Chapter 7: The Aftermath of Simulation
The moment the simulation ended, Goblinor's body convulsed—a rush of energy surging through his veins, bones cracking as they realigned. His once spindly limbs thickened, the paunch of his belly shrinking to reveal a lean, coiled torso. His vision sharpened further, the world around him snapping into crystalline focus—Keen Eye fully activated, letting him spot the flutter of a moth's wings thirty paces away.
"Skills acquired: Strong Body LV.1, Combat Instinct LV.1. Talent: Keen Eye finalized."
The system's voice echoed in his mind, mechanical but triumphant. Goblinor flexed his fists, marveling at the newfound control—every muscle responded with precision, as if his body had memorized a thousand battles he'd never fought. Combat Instinct wasn't just a skill; it was a sixth sense, urging him to dodge when no threat was visible, to strike where an opponent's guard would falter.
He reviewed his updated stats, heart pounding:
Name: Goblinor
Race: Goblin
Template: Common
Level: 5 (4% progress)
Strength: 11 → 13 ( +2 from Strong Body )
Agility: 6 → 8 (Combat Instinct reflex boost)
Critical Strike: LV.5 → LV.9 (90% chance for 1.5x damage, 20% chance for 2x)
Passives: Strong Body (10% physical damage reduction), Combat Instinct (pre-emptive dodge/parry chance), Keen Eye (30% vision enhancement)
"Next simulation cost?" he murmured, already dreading the answer.
"25 Tier 1 Magic Crystals."
Goblinor cursed under his breath. The system didn't care about clever workarounds—every shred of progress jacked up the price. But glancing at the Troll's cave, where faint glimmers of hoarded crystals still beckoned, he smirked. 25 is nothing. I'll drain that brute's stash dry.
His thoughts turned to the simulation's final moments—the armored human who'd wiped out his tribe. Armor or not, no human should be that deadly to goblins. Combat Instinct whispered a truth: humans weren't just stronger; they were organized, wielding tools and tactics goblins couldn't fathom. But Goblinor wasn't just a goblin—he was a human mind in monster flesh, and he'd exploit every advantage.
"Goblinor?" Goblar's voice broke through his reverie, the smaller goblin peeking into the alcove, spear clutched nervously. "The others are asking… why you're different now."
"Tell them I ate a cursed boar." Goblinor grinned, sharp and humorless. "Or that the Troll's mother cursed me. They'll believe anything."
Goblar nodded, though confusion lingered in his eyes. He hesitated, then held out a ragged piece of snake meat—still warm, still bleeding. "You should eat. We hunted three vipers while you… slept."
Slept. Goblinor almost laughed. The simulation had felt like a lifetime, but in reality, he'd been motionless for mere hours, body rigid as his mind raced through years of strategy and slaughter. He took the meat, biting into it hungrily—the venomous flesh burned his tongue, but the Magic Crystals embedded in its spine had supercharged its energy, his Devour talent drinking it in like wine.
As he ate, he studied Goblar. The goblin had grown bolder, his spear grip steady, eyes no longer flinching at the sight of blood. A good soldier, Goblinor thought. But I need more than soldiers. I need a rebellion.
Night fell, and Goblinor ventured to the edge of the camp, Keen Eye scanning the Troll's den. The creature was asleep, its snore a thunderous rumble, but Goblinor's gaze lingered on the crystal hoard—now visible as a faint, pulsing mass in the darkness. 200 crystals, at least. Enough for eight simulations at the current rate. More than enough to break the Common Template.
But patience was key. The Troll might be lazy, but it was no fool; a missing crystal would spark suspicion. Goblinor needed to strike when the creature was vulnerable—when it ventured beyond the valley, or fell into a food coma deep enough to ignore a raid.
And he needed strength. Strong Body had bulked him up, but he was still a goblin—vulnerable to fire, to steel, to the Troll's crushing fists. The next simulation would be different; he'd focus on skills that bridged the gap between monster and… something more.
As he returned to the alcove, Goblir stirred, muttering in her sleep. Goblinor smiled faintly. They trust me. They follow me. And soon, they'll help me rewrite what it means to be a goblin.
The Magic Crystals in his pouch hummed, a silent promise. The first simulation had been a stumble; the second, a leap. Now, with new skills and a clearer vision, Goblinor was ready to turn the tide.
The Troll would fall. The humans would learn fear. And Goblinor? He'd rise—not as a goblin, not as a man, but as something the world had never seen: a conqueror born from weakness, forged in simulation, and hungry for more.