Morning arrived, golden rays breaking through the forest canopy and spilling over him. His gear had changed—now a halberd rested across his back—but strangely, the weight felt like nothing. His armor clung to him as lightly as plain clothes, the halberd no heavier than a bottle of water, and even the sword and shield felt effortless.
It was as if every bone, fiber, and muscle in his body had been enhanced far beyond that of an ordinary man. He felt capable of lifting an entire car and smashing it to the ground without effort.
I should probably look for something to eat… and water to drink. Though I don't feel hungry or thirsty—which I definitely should by now—I guess that's also the effect of that green light. Could that green light be my "freebie"? If so, then I'll call it—"Level Up."
He searched through the forest but found nothing except more slimes. They came in various colors—red, green, brown, blue, and yellow—and it seemed each hue represented an element: red for fire, green for wind, brown for earth, blue for water.
He couldn't help but wonder what element the ones from last night had been—the white slimes. Perhaps they were neutral, or something far rarer. One thing, however, was consistent: every elemental slime had jagged teeth, just like the white ones.
By the time he finished, he'd leveled up at least three times.
"Seriously, is there anything else besides slimes in this forest?" he muttered, flicking the remnants of slime off his sword.
Woosh!
He slid the blade back into the sheath strapped to his waist.
Rattle!
Rattle!
Rattle!
A sound came from nearby, followed by a deep, echoing rumble that shook the trees. It was unmistakably an animal—probably a wild boar.
Should he investigate, or stay cautious? He hesitated. Though the noise resembled a boar, this was a fantasy forest—anything could be lurking. Twisted boars, ogres, orcs—any monster shaped however the author wanted.
"It's better to leave it and take another path—no need to invite unnecessary trouble," he muttered, turning and moving along a different route.
He would be a fool if he let curiosity get the better of him—an easy path to a pointless death. He had seen it countless times in fantasy series: side characters making the same mistake, only to meet their end. Sometimes it was just death; in the case of women, it could be both rape and death—a gruesome fate he had no desire to share.
He walked for several more hours, stopping only when he spotted a cave. A massive, dark opening yawned before him, the shadows within swallowing all light. Guarding it were small creatures, barely three feet tall—roughly the height of children. But they were no mere children. Their limbs were thin and wiry, like those of adults, yet their bellies were slightly pot-bellied. Their faces were grotesque, with pointed noses, sharp eyes, and two long ears jutting upward.
They wore nothing but tattered leather skirts, each clutching a pair of wooden clubs in their hands. Their skin was a sickly, mottled green, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Are they goblins?
He thought, pressing himself against the shadow of a nearby tree, watching their every move.
They indeed looked like goblins, but he couldn't be sure. This world might have entirely different species that bore the same name. Even so, if these were goblins, then what kind were they? In fantasy, goblins were usually portrayed as weak—no stronger than slimes—but depraved, infamous for raping women and sometimes even going after small girls. In other stories, they were greedy bastards who cared only for gold, willing to do anything to get it. And some depictions were a mix of both—twisted, cruel, and cunning.
Not that it mattered to him. Whether these creatures were simple, greedy bastards or depraved rapists hunting women and small girls, it made no difference to him. He shouldn't involve himself; it wasn't his problem, and meddling would only bring unnecessary trouble.
It might seem cruel to some, leaving innocent women and girls to such a fate, but there was nothing he could do. Even if he miraculously decided to take on the goblins, there would likely be hundreds of them. And even if he was stronger, he had no desire to test that capacity.
I should go… before they see or hear me.
So he decided to turn a blind eye and move on, carefully making sure not to come into their view or make any noise that might alert them. He stepped quietly into another part of the forest, less dense than the areas he had passed through. Sunlight filtered through the canopy more freely here, and nearby, a small pond glimmered. He approached it cautiously.
The water was crystal clear, so clear he could see his reflection perfectly.
Is this water safe to drink?
Even though it looked pristine, that didn't guarantee it was harmless. The pond could harbor all manner of unseen dangers—unknown bacteria, viruses, or other microscopic threats. Beautiful, serene… yet deadly. A clean poison, tempting to the eye but potentially fatal with a single careless sip.
Seriously… how do these anime characters drink from ponds, rivers, or streams and not get sick with fatal diseases? Many of them don't even have immunity or any special resistance beyond that of a normal human. How do these guys not die?
It was all fiction, so he had never given it much thought. But now, in this world, reality forced him to consider it seriously.
"What is it, traveller? Why are you staring at me? Aren't you going to dip your hand inside me? Don't you want to taste my delicious liquid to quench your thirst? Are you not thirsty?"
The voice was feminine, soft yet strangely commanding.
He froze, glancing around, and noticed the water in the pond rippling unnaturally. The ripples swirled violently, as if stirred by an invisible hand. Then, from the center, a figure emerged.
A beautiful woman—at least, she appeared to be a woman—rose gracefully from the water. She was dressed in what looked like a traditional ancient Greek outfit, reminiscent of those worn in classical dramas. The gown was white, adorned with gold embroidery in delicate stripes. The fabric puffed slightly at the shoulders, yet remained modest, covering her properly. Leather sandals hugged her feet, and a golden band rested upon her head like a crown. Her brown hair was braided intricately, framing her serene, otherworldly face.
