Tier 1 Gate (4)
The hobgoblin woke with a snort, stretched out its hunched shoulders, and cracked its neck hard enough to make a nearby goblin flinch. A morning routine.
Sunlight filtered weakly through the torn cloth roofs of the camp. Most of the smaller goblins were already up, clawing at food scraps, kicking each other in the shins over territory lines. A few dozed near the pit fire, pretending not to hear the shouting.
The hobgoblin stomped through the center of the camp, eyeing every group like it was mentally ranking them from "barely useful" to "next to be eaten." One goblin didn't get up fast enough, it got kicked in the ribs and went flying into a pile of cooking bones. The rest snapped to attention after that.
The hobgoblin liked order. Though it didn't know the word for it, it liked it when things were quiet in the right places and noisy in the wrong ones.
The patrols reported in with a few guttural grunts, nothing out of the ordinary, south path clear, no smoke from the mountain trail. Two Fangwolves were spotted near, probably earlier fights from something stronger, maybe. The hobgoblin squinted up at them and grunted in vague approval.
At the firepit, two smaller goblins were fighting over a burnt rat. The hobgoblin walked up, grabbed one by the throat, and flung it into the bone-frame tent. It collapsed the whole thing, which got a laugh out of the rest. The other goblin, sensing its moment, immediately shoved the rat into its mouth and scrambled away.
It wasn't much, but it was a good day, the camp was stable, fires were lit, meat was drying. Nobody had tried to stab anyone in the back for a full hour.
Then a horn blew.
It came from the northeast ridge.
The hobgoblin froze mid-step, its nostrils flared. It turned its head slowly toward the source, eyes narrowing into slits.
A goblin scout stumbled over the ridge, pointing down the path with wide, shaking hands.
The hobgoblin didn't wait. It marched past the gates and climbed the jagged ledge that overlooked the trail, its heavy feet cracking twigs as it went. The moment it reached the top, it looked down and saw the problem.
A figure in black was sprinting through the trees. Fast, light on his feet, cloak trailing like a shadow behind him. He wasn't running from the camp, he was running to it.
The hobgoblin tilted its head, confused.
This was new.
It squinted at the figure. It wasn't bare banded, it was thin framed, looked fragile. But what the hobgoblin noticed more was the fact that it looked stupid.
The hobgoblin let out a wheezing snort that might've passed for laughter.
And then the forest behind the black figure exploded.
A pack of Spiked Boars burst out of the trees like battering rams on legs. Snorting, roaring, tusks gleaming. There were six of them, maybe more. One plowed through a tree stump like it wasn't even there.
"Creik..."
[Hobgoblin Translation: "F*ck..."]
The hobgoblin's amusement dropped like a rock. Its hand reached for the crude glaive on its back. One of the scouts screamed something in warning, but it didn't matter. The camp had seconds.
Down below, the man in black was already gone from view, having stepped off the trail and vanished into the brush.
The hobgoblin stared as the charging boars thundered closer, now within sight of the camp walls.
It let out a low growl and turned back toward the camp, stomping down the ledge.
From the outside looking in, it probably looked like the guy in black had lost his mind. Running full speed from the tree line with a pack of murder-hogs behind him wasn't exactly subtle. From the hobgoblin's perspective, it was chaos, boars screaming, goblins scrambling, and the ground shaking like the forest itself was pissed.
But from Lanz's perspective?
It had been twenty minutes of complete, reckless stupidity.
He'd started by hanging meat strips like some kind of deranged forest vendor. He used shredded vulture scraps and a little of that weird goblin dried meat he'd found in one of their satchels. Not for himself, obviously, but the scent was strong, strong enough to catch a boar's attention if paired with just the right amount of volume and personal shame.
Lanz shouted, waved his arms. He made every kind of sound you weren't supposed to make in a hostile forest. When that didn't work, he started jumping and even threw a rock at one of the trees nearby the boars' resting spot. Eventually, one of them lifted its head and snorted. The rest followed, and the largest of them dug its hooves in like it was prepping for a demolition derby.
That's when Lanz realized his plan had officially worked.
And also that he might not survive it.
He took off running. The kind of sprint that had no room for grace or second thoughts. The boars gave chase, and they didn't do pacing, every step sounded like a drumbeat of fury right behind him. Leaves slapped his face, he tripped once on a root but kept moving. The path wasn't clear, but he'd scouted it enough to recognize his own markers, scratched bark, bent reeds, a notch in a tree trunk just ahead.
By the time he saw the slope leading to the goblin camp, he was wheezing and his thighs were trying to resign. But the sounds behind him gave no room for negotiation. He grit his teeth, pushed harder, and at the very last second, cut sideways and dove into the underbrush.
The boars didn't even notice.
They tore through the final stretch and slammed into the camp like natural disasters. Lanz peeked through the leaves just in time to see the first goblin get launched into a drying rack. Another tried to jump on a boar's back and immediately got body-checked into a support beam. One screamed while holding a broken cooking spoon, spoilers, it didn't scream for long.
The whole place went to hell in ten seconds flat.
Tents flew, fire pits scattered embers, goblins either ran or got flattened. It wasn't a battle, it was a butchering, and Lanz hadn't lifted a finger since stepping out of the way.
That's when the notifications started appearing.
[ENEMY DEFEATED – EXP GAINED: +3]
[ENEMY DEFEATED – EXP GAINED: +3]
[ENEMY DEFEATED – EXP GAINED: +3]
Lanz blinked.
"…Wait. That counts?"
Another ping.
[ENEMY DEFEATED – EXP GAINED: +3]
He quickly opened his profile and stared at the numbers ticking upward. EXP from indirect kills? Since when? He hadn't touched any of them.
"Well now you're just making up the rules," he muttered. "Vulture gets pancaked by a boar and I get nothing. Boars go full riot mode and now I'm swimming in EXP?"
A ping rolled in.
[ENEMY DEFEATED – EXP GAINED: +3]
[Current EXP: 27 / 60]
"Inconsistent," he whispered, shaking his head. "You know, I used to respect you, System–chan."
But he let it slide.
The carnage was still going. Most of the goblins were already gone, scattered or crushed. The campfire was still burning, but the rotisserie setup had collapsed under what looked like a ribcage and a tent pole. One of the boars was spinning in circles like it didn't realize the fight was already won.
The camp was wrecked.
Ash drifted across the broken tents as smoke curled from splintered wood. Goblin bodies lay scattered in uneven heaps, some crushed beneath fallen racks or tangled in collapsed shelters. The crude sprawl of tarps, fire pits, and stolen supplies had been torn apart in minutes.
Only nineteen goblins remained.
They limped through the wreckage, battered and dazed. One dragged a cracked helmet. Another clutched a half-burnt pouch filled with dried fungus and scraps. Some had scorch marks across their backs. A few had fresh wounds wrapped hastily with cloth. None looked ready to fight again.
At the center of it all, the hobgoblin stood tall.
Its skin was thick and scarred, darker than the rest. It kept one hand near its cleaver, eyes scanning the edges of camp like it expected something worse to come.
Around him, the survivors moved with quiet desperation. They rummaged through the wreckage, collecting what little remained. Dented bowls, bent daggers, anything not already trampled or burned. A few dug through the storage trench, pulling free sacks of dried roots or rusted tools.
Then the hobgoblin stepped toward the fire pit.
The flames were still alive. Glowing embers clung to the center where logs hadn't collapsed. It crouched, picked up a fallen metal spit, and shoved it back into the fire. Sparks flared.
Behind him, the goblins slowed.
They were waiting.
Without turning, the hobgoblin raised one hand. It wasn't a roar or command, but just a gesture.
Leave.
A few glanced at each other. Then they moved. Some helped the injured, hoisting them over shoulders or dragging them across broken ground. Others grabbed whatever salvage they could carry and headed toward the forest edge.
There were no words, only the quiet shuffle of survivors doing what they knew best.
But then the wind shifted.
From somewhere up the slope behind the camp, there was a dragging noise, low and rough, like wood sliding across bark. The hobgoblin turned its head slightly, not startled but alert. Another sound came after, heavier this time. Then a crack rang out through the ridge, sharp and final, followed by the rustling shift of something massive picking up speed through the foliage.
Lanz was already crouched at the edge of the ridge, grinning like he'd just pulled off the dumbest, smartest move of his life. The tree he'd scored earlier gave out exactly as planned. He'd barely needed to touch it this time. The huge boulder he had been eying since the first time he scouted the camp, nestled behind it rolled forward like it had been waiting for this moment. It wasn't elegant, but it was motivated.
"STRAIGHT TO THE FIRE!!" Lanz shouted like a crazy person, (he was).
The boulder crashed through moss and undergrowth, bumping and bouncing downhill. It picked up speed the more it tumbled, dragging half the forest floor with it. Lanz followed the path with his eyes, watching it plow through the final bushes before slamming straight into the largest campfire in the camp.
The blast came fast.
Flames surged up and out, catching tents and crates in the heat wave. Wood snapped, canvas curled, and a goblin went flying into a collapsed frame. Nine more were gone before they could react, caught in the shock or crushed by shrapnel.
"I guess you could say, that was an explosive entrance," Lanz said under his breath with an ugly smug.
It didn't move from his spot. Smoke lifted into the air. The camp below was in chaos, but the hobgoblin didn't flinch. Its frame stood steady as the firelight rippled across its armor. It held the axe tighter, scanning the tree line with a look that hadn't softened one bit.
There were only ten goblins left now.
Lanz adjusted his grip on his dagger and let his breath settle.
"Next act's about to start."
End of Chapter 10.
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ALT SYSTEM — USER PROFILE: ZERO
Level: 9
EXP: 39 / 90
Next Unlock: Skill Fusion Access + Stat Affinity Bonus (Level 10)
Global System Tracking: DISABLED
World Rank Association: UNLINKED
Stats:
STR: 8 | AGI: 8 | VIT: 3 | DEX: 1 | INT: 4 | WIS: 0
[Available Stat Points: 0]
[Derived Stat — MANA: 20 / 20]
[Inventory: Expanded (x2)]
Skills:
[Basic Footwork Lv.2]
[Blade Control Lv.1]
[Parry Timing Lv.1]
[Feint Step Lv.1] (Active Skill)
[Reflex Sync Lv.1] (Passive Skill)
[Combat Awareness Lv.1] (Passive Skill)
[Skill Slot Available – Unassigned]
[Skill Upgrade Token Available]
Equipment:
Aged Blade Fragment (??? Rarity) (Bound)
Goblin Dagger (Looted – Rusted, Jagged, Minor Bonus to DEX when equipped)
Spiked Boar Tusk Shard (Trophy Item – No bonus, kept as memento)
Lightweight Chest Padding
Boots of Basic Mobility
Fingerless Gloves (Basic)
Starter Cloak: Faded Black
Training Ring (+1 VIT)