Arthur tightened his grip on the knife as he stepped beneath the treeline. The forest pressed in around him, alive with whispers of insects and shifting leaves. To his nerves, it felt like more than a forest — a dungeon disguised in roots and shadows. Every rustle was a hidden enemy. Every stretch of darkness, a corridor he might not return from.
His chest pounded, not only with fear, but with the dull, simmering rage that never left him. Rage at the laughter. Rage at weakness. Rage at himself. Tonight would be different. Tonight he would test his power. Tonight he would claim his first servant.
The rules pulsed in his blood, written deeper than language: Defeat. Bind. Command. The path to dominion. But only over the weak. Wolves, trolls, spirits — too strong. To fight them now would mean death. That left only one choice.
Target Selected: Goblin.Rank: Vermin-tier.Threat: Low.Reward: First Summoning.
The words weren't written in the air, but his mind carved them into reality all the same. His thoughts bent the world into a quest log, cold and clinical:
Quest Received: First Binding.Objective: Defeat and enslave a goblin.Reward: Unlock Power of Dominion.
Arthur swallowed, scanning the undergrowth. Goblins moved in packs — too dangerous. He needed one that had wandered alone. A straggler. A mistake of fate.
Minutes stretched, each one heavy enough to crush him. Then, at last, he heard it: a guttural snarl, the snap of a twig. Yellow eyes glowed in the moonlight. A goblin stumbled into view, wiry frame hunched, claws twitching. Hungry. Alone.
Arthur's body went taut. His palms sweated. His throat locked dry. He almost turned back. But the memory struck him — boys in the barn, their mocking laughter, the word coward hurled like a blade. He clenched the knife harder. No turning back. Not tonight.
The goblin hissed. It crouched low, predator ready to strike.
Arthur's mind broke the moment into pieces:Enemy: Goblin (Lvl 1).Player: Arthur (Lvl 0). Knife Equipped.Condition to Win: Survive. Kill. Bind.
"Come on, then," he muttered. His voice trembled, but the words steadied him.
The goblin lunged.
It was faster than he imagined — claws raked his sleeve, tearing cloth instead of flesh. Arthur staggered aside, knife slashing wild and missing. The goblin spun, shrieked, and hurled itself at him again.
Impact. The air fled his lungs as he hit the dirt. Hot, foul breath scorched his face. Claws scraped at his chest. Panic flooded him, but instinct screamed louder — he drove his knee up, bone crashing against bone. The goblin shrieked, loosening.
Arthur seized his moment. With a desperate roar, he rammed the knife into its ribs. Flesh tore. Blood sprayed hot against his hand. The goblin convulsed, clawing frantically, but Arthur twisted the blade deeper, forcing his fury into steel.
"Die!" he screamed — half rage, half terror.
The goblin thrashed, then collapsed atop him, twitching once before going still.
Arthur lay beneath its weight, panting, drenched in sweat and blood. His arms trembled. His chest burned. Cuts stung across his skin, shallow but sharp. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to laugh. He had killed.
And then it came.
The air thickened. A pressure pressed inward, seeping into his veins. The goblin's corpse twitched — not with life, but with submission. Light bled faintly from the wound, and Arthur felt it: chains unseen wrapping around the creature's spirit, binding it to him.
It hurt. Like hot iron poured into his blood. His vision blurred. His body shook with equal parts power and nausea. For a moment he thought he might break. But he didn't. He endured.
And when the pressure settled, he knew. The goblin was his. Dead, yet tethered.
Arthur shoved the corpse aside and rose to his knees, chest heaving, hands slick with gore. But something in his eyes had changed — the fire was there now, undeniable.
He had done it. His first step. His first servant.
The laughter from the barn echoed again in memory. But this time it did not cut him. This time it fed him.
Arthur smiled.