The pond's surface reflected her perfectly, the water catching the sunlight as she moved, shimmering like liquid glass around her.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, keeping his guard up as he faced the figure in front of him.
"That's a rude way to speak to a spirit, you know, traveller," the woman replied, her voice calm but carrying an edge of amusement.
…A spirit, huh?
The term was familiar. In fantasy worlds, spirits were often guides or guardians of specific locations, or sometimes even kings and rulers. They could exist entirely as ethereal beings or take on physical forms, and occasionally manifest as a conscious presence with no body at all. Their morality varied—some were benevolent, some malevolent, and others simply indifferent to humans.
"Apologies for the outburst," he said, shifting his stance into a more humble and polite posture so as not to offend her. "I've been travelling for a long time, and my mood isn't exactly calm or reasonable."
"Forgiveness granted," the woman replied smoothly. "Now, why not come closer and quench your thirst?" she offered again, her voice melodic yet insistent.
"I have to reject it," he said firmly. There was no way he was going to drink from the pond. The spirit didn't feel right—every instinct, every sense in his body screamed at him to leave immediately.
"Why though? Why don't you want to drink my fluid?" she asked, her face taking on a sad, almost pained expression.
Then he noticed something about the spirit. Despite looking like a woman, there was something strange about her—her body structure was too masculine, not quite feminine. He had seen muscular women before, even the most well-built ones in pictures, but their frame was never this defined, never quite like that of a man.
It was as if the person before him was a trans woman. It was very much possible, and he found himself a little surprised to realize it. It was difficult to notice at first glance—perhaps his heightened observation after leveling up had made it clearer.
There's a seventy percent chance she's a trans woman… though "trans woman" is an Earth term. What would the equivalent be here?
Nevertheless, she was a spirit—and that was reason enough for him not to drink from this pond. I don't know what effects it may have on me, he thought warily.
"Why are you quiet again, traveller?" the spirit asked once more, her tone carrying a faint curiosity.
"Forgive me again," he replied calmly. "I was wondering how to explain the curse that I have."
It was a lie—a story he made up on the spot to avoid offending her—or worse, to avoid falling into some kind of trap. For all he knew, this spirit could be malicious, and trusting her would be like striking his own leg with an axe.
"A curse..." the spirit murmured softly.
"Yes," he nodded, keeping his voice steady. "A curse that strips me of most of my emotions. I still feel them—fear, joy, anger, all of it—but I can't express them on my face. It's as if I'm nothing more than a reactionless statue." He added, weaving the lie around the truth of his emotion suppression. "How I got this curse is unknown to me, but it's like a chain around my neck."
"Oh… such misfortune you bear, traveller," the spirit said, her voice tinged with sympathy.
"That's why I can't drink the water of your pond," he continued quickly. "I was told never to consume anything belonging to spirits or other magical creatures—it may worsen the effects of my curse… perhaps even curse my soul itself."
He hoped that would be enough to fool her.
"You don't have to worry about that, Traveller. My liquid holds healing and purification properties—it can cleanse the curse that binds you," the spirit said gently, though a subtle hunger lingered beneath her words.
In truth, she hadn't eaten in days, and her strength was waning. Without nourishment, she would soon lose the energy to maintain her current feminine form and revert to the male one she despised. She couldn't allow that to happen.
Her gaze lingered on the traveller. The way he stood, the weapons he carried—a heavy halberd across his back, a shield strapped to one arm, and a sword in the scabbard at his waist—none of it seemed to weigh him down.
No normal human can carry such weight and move so effortlessly, she thought, her eyes narrowing slightly. He lifts it as if it were paper… a superhuman, a rare breed.
Unless, of course, the traveller wasn't human at all. Yet that seemed unlikely; every settlement surrounding this forest was known to be inhabited only by humans.
All the same, such an opportunity would not come again.
A meal of this caliber is super rare, she thought, her stomach tightening at the thought of devouring him.
He was hers—whether he liked it or not.
"No, I don't want to offend you, great spirit, but I can't take risk, so I can't consume your water, and I must go now," he said, pulling the halberd from his back and holding it tightly as he turned around and began to walk.
I can't let him get away from me, that hunky body belongs to me!
The spirit couldn't let it happen, but what could she do? She could try to take him and forcefully drag him inside her waters, but she knew that wouldn't be easy. The traveller might resist—break free even—and worst case, he could wield magic and attack her. Wielding magic was rare among humans, yet she couldn't risk assuming.
Nevertheless, thinking wouldn't do anything. Only action would.
She waved her hand, and the air above the pond trembled. The water obeyed her call—rippling, rising, twisting upward in a narrow spiral. Droplets spun in the sunlight, glinting like scattered gems as the column flattened into a curved edge. Within a heartbeat, it had shaped itself into a blade—thin, sharp, and gleaming with the reflection of daylight.
The spirit launched it forward with a flick of her wrist. The water blade whistled through the air, slicing toward the traveller with lethal speed. She was going to cut him in half before he escaped her area of control—then drag his remains inside her.
Seriously… He sighed as he sensed the attack coming toward him. In a swift motion, he ducked down—just in time.
The watery blade hissed through the air, missing his head by inches but slicing clean through the tip of his halberd. The weapon's upper shaