Chapter 6 – Blood & Breadth
I stumbled out of the tunnel, lungs heaving like I'd run for miles. My legs barely held me upright. "That was close," I muttered under my breath, the words trembling with exhaustion.
The night air of the forest wrapped around me, damp and cold, carrying the heavy smell of moss and wet bark. It felt like I'd been underwater and finally broke the surface. I pressed my back against the rough trunk of an oak and tried to steady my breathing.
My face hardened as the truth settled in: those goblins hadn't been random stragglers. They'd fought in formation, took turns striking, even tried to flank me. That kind of coordination didn't just happen. Somewhere in that tunnel, deeper than I'd dared go, there was a leader. A strong one.
I wasn't ready for that. Not yet. If I pushed my luck, I'd just end up another corpse feeding the forest floor.
So I turned away from the tunnel. For now, the forest itself would be my training ground.
It didn't take long before I spotted another goblin. Its greenish skin glistened under the torchlight, jagged teeth gnashing as it sniffed the air. Its claws were sharp but its stance sloppy. A small one.
My fingers tightened on my sword. I inhaled slowly and stepped forward. No hesitation. With a swift thrust, I pierced its chest. The goblin's eyes widened, a guttural noise choking in its throat before it collapsed at my feet.
I exhaled. This time, no trembling hands. No wasted movements. It was… cleaner.
A small smirk tugged at my lips despite myself. "Goblin slayer," I muttered, half-joking, half-proud. Ridiculous, but the words made the weight on my chest just a little lighter.
I dragged the corpses back to a clearing, laid them side by side like offerings, and pulled a dagger from my storage ring. My hand was steady, deliberate. Carefully, I cut into each chest, searching for the faint glow of their mana cores. One by one, I pried them free, wiping the slime and blood onto the grass.
I held the first core in my palm — a marble-sized sphere glowing faintly blue-green, pulsing as though it had a heartbeat of its own. For a moment, I hesitated. This was it. My first step beyond simply swinging steel.
Then I crushed it.
Warmth spilled into my veins, a tingling rush that spread from my hand up my arm, seeping into my chest. I gasped at the sudden surge. My body felt alive in ways it never had before — sharper, faster, denser.
It was smooth at first, the absorption almost pleasant. But greed is a dangerous thing.
I didn't stop at one. I didn't stop at two. I kept going.
By the third core, the warmth turned into fire. Mana burned through me, filling every vein, twisting and pulling until I thought my skin might tear apart. Pain stabbed through my skull, pressure crushing against my chest. I dropped to my knees, gritting my teeth so hard I tasted blood.
"Damn it…!" My whole body shook. I wanted to let go, to stop. But stopping meant wasting it — wasting this rare chance.
I forced myself through the torment, dragging every last drop of mana into me until my limbs were trembling and my eyes blurred with sweat. When the last spark faded into me, I collapsed back, drenched in grime and blood, chest heaving.
But beneath the pain, there it was — strength. Real, undeniable strength. My body felt heavier yet lighter at the same time, every muscle thrumming with energy.
I lay in the moss, staring up at the canopy. My heart still pounded, but slowly, steadily, it began to calm. I couldn't just keep absorbing blindly. If I rushed this, I'd break myself.
So I rested.
When I woke, I wasn't the same. The sword in my hand felt different, like I'd been handling it wrong my entire life and only now realized the truth. My grip was steadier, my footwork smoother, the balance sharper.
I drilled basic movements — thrusts, parries, sweeps — over and over until the repetition dulled the ache in my body. It wasn't much, but it was better than swinging wildly. Every slash had to matter.
By the time I set out again, confidence stirred in me. Not arrogance — never that — but enough belief that I didn't feel like prey anymore.
Two goblins crossed my path near a fallen log. My frown deepened. Two-on-one wasn't ideal, but my blood still hummed from the cores. I tightened my grip and charged.
The first goblin barely had time to react. My blade came down in a vertical arc, splitting him from shoulder to chest. The core cracked with him, spilling wasted mana into the air. My jaw tightened at the loss.
The second lunged at me with a screech. I sidestepped, drove my boot into its gut, and as it doubled over, I rammed my sword into its heart. Its scream cut short instantly.
Both bodies went into my ring, but I crouched over the damaged core. I could see the mana flickering out, wasted, unstable. Sloppy. Too much force. If I can't control myself, I'll lose more than just energy next time.
I made a quiet vow then. Strength without precision was useless. I wouldn't waste again.
Still, even with the mistake, I could feel the difference. The weight of my steps, the steadiness in my hands — it was all building up.
I clenched my fist, knuckles pale. "One step closer," I whispered. The words came out firmer this time, less like hope, more like promise. "One step closer to controlling my own fate."