"Goblinor, Goblinor, wake up! It's time to eat."
Through a haze, Ruo Ying heard a voice calling him, accompanied by a violent shake of his body. When he opened his eyes, a grotesque creature greeted him—large-headed, spindly-limbed, with sickly green skin stretched over a three-headed torso. The dim light suggested they were in a cave, shadows dancing off damp stone walls.
Ruo Ying closed his eyes slowly. Still dreaming, surely. This has to be a dream.
"Goblinor, you're awake! Why close your eyes again?"
Goblinor? That's me? In this dream, I'm called Goblinor. And this thing looks like a goblin... His eyes snapped open. He glanced down at his hands—thin, green, identical to the creature's. Dreaming of being a goblin? What a twisted dream.
"Goblinor, go eat! If you wait, there'll be nothing left!" The goblin grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the cave mouth.
A sharp pain shot through his elbow.
Wait—pain? This dream feels too real. Could it be...
A cold dread settled in Goblinor's gut. He pinched the goblin's thigh, twisting sharply.
"AAAAAAH!"
The scream was ear-splitting, raw and real. No dream could mimic that.
Though outwardly calm, Ruo Ying's mind was thrown into turmoil. Waking up as a girl would've been bad enough. This is worse. Way worse.
He pieced it together: he'd transmigrated, somehow. But how had he died? Memories of his past life—an orphan, browsing the web in incognito mode, "study materials" on his computer—flashed briefly. No one will miss me. And my search history is safe.
The goblin, now enraged, swung a punch. But Ruo Ying, a former professional martial artist, sidestepped easily, returning a straight right to the creature's face.
"THUD!"
The goblin crashed to the ground. When he rose, fear filled his beady eyes.
Goblinor didn't press the attack. "What did you want me to do?"
"Eat... I came to get you for food..." the goblin—Goblar, Ruo Ying guessed—stammered, voice trembling.
"Lead the way, then."
"Yes, yes!"
As Goblar scurried ahead, Ruo Ying accepted the inevitable: he was now Goblinor, a goblin. But surely, as a transmigrator, he had a system?
System, are you there? Show me the panel.
A holographic interface materialized, game-like in design. Goblinor sighed in relief. Thank the stars. Without this, surviving as a goblin would be impossible.
He studied the stats:
Name: Goblinor
Race: Goblin
Template: Common
Level: 1/20 (0%)
Vitality: 3
Strength: 3
Agility: 2
Spirit: 4
Charisma: 0
Skills: Critical Strike LV.1
Talents: Devour (All monsters can gain EXP by consuming monster/human corpses), Monster Tongue (Language talent for humanoid monsters)
Remaining Simulations: 1 (1 free simulation per month; additional simulations cost Magic Crystals. Cost increases with strength; simulations cannot stack.)
Weak, but manageable. The "simulation" feature intrigued him—like the novels he'd read. But he hesitated: what happened to his body during a simulation?
"Goblinor, stop daydreaming! Hurry, or the meat will be gone!" Goblar urged, already edging toward a distant cacophony of snarls and tearing sounds.
Goblinor lied: "I need to relieve myself. Go ahead."
Goblar blinked, confused. "Why not do it while eating? You can shit anywhere, but food won't wait!"
These goblins have zero decorum. "I need privacy. Go."
"Fine..." Goblar trudged off, leaving Goblinor alone.
Alone in the cave, Goblinor weighed his options. The system was his key to survival—maybe even evolution. High-level goblins in his previous world's anime were imposing, almost noble. I can be like that. But first, test the simulation.
System, start first life simulation.
First Life Simulation Initiated.
Year 1: You are Goblinor, a common goblin in a tribe on the outskirts of the Monster Forest. Your leader is a Troll—powerful but lazy, forcing goblins to hunt and kidnap females from other races.
As a human mind in a goblin body, your intelligence surpasses peers. You realize hard work gains nothing; you hang back in hunts, rush forward at meals. In secret, you train skills. Over time, your longevity lets you consume more monster meat, growing stronger. Many aggressive goblins die or maim themselves in hunts.
One year later: Level 5, Critical Strike LV.3. You're the strongest goblin, taller than peers but still three-headed. The Troll ignores your growth—you know better than to challenge him; he's devoured far more meat, far stronger.
Goblinor paused. The simulation mirrored his thoughts: patience, strategy, survival. But he needed to focus—this was his first step toward escaping the wretched goblin life. The system's cold, mechanical text outlined his path, but the choices ahead would define whether he remained a weak creature or evolved into something greater.
Little did he know, the simulation's icy logic would soon test his resolve, forcing choices that no ordinary goblin could fathom. For now, though, as the cave shadows lengthened and distant grunts of feeding goblins echoed, Goblinor braced for the virtual journey that would either break him or forge the first links in his chain of ascension.