The moonlight draped the forest in silver as I crouched among the shadows. Twenty miles from my last battlefield, I'd finally tracked one of their headquarters. It wasn't some ragtag camp—it was a fortress tucked between the jagged hills, guarded by silence sharper than steel. Every fiber of my being told me to approach with caution. So, I did what any sane gamer-turned-giant-warrior would do—I activated Stealth.
The world dimmed. My breath slowed. Every step was as light as dust. Branches didn't dare snap under me. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as I slid through the treeline, inching closer.
From my vantage point on a sloped rock face, I finally saw them: dozens of shinobi, clad in black, moving like smoke across the compound. Their discipline was obvious, their movements sharp, precise. These weren't disposable grunts. They were veterans, the kind of shadows who lived and died in silence. And right at the center, on the second floor of the headquarters, stood a man by the window.
Tall—about 190 centimeters. Long black hair draping down his back. Shoulders broad, posture commanding. His aura alone made the others straighten unconsciously when he passed. A leader. No—the leader. My instincts screamed it. His very presence was carved from authority.
I crept closer, ears tuned. My goal wasn't to strike, but to listen.
Hiroko's POV
A faint ripple tickled the edge of my senses. Something stirred in the shadows. I narrowed my eyes and spoke calmly.
"Come out."
The silence broke. A figure flickered into view, kneeling. Just a genin—still young, but trained in shadow discipline. His hands trembled slightly as he extended a sealed letter.
"Hiroko-sama, a letter from the Third Unit has come," he said, bowing low.
I stepped forward, taking it with a measured breath. "From Kijirama's group? Let me see."
"Yes, milord!" the genin said, before vanishing back into darkness like smoke carried away by the breeze.
I broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was hurried, jagged, the ink smudged by what could only be blood and dirt. My eyes skimmed the contents:
Hiroko-sama,
If you are reading this, then I am already dead. We encountered… a giant. At first, we thought we could handle it, that we need not trouble you. But we were wrong. My squad was annihilated. I was fortunate to be sent flying, barely alive. I still hear their screams, their blades clashing against that monster. The battle lasted fifteen minutes—just enough time for me to recover and write this. Please… be careful. This is no ordinary foe. This giant is cunning. It fights with intelligence, with skill beyond anything our records described.
Forgive me for failing you. May my warning serve as my final duty.
Your loyal shadow,
Kijirama.
My hand tightened on the parchment until it nearly tore. A storm boiled inside me. Kijirama… no, he wasn't the strongest of my subordinates, nor the highest ranked. But he was a brother. Loyal, steady, unwavering. His laughter still echoed in the barracks when I closed my eyes.
Now, silence.
My blood threatened to ignite into rage, but I forced it down, strangled it with discipline. Anger clouded judgment. And judgment was my weapon sharper than any blade.
So I breathed. In. Out. In. Out. My focus sharpened.
A giant that was intelligent? Impossible. Giants were muscle and instinct, little more. Brute strength, size, and raw destruction—they had no strategy, no finesse. Even the so-called King of Giants, detailed in the Ancient Book of Races, lacked intellect. That book had stood the test of tens of thousands of years, its knowledge unchallenged. And yet… Kijirama had died swearing otherwise.
This wasn't just some dumb beast.
This was something else. Something dangerous.
Ymir's POV
From my perch in the dark, I watched it all unfold. My stealth veil kept me hidden, but I could see him—Hiroko—the leader, the one radiating authority like a second skin. I could even catch glimpses of the letter's words when the moonlight kissed it. His expression didn't change much, but I wasn't fooled. Beneath that stoic mask was a fury burning hot.
My chest tightened. The guy I killed—Kijirama—wasn't just some random grunt to them. He was Hiroko's friend. A brother-in-arms. If the roles were reversed, I'd be pissed too. No, furious. And yet, here I was, the reason behind that man's grief.
"Sorry, dude," I whispered, barely audible. "But I don't get to choose. If I want to leave this damn trial, I have to fight you. Even if we could've been friends."
I clenched my jaw. This wasn't the first time I'd felt this. Gilbert and his squad had been the same—worthy warriors, people I could've shared a drink with if the world was different. But this wasn't that world. This was survival. This was a game, a simulation, a crucible.
Still… my gamer heart couldn't just bulldoze past this. I wasn't the type to skip cutscenes. I wanted secrets, hidden lore, bonus paths. That's what made games worth playing. And this? This was the ultimate game.
So instead of charging in, I stayed hidden, absorbing every detail. The way Hiroko gestured sharply with his hand, summoning figures from the shadows. Jōnins. High-ranking elites. They appeared and knelt like phantoms, awaiting orders.
His voice was low, commanding, but I pieced together enough: they were preparing a trap. Not just any trap—a calculated strike meant to root me out, corner me, and finish me. My grin stretched.
"Oh, so that's how it is, huh?" I murmured. "Not just brawn. A strategist. Damn… this guy's the real deal. A rival."
The word pulsed in my chest like fire. Rival. Yes. That was what Hiroko was to me. Not just another boss NPC, not just another obstacle. A rival. A figure standing in my path, testing my growth, pushing me further.
I whispered it proudly to myself. "You're my new rival, Hiroko."
The jōnins dispersed into the night, gone as if they had never been there. Only Hiroko remained, still by the window, eyes scanning the distance, no doubt already weaving scenarios of how to deal with me.
I lingered, watching, until my body betrayed me. A sudden weakness spread through my limbs, forcing me to withdraw.
"Status open," I hissed.
The familiar screen flickered before my eyes:
Name: Ymir (Justin)
Race: Rogue Giant
Bloodline: None
MP/Qi: 5000 / 28000
Strength (S): 1200
Spirit (SP): 600
Intelligence (In): 1400
Defense (D): 1500
Endurance (E): 1100
Stamina (St): 1600
Charisma (C): 1500
Dexterity (Dex): 500
My jaw dropped. "Wait, what?! How?!"
The system answered in its usual dry tone:
{Host spent 15 hours listening to the enemy's plan. Do you think you have infinite energy?}
"Ugh!" I groaned. "Kinda harsh, don't you think?"
Still, it was true. Fifteen hours of stealth listening? Yeah, that would drain anyone. Even with my massive reserves, I wasn't infinite. My pride had blinded me to the cost.
"Fine," I muttered, sliding down into the shadows to rest. "Big day tomorrow anyway."
The system was silent. The forest was quiet. My body gave in to exhaustion. Yet in the back of my mind, I replayed Hiroko's image, his commanding presence, the grief in his eyes, the trap he was weaving. A rival. A challenge. A storm waiting for me.
And for the first time since Gilbert… I couldn't wait.