The forest whispered with a strange stillness as the group approached the outskirts of the goblin camp. The smell hit them first—rot, blood, and smoke—a nauseating blend that clung to the air like an omen. Klein wrinkled his nose, the stench almost tangible. Ahead, through a cluster of crooked trees, flickers of movement betrayed the goblins' presence.
Lucien dismounted gracefully, his boots pressing softly into the dirt. He glanced at his men. "Fifteen or so, by the looks of it," he murmured. "No elites. Handle this swiftly."
The knights saluted in unison, but Lucien's gaze lingered on Klein. "Remember what I said—don't be reckless."
Klein nodded, though the wild gleam in his eyes said otherwise. Whisperfang pulsed faintly in his hand, the black blade drinking in the daylight like liquid shadow.
Paros' voice hummed in his mind. 'You're smiling again. You always smile before doing something stupid.'
"Stupid?" Klein whispered under his breath, crouching low behind a fallen log. "I call it productive."
From his vantage point, the camp was a mess of crude tents, spiked fences made from scavenged wood, and a central bonfire where goblins argued, squawked, and gnawed on half-cooked meat. Klein counted thirteen visible. The other two were likely out scavenging—or hiding like the vermin they were.
His jaw tightened. "Filthy little green bastards."
'Goblin racism again, huh?' Paros sighed. 'You really need therapy.'
The nearest goblin barely had time to squeal before Whisperfang cleaved through its neck. The sound was nothing but a soft thunk, the blade so sharp the head didn't fall until Klein stepped past it. Blood sprayed, steaming as it hit the air.
[+15 XP]
Klein grinned. "Now we're talking."
Three more goblins turned, shrieking in alarm. One raised a jagged spear and hurled it; Klein tilted his head, letting it whistle past. In the same heartbeat, he slashed twice—once diagonally, once horizontally—and both attackers collapsed, their torsos separating from their legs.
[+30 XP]
Lucien, seated calmly on a nearby rock, watched with an unreadable expression. The knights formed a loose perimeter but didn't intervene. One of them muttered, "He's fast."
Another nodded. "Too fast for an unawakened."
Lucien's lips curved in a faint, almost nostalgic smile. For a brief moment, he saw not Klein—but his late younger brother, Lior, a boy who had once charged into battle with the same fierce recklessness.
Meanwhile, Klein was having the time of his life.
He darted through the camp like a shadow, cutting down goblins as they stumbled over each other in panic. He didn't need strategy anymore; he knew their patterns—their sloppy charges, their tendency to cluster when afraid, their pathetic reliance on numbers.
A goblin lunged from behind with a crude axe. Klein spun, catching its reflection on Whisperfang's dark steel. Without turning fully, he swung backward and felt the satisfying resistance of bone parting.
[+15 XP]
"Pathetic. You all swing like limp noodles," he muttered, kicking the corpse aside. "Should've stayed in your holes."
'You sound racist.'
"Racist? Against pests? That's called pest control."
As he spoke, a larger goblin—likely the camp's leader—emerged from a tent, roaring gutturally. It towered above the rest, muscles bulging beneath its mossy skin. Its eyes glowed faintly yellow, and in its hands, it held a rusted cleaver nearly as long as Klein's arm.
"Finally, a challenge," Klein murmured, raising Whisperfang.
The goblin charged, swinging wildly. The force cracked the earth beneath its feet, but Klein blade met the blow with feline grace, sparks flying as steel met steel. He didn't feel the weight behind the goblin strike—it sounded strong, no doubt—but slow. Predictable.
It was Whisperfang, The legendary weapon at his disposal. The light, weightless blade nullified any staggering effect the goblin attack might have had, and funny enough, it was the goblin, the camp leader, that staggered as a result of a parry by a young child.
Klein pivoted, slicing a deep line across the creature's abdomen. The goblin howled, staggering back again, clutching its gut. Klein didn't give it time to recover. He lunged, thrusting Whisperfang through its chest and twisting. The blade passed through like water, emerging from its back in a burst of blackened blood.
[+60 XP]
The monster collapsed, twitching, its eyes dimming to lifeless yellow glass.
[Level Up!]
[Host: Klein Adler has reached Level 2!]
[+20 Health]
A rush of energy coursed through Klein's body—tingling, electric, invigorating. His breath steadied. His vision sharpened. Every muscle felt lighter, stronger, alive.
He looked around the carnage. The knights had barely drawn their swords. Goblin corpses littered the ground—green bodies sprawled over dirt and ash, the air thick with iron and smoke.
Klein exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. "That's it?"
Lucien approached slowly, boots crunching over the leaves. His calm eyes studied the battlefield—then Klein. "You did well."
Klein looked up, almost sheepishly. "Guess I got carried away."
Lucien shook his head faintly. "No. You fought with purpose. Controlled recklessness, perhaps… but purpose nonetheless."
He placed a hand on Klein's shoulder—a rare gesture of approval. "You remind me of someone I once knew."
Klein blinked. "Your younger brother?"
Lucien didn't answer. Instead, he turned toward the forest, his cape swaying in the breeze. "Let's move. There might be more nests nearby."
Klein watched him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Right."
Paros' voice chimed in again. 'You actually impressed him.'
"Of course," Klein said, wiping Whisperfang clean. "Told you—productive."
He sheathed the blade, the forest echoing with the crackle of dying fire and distant crows. The knights began gathering what little loot the goblins had, but Klein barely noticed. His eyes glimmered with the faint blue of his system window.
Level 2.
A small step, maybe—but the first of many.