The morning sun was soft when Klein woke, golden light filtering through the cracks of the ruined barn he'd slept in. Dust hung lazily in the air, dancing with the beams of dawn. His small pile of coins glimmered faintly beside him—a reminder of last night's daring escape.
He stretched, bones popping, and rubbed his eyes.
'Alright,' he thought. 'I've tested luck. Maybe it's time to test strength.'
The coin in his pocket pulsed faintly with warmth, like it had been waiting for the thought.
"Finally awake, master?" Paros' familiar voice hummed in his mind.
'Yeah,' Klein replied. 'Luck's good and all, but I need to see what fighting here feels like. If I'm supposed to reach level 100, I can't just gamble my way there.'
"A noble thought," Paros said. "Though you could gamble while fighting, you know. Adds flavor."
'I'll pass,' Klein said dryly. 'Where do I even start?'
"Simple. Monsters."
Klein raised a brow. 'You're just throwing me at monsters already?'
"Of course. You wanted training, didn't you?"
'Yeah, but I thought maybe—swing a stick first? Punch a tree?'
Paros laughed, a low, amused sound. "Master, you have weapons far better than sticks. Retrieve your Whisperfang from your spatial dimension."
Klein focused, summoning the faint glimmer of his storage space. A slit of light opened before him, swirling with energy. From it, a blade emerged—a sleek dagger, black as moonless night, etched with faint glowing veins of silver.
He held it reverently, the weight perfect in his small hand.
"Whisperfang," Paros said proudly. "A blade of silent death. It hums to its master, cuts through flesh and hide alike. Faster than thought, sharper than guilt."
'Pretty name for something that murders,' Klein said, testing the edge. The dagger gleamed dangerously.
"You'll find beauty and death walk hand in hand here," Paros replied. "Now, as for where to test it—head northeast from this town."
'What's northeast?'
"Goblins."
Klein blinked. 'Goblins?'
"Yes. Wretched, filthy creatures. Green, loud, and overconfident. Perfect for your first lesson."
'You make them sound like tutorial enemies.'
"Because they are. Even the kingdom's knights use goblin raids as practice drills."
'Then why are they still around?'
"Ah," Paros said, amusement creeping into his tone. "That's where it gets interesting."
He began to explain as Klein started walking, his boots kicking up dust on the road out of town. The coin's voice flowed smoothly, guiding him onward.
"The land you now stand in is called the Kingdom of Aerthwyn. A proud realm built between rivers of mana and mountains of stone. Human nobles rule from marble towers, while adventurers and knights roam the wilds to keep the monsters at bay."
'So it's one of those worlds,' Klein thought.
"Indeed," Paros continued. "And at the very bottom of the monstrous hierarchy sits the goblin race—weak, foolish, and eternally persistent. Every few months, their so-called Goblin King sends more of them to raid border villages. The knights wipe them out, and yet… the camps always return."
'Sounds like an endless loop.'
"Precisely. A cycle of idiocy and opportunity. Which means," Paros said cheerfully, "you can fight them whenever you please."
Klein smirked faintly. 'Convenient.'
"Isn't it?"
The dirt road gave way to rolling fields, the scent of grass thick in the air. Ahead, the forest loomed again, dark and whispering with wind. Birds scattered as he approached, and the faint hum of magic prickled against his skin.
'So I just walk northeast and I'll find them?'
"Yes. The goblin camps always form near the old ridgeline beyond the trees. Follow the path until you smell smoke and stupidity."
'That's… descriptive.'
"I am nothing if not thorough," Paros replied. "Now, before you start worrying—there's little danger here. Your Whisperfang is forged from the essence of a fallen serpent god. It will cut through anything short of enchanted armor. And your Dragonheart—well, that keeps your blood burning strong. Goblin blades will barely scratch you."
Klein blinked. 'Yeah, my Dragonheart.'
"One of your earlier draws from the Wheel, if you recall. It strengthens your vitality, grants resistance to poison, and allows brief bursts of mana regeneration. Quite the gift."
Klein rolled his shoulders, a small grin tugging at his lips. 'So basically, I'm tougher and faster than most goblins.'
"Precisely. Training through victory is still training, master. Think of it as… gentle confidence building."
'Gentle confidence building,' Klein repeated. 'You really are a terrible influence.'
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Paros replied, clearly pleased.
By noon, the forest canopy swallowed the sunlight, casting everything in shades of green and gold. Klein moved quietly through the underbrush, Whisperfang drawn, his eyes sharp and alert.
Birdsong faded. The air grew heavier. And then—
He heard it.
Grunting. Rough laughter. The clatter of wooden weapons and the stink of something foul carried on the wind.
Klein crouched behind a bush and peered through the leaves.
Beyond the clearing, a crude camp spread across the dirt—tents made of hide, a fire pit smoldering in the center, and a half-dozen small, green-skinned figures squabbling over scraps of food.
'Goblins,' Klein thought.
The sight was both ridiculous and unsettling. They were shorter than him, with long ears, bulbous eyes, and fanged grins. Filthy rags clung to their bodies, and rusted knives dangled from their belts.
He felt his pulse quicken. Excitement, nerves, maybe both.
'They look… weaker than I expected,' he admitted.
"Because they are," Paros replied smoothly. "The weakest monsters in the kingdom. Their only strength lies in numbers, and even that fails them under proper steel. Your blade will carve through them like wind through grass."
'You sound awfully confident.'
"I always am when the odds are rigged in our favor," the coin said. "Trust in your gifts. Whisperfang thirsts, and your Dragonheart is eager. These creatures will barely register as resistance."
Klein exhaled slowly. The dagger shimmered faintly in his hand, as if alive, whispering softly.
'Alright,' he thought. 'Then let's see what combat in this world feels like.'
He crouched lower, eyes glinting in the forest light. The campfire crackled in the distance, one goblin throwing a bone at another. They shrieked, bickering like children.
Paros' voice dropped to a whisper. "You see, master? Weakness everywhere. This is your first step toward strength—and perhaps, your first step toward kingship."
Klein grinned, his pulse steady now.
'Then it begins.'
He tightened his grip on Whisperfang, eyes fixed on the camp as the wind stirred the trees.
The hunt had begun.