behind as its remaining legs twitched in agony. I didn't even need to move in for the kill; a third green bolt from Morkish struck the creature’s back, and the light in its eyes finally faded.

  [You have killed Spider – Lv. 2]

  No level up. I wasn't surprised; we had shared the experience, and the creature’s level was too low to move the bar. I felt a pang of shame as I wiped the black blood from my hammer. I couldn't tell if I had fought well or if I looked like a flailing amateur. It was, after all, my first time fighting a "normal" spider.

  I glanced at Morkish, who was still watching me with that unsettling, wide-eyed reverence.

  “A masterful display, my King!” he exclaimed. “It is obvious you are a warrior of immense experience!”

  I raised an eyebrow. He didn't sound like he was joking, which was both helpful for my image and slightly worrying. If he thought that was a masterpiece, the bar for goblin combat was lower than I feared.

  “These spiders,” I said, cleaning the ichor off my boots. “Are they common throughout these tunnels?”

  “Very common,” Morkish replied, his gaze drifting back to the darkness. “There is a nest nearby. I suspect there is a Queen as well, though I haven’t seen her with my own eyes yet, so I cannot be certain.”

  “And how does the tribe usually handle them?”

  “I dispose of them with magic. The others... well, they fight them with whatever they have. The real problem is that they rarely hunt alone.” He suddenly stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the tunnel ahead. “And here come the others.”

  I went still. From the darkness came a cacophony of scratching and skittering, much louder and more frantic than the single spider from before.

  A moment later, a small green runt burst into the light of the mushrooms, sprinting toward us with his eyes wide in terror. Two spiders were hot on his heels. I felt a knot in my stomach when I saw that one of the spiders had a second runt clamped in its mandibles; the little creature was still squirming, desperately trying to break free.

  The fleeing runt’s face lit up with hope the moment he spotted us.

  “Free runts, my King,” Morkish said, brandishing his staff and beginning to chant under his breath.

  I sighed and settled into a combat stance. This time, I gripped the hammer with both hands and left the knife in my belt. The previous skirmish had taught me a valuable lesson: these things were far more vulnerable to blunt-force trauma than shallow cuts.

  The runt scrambled past us and cowered in our shadows as I charged forward. I didn't run straight at them; instead, I moved in a diagonal arc toward the lead spider. It was a basic tactical maneuver, by positioning myself this way, I forced the spiders into a bottleneck, ensuring I’d only have to deal with one at a time while the second was blocked by its companion.

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  A bolt of green energy hissed over my shoulder, slamming into the lead spider. Taking advantage of its momentary disorientation, I closed the gap and swung the hammer with everything I had.

  Crunch.

  The impact was solid. I didn't wait to see the damage; I immediately backpedaled, my heart racing, just as the second spider leaped over its injured comrade to reach me.

  I pivoted and prepared to strike again. My plan was simple, avoid the scything legs and deliver a crushing blow to the head. But as I moved in, the spider reared up on its hind legs, exposing its soft, bloated abdomen.

  I realized my mistake the second I committed to the swing. By rearing up, the spider wasn't just exposing a weakness; it was preparing to drop its full weight on me.

  I was too late. The creature’s six remaining legs crashed down like heavy, hairy spears. I was knocked flat onto my back, the breath driven from my lungs. The hammer slipped from my grip as I hit the dirt. I barely had time to bring my hands up to catch the spider’s snapping mandibles, which were now inches from my face, dripping with foul, predatory hunger.

  I was holding the mandibles back with every ounce of strength I had, knowing that a single slip meant they would snap shut on my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Desperate, I began to shift my hips, trying to find enough leverage to use my legs. I managed to shove the mandibles upward just a fraction, barely enough space to tuck my knees into the spider's soft, pulsing abdomen.

  With a guttural roar, I kicked out with all my might. The spider went flying, landing on its back with a heavy thud some feet away. I lay there for a split second, panting, the stress and physical exhaustion weighing on me like a suit of lead.

  I scrambled to my feet, my eyes darting across the cave floor, but my hammer was nowhere to be seen—likely buried under the dust or kicked into a dark corner during the scuffle. The spider was already twitching, its legs thrashing as it tried to right itself. I didn't have time to search. Ignoring the sharp protests of my bruised muscles, I charged.

  I drew my knife and plunged it deep into the creature's abdomen. The spider let out a piercing screech. I pulled the blade out and drove it back in, again and again, my mind gone blank with survival instinct. After the fourth strike, a soft, wheezing sound escaped the creature's mouth, and the light in its multiple eyes finally went dim.

  [You have killed Spider – Lv. 2]

  Riding the last of the adrenaline, I whipped my head around just in time to see Morkish. The Shaman was delivering a final, crushing blow to the second spider's head with his staff.

  [You have killed Spider – Lv. 2]

  I stood there, chest heaving, and began to have serious second thoughts about my "grand plan." If I was struggling this much against Level 2 spiders, how was I supposed to conquer a world filled with high-level humans and ancient gods? This was going to be exponentially harder than any game I had ever played. I needed real fighting lessons, and I needed them soon.

