Agony clouded his senses, and his consciousness started to slip away. As everything began to fade, he saw something new—an adult goat charging toward the brawl, its powerful hooves tearing up the turf.
Before the yearlings could react, the adult goat crashed into them with overwhelming force, sending them flying like leaves blown by the wind. Its coat was rough and patchy with shades of gray and brown, like the bark of an ancient tree. Deep scars marred its muscular face, telling tales of countless battles fought and survived. A single twisted horn jutted from the top of its head, the other lost long ago in a fierce dispute—its broken edge uneven and sharp like a chipped blade. Its golden eyes gleamed sharply beneath a heavy brow, piercing and unyielding, surveying Lin with suspicion and hard-won wisdom. The coarse hair around its neck stood slightly on end, adding to its intimidating presence. Despite the scars and wear, it moved deliberately, every step echoing strength and experience earned in a harsh and unforgiving wilderness.
The leader goat stumbled back, shock and fury duking it out across its face. "What do you think you are doing, Rokan? This doesn't have anything to do with you. You best not interfere, or you'll regret it," it said, voice low and dripping with threat.
The adult goat named Rokan huffed, breath swirling in the chilly air like steam. "And who made you boss?" it asked, marching forward menacingly. "You think you're tough just because you outnumber one? Picking on the weak, are we? Pathetic." Its words were acid, burning every yearling in earshot.
"You're making a huge mistake by stepping in. If the old man hears about this, you'll both be exiled. Think twice," snapped the yearling leader, baring its teeth.
"Enough," Rokan shouted, his eyes blazing with anger. His voice carried authority, and fury visibly shaped its posture. Even the bravest yearlings hesitated, their defiance fading in the face of the adults' commanding presence and glare.
A smaller goat tried to speak but ducked and fell silent as Rokan's eyes swung its way. The mob that had been so rowdy seconds ago now looked like sheep in a wolf pen.
Lin watched in awe, every part of him aching, but jaw-droppingly impressed. Despite the agony and haze, something inside him flickered—gratitude and a stubborn determination that, somehow, hadn't died yet.
Rokan's fierce stare softened as he finally looked Lin's way, voice gentle but firm. "Stay down," it said. "You've suffered enough."
[Warning: The user has lost too much blood. The system determines that the user is in critical condition and requires recovery. The recovery period will begin now. The user will lose consciousness in three, two, one.]
Before Lin could even finish reading, the numbers started echoing in his ear, like the world's most annoying sleep app. A freezing wave of exhaustion crashed over him, heavier than a Monday commute. His sight narrowed to a single blinking notification.
He tried, stupidly, to fight it, desperate to stay awake, but his body was not taking any applications for overtime. The pain faded, replaced by numb emptiness; voices blurred to static somewhere far away. The last thing he saw was the system notification, pulsing gently in the dark.
[Mission completed. Calculating gains...]
Darkness. A weightless, endless void where time seemed to stretch and fold upon itself. Lin floated through that nothingness, neither fully awake nor truly unconscious. In the distance, he hears the faint, unmistakable chime of the system—a sound slicing through the abyss like a lighthouse cutting through midnight fog.
[Critical injuries detected.Initiating emergency recovery protocol, Newbie.]
[The host will be immobilized for 12 hours. Vital functions stabilized. Blood loss halted. Minor tissue regeneration is now in progress.]
So this is what it feels like to be dangling between life and death, Lin thought, his awareness drifting in and out. Twelve hours... Was I really teetering that close to the edge? The system's words felt at once strangely comforting and utterly terrifying—a not-so-gentle reminder of just how fragile he was in this form.
[Recovery protocol Newbie complete. Status: Stable. The user will regain consciousness shortly.]
The sentence drifted through his mind, pulling him upward, toward the surface of awareness. He noticed his body again: first the dull ache in his chest, then the heaviness in his legs, then the cool, wet touch of the ground beneath him. With a sudden gasp, Lin's eyes flew open.
He lay crumpled on his side in dew-damp grass, the world bathed in early morning's gentle gold. For a moment, he barely moved, half-afraid any twitch would send pain rushing back from where it had just receded. "Am I really back? Am I not dead?"
Lin sucked in a deep breath. His ribs complained, but the stabbing agony from before was gone. He let the air out slowly, watching it swirl as mist in the chill dawn.
He blinked a few times, adjusting to the new brightness. The meadow was peaceful, save for distant birds and the barely-there flutter of grass in the breeze. The wild chaos of yesterday felt like a fever dream.
He gently flexed his limbs; they were fine, but he soon felt the pain of the tender bruises hidden beneath his fur. Blood was no longer pooling in his mouth, but he could still taste the metallic tang. Battered, yes, but alive. Lin shut his eyes for a moment, soaking up the sunlight warming his face. Look at me, getting all sentimental just for surviving a goat rumble. My old teacher would laugh her head off.
It was then that he noticed the shadow standing nearby. The adult goat-the one who had saved him-stood silent and watchful, its powerful frame outlined by the morning light. For now, though, Lin allowed himself a moment of quiet relief.
Lin tried to speak, but his throat was dry. He swallowed hard and managed a hoarse, "Thank you... for saving me."
Rokan's ears flicked, and he turned to face Lin fully. His golden eyes seemed to pierce right through Lin, not unkind but searching, as if weighing the worth of the battered soul before it.
"You saved yourself as much as I did," Rokan replied, its voice deep and resonant. "Most would have given up. You didn't. You endured, even when your body failed you. That's strength – not the kind that comes from muscle, but from spirit."