Goblinor joined the morning hunt not as a follower, but as a silent strategist. He moved through the forest like a shadow, directing goblins with grunts and gestures, guiding them toward large prey—boars, stags—while he and his small crew focused on the real prize: magic-rich small game. A venomous viper here, a crystal-horned hare there—each kill yielded a glimmering shard, and each shard brought him closer to the ten needed for another simulation.
By midday, the hunting party returned to camp with three massive boars slung over their shoulders. The Troll emerged from its cave, single eye narrowing at the haul, but Goblinor noticed something else: as the Troll tore into a boar's chest, it paused, claws digging out a small black crystal and tossing it aside like refuse.
So that's where they go. Goblinor's pulse quickened. The Troll didn't value the crystals—didn't even realize their power. Its cave must be littered with them, a hoard of forgotten potential. He locked eyes with Goblar, who nodded subtly, already edging toward the discarded crystal.
"Goblar, Goblir—take the scraps to the young ones," Goblinor ordered, loud enough for nearby goblins to hear. In reality, it was a distraction; while the tribe crowded the feeding grounds, he slipped into the Troll's den, heart hammering.
The cave reeked of rotting meat and stale magic. Moonlight filtered through a crevice, illuminating a pile of at least two hundred Magic Crystals in the corner, stacked haphazardly like common stones. Goblinor's mouth watered—not for food, but for power. He grabbed ten, shoving them into his pouch, then froze as the Troll's growl echoed outside.
He retreated quickly, blending into the crowd just as the Troll stomped back into its den, none the wiser. Back in his alcove, he laid the crystals out, their cold glow matching the fire in his eyes.
System, initiate second simulation.
10 Tier 1 Magic Crystals consumed. Second Simulation Initiated.
1 leftover evaluation point detected. Random low-tier talent acquired: Keen Eye—slight vision enhancement.
Goblinor smirked. Keen Eye explained the sharper vision he'd noticed—useful, but not game-changing. The simulation began, and he was thrust into a timeline where he'd already become the tribe's strongest goblin, his hatred for the Troll burning bright.
Simulation Start: Though newly "born," you're already the tribe's strongest goblin. The Troll's arrogance blinds it to your rise. You plot to overthrow it—confident its laziness is a weakness you can exploit.
Years unfolded in a blur of training and manipulation. By Year 2, Goblinor had recruited a cadre of loyal goblins, their strength bolstered by his strategies. The Troll's absences became frequent, but Goblinor saw through the ruse: the creature was growing weaker, relying on intimidation rather than real power.
Mid-Year 2: The Troll vanishes again, returning to slaughter newborn goblins in a rage. You notice its gaze on you—hungry, calculating. It sees you not as a subject, but as prey.
The choice came swiftly:
Devise a meticulous plan, using your recruited goblins to assassinate the Troll.Flee with your followers, seeking a new home.Do nothing and pray for the best.
Option 3 was death. Option 2 was surrender. Goblinor chose 1, his human intellect sparking with tactical brilliance.
System, select Option 1: Take down the Troll, seize leadership.
The simulation became a symphony of strategy. Poison in the Troll's meal, ropes to bind its limbs, a cadre of goblins attacking in waves—each strike calculated to exploit its size and arrogance. To Goblinor's shock, the Troll fell easily, its roar cut short as a spear pierced its single eye.
With the Troll dead, you assume leadership. Gone was the chaos—replaced by discipline. Goblins trained daily, but none went hungry under your rule. Your strength soared, skills evolving: Strong Body硬化你的 muscles, Combat Instinct sharpening your reflexes. The tribe thrived, but complacency proved your undoing.
Year 8: A lone armored human discovered the valley, a veteran of goblin hunts. Your scouts failed you; his blade was 太快,too precise. The simulation ended with your death, but the score burned: 93—a hero to goblins, a novice to humans.
Simulation End. Score: 93.
A legendary chieftain for a goblin, a flawed conqueror for a human. You fell to a single armored man.
But the rewards were transformative: Strong Body LV.1, Combat Instinct LV.1, and Keen Eye solidified. Goblinor emerged from the simulation with newfound bulk—his torso broader, arms corded with muscle—and a clarity of purpose. The Troll's hoard still beckoned, but now he saw the bigger picture: humans were a threat, and evolution demanded more than just strength.
As he gripped the remaining Magic Crystals, Goblinor smiled—a predatory, hungry smile. The Troll thought itself a god, but it was just a stepping stone. And stepping stones were meant to be crushed underfoot.