  “Another splendid fight, my liege!” Morkish approached me, the rescued runt trailing behind him like a nervous shadow. “A daring strategy. You toyed with the beast, making her believe she had a chance before delivering the killing blow.”

  I offered a bitter, weary smile. Part of me suspected he was mocking my clumsy performance, but his voice was devoid of irony. To him, apparently, being pinned and nearly eaten was a high-level tactical feint.

  “These spiders will provide an excellent food resource for the tribe,”

  Morkish added with a note of pride. “Thank you, my King.”

  My stomach let out a low, hollow growl, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten a single thing since I arrived in this world. However, the mere thought of eating spider meat, slimy, black, and pungent, made my throat tighten with nausea. I quickly shook the thought away.

  I looked at the carcasses on the floor, realizing the grim reality of Morkish’s words. When he said the tribe "fought" these spiders, he actually meant they died to them. I didn't see any way the average goblin could win a fight like this. Maybe if a dozen of them swarmed a single spider they’d stand a chance, but a small group of three? It would be a slaughter.

  “King?” a high-pitched, trembling voice squeaked from behind Morkish.

  “Yes, little runt! This is your new King, the great…” Morkish trailed off, turning to me with a look of sudden confusion. “What did you say your name was, again?”

  I sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “Just call me King.”

  “The great King!” Morkish shouted to the empty tunnel, his voice echoing. “The King of the Black Hand Tribe, the Chosen of our God, Varkas!”

  I facepalmed internally at the sheer absurdity of the title. I tried to focus on my body, cataloging the dull aches and sharp stabs of pain from the scuffle. It was manageable for now, so I forced myself to hold back from using my healing skill. If more spiders appeared, I’d need that 'Life Mark' for a real emergency.

  Suddenly, a memory flickered, the second runt. The one that had been clamped in the spider’s mouth.

  I stood up and scanned the dim cavern until I spotted a small green figure crumpled on the floor. I approached the body, my boots crunching on the loose gravel. A massive, jagged wound had been torn into the runt’s belly by the spider’s mandibles. The little creature wasn't moving. It was dead.

  I felt a twitch of annoyance at the corner of my mouth. Another potential warrior lost in vain. A small part of me felt a twinge of guilt for viewing these creatures as mere tools, but I quickly suppressed it. I couldn't afford the luxury of empathy. The only thing that mattered was survival, and getting back to my daughter.

  “You,” I said, pointing at the surviving runt. “Where did you come from?”

  The runt looked up at me, his eyes wide and watery. “I escaped the soil, my King. I scrambled into the cave just as the many-legs came for me.”

  “The soil?” I repeated, my brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean? Do you know where this 'soil' is?”

  The runt turned and pointed vaguely back toward the dark tunnel he had just run from. I stared into the gloom, feeling a headache brewing. I wasn't sure what I had expected, a street address?

  A golden opportunity had dropped right into my lap. I could command the runt to lead me back to his "birthplace" and finally solve the mystery that annoyed me most, the way these goblins reproduced.

  But the logical side of my brain screamed at me to stop. I had no idea what lay ahead in those tunnels. It could be a swarm of spiders, or worse, the Queen Morkish had mentioned. I knew it was a reckless gamble. In every novel or video game I’d ever enjoyed, the protagonist would hurl himself into these lopsided fights, narrowly escape death, and come out the other side with ten new levels and a hoard of overpowered skills.

  But I wasn't an idiot. I couldn't count on "plot armor" to save my skin. I had to play it safe. I wasn't some legendary hero, I was a man in a goblin’s body trying not to get eaten. One false move, one slip of the knife, and my story would end in the belly of a bug.

  Clenching my teeth in frustration, I pushed the curiosity aside and turned back to Morkish and the runt.

  “Morkish, do you have enough ingredients for your potions?” I asked the Shaman, my voice echoing slightly in the narrow corridor.

  “I have sufficient supplies, my King,” he replied smoothly. “If it is your wish to return, then we shall proceed as you command.”

  His answer told me absolutely nothing about the dangers ahead, but I didn't care. I was exhausted, my muscles were screaming for rest, and I was starving. I glanced down at the dead spiders. I truly hoped there was something else on the menu tonight, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

  “Morkish, runt, grab the spiders. We’re going back,” I ordered.

  Morkish gripped one of the larger spiders by its hairy, segmented legs and, with a grunt of effort, began dragging it toward the main cavern. I watched as the runt struggled with the other carcass. The poor creature was putting every ounce of his tiny strength into the task, but the spider barely budged. It was pathetic, really; he was simply too small for the job.

  I rolled my eyes, walked over, and snatched the runt’s spider by a leg, jerking it easily across the stone floor. Then, I grabbed the second spider with my free hand. With a carcass in each hand and the runt scurrying to keep up, the three of us began the long trek back to the tribe.