Chapter 5: Blood in the Woods
The king sat at the massive dining table, his cold stare slicing through the room like a blade. Golden chandeliers lit up everything, shadows jumping on the red velvet curtains and the long, polished wood. Queen Althea sipped her tea, super quiet, but her eyes flickered with worry. Julia, all dolled up in a blue dress, squirmed like she was sitting on a hot stove.
"Where's Kane?" the king growled, voice smashing the clink of silver.
Julia swallowed hard. She hadn't seen Kane—not in his room, not anywhere—for three whole days. Telling the truth would light the king's fuse, though. "He's… training, Father," she said, faking guts she didn't feel.
The king's eyebrow arched, and a mean smirk curled his lips. "Training? You think I'm a moron, Julia? We all know your brother's probably passed out in some hole, not doing jack to fix himself."
Julia stared at her plate, face burning up. She couldn't snap back—he was half-right. Queen Althea slid a soft hand over her arm, but kept her mouth shut, worry wrinkling her face.
Out in the forest, Kane stood huffing, chest pumping like a war drum. The air reeked of blood and sweat, thick and nasty. His hands were slimed with green goblin goo, his fancy clothes shredded to rags and plastered with muck. For three straight days, he'd been a killing machine—hunting packs of goblins, slicing up an injured orc he'd tracked down yesterday. Bodies piled up everywhere—goblins with heads bashed in, guts spilling out, the orc sprawled with its throat ripped wide.
A sharp chime pinged in his head, words floating up:
[System of IRITH]
[You have acquired the skill: Sense of Danger. Accept?]
"Yes," Kane rasped, voice scratched raw. He'd been at it nonstop—no sleep, no breaks—just slashing and stabbing, chasing strength to bury his old, weak self.
His senses exploded. The forest turned loud—leaves rustling, twigs snapping, every little noise slamming into him. Danger wasn't just a hunch anymore; it was a buzz in his guts, cold and alive. He yanked a spare tunic off a dead goblin's stash, swapped it for his wrecked one, and pushed deeper, dagger ready.
"IRITH," he grunted.
The air flashed, his chart blazing:
[System of IRITH]
[Chart of Kane]
[Strength: 42]
[Magic: 1]
[Dark Magic: 0]
[Special Ability: Aura Sight (See strength, magic, and mana of others), Sense of Danger (Detect threats nearby)]
[Occupation: Not Yet Decided]
[Mana: 70]
[Rule: Kill and Gain]
Strength at 42—heck yeah! Mana at 70, a solid pool now. Three days of slaughtering goblins and that busted-up orc had jacked him up big time. Aura Sight from the first orc, now Sense of Danger stacked on top. He rolled his shoulders, feeling like a beast. The wimp prince was toast.
The woods got dark and tangled, old trees choking out the sky. Goblins used to swarm here, but now—zip. They'd smelled him coming, his new vibe scaring them off. Then—a rough snarl cut through. Kane whipped around, dagger up, and saw it: another orc, all scratched and bloody, limping like it was half-dead already. It roared and swung a busted club, weak and slow.
Kane dodged easy, Sense of Danger humming low. He lunged, rammed his dagger into its chest—blood sprayed, hot and red. The orc gargled, so he yanked the blade out and slashed its throat wide open. It crashed down, dead fast. Kane stood there, panting.
Then Sense of Danger blared—a stab so hard his knees wobbled. Two growls rumbled up ahead, deep and mean. Kane gripped his dagger tighter as shapes stomped out of the dark. Troll, huge and gross, gray skin lumpy like rocks, claws scraping dirt. They stank like a swamp. Behind them slithered a Wyrm—long and scaly, fins sharp as razors, fangs dripping as it hissed. Both troll and Wyrm were roughed up, bleeding from fresh cuts, like they'd been brawling.
Kane's heart smashed against his ribs. Troll was tanks , flatten you with one swing. The Wyrm was quick, nasty, with a bite that'd rot your guts. Mid-level monsters, way tougher than goblins. Sense of Danger screamed: Run, you dope! Back to the palace!
But he didn't flinch.His old life's big fail. Then the king's voice: "A no-good like you." His fingers squeezed the dagger 'til they hurt. No way he was running. Not after three days of blood and guts.
troll bellowed and swung a claw. Kane dodged fast—boom, it smashed a tree instead, splinters flying. The Wyrm shot in, jaws wide. He twisted, slashed—dagger bounced off scales with a clang. Kane rolled, dirt blasting up where he'd been.
He grinned, wild and fierce. Blood raced, Sense of Danger ringing like an alarm. These things could crush him—turn him into a smear for the bugs. What if they broke out?
Troll stomped closer, the Wyrm hissing behind, all snarling and ready. Kane raised his dagger, eyes on fire. This was it—his shot to show he wasn't a nobody. Fight or die. Let's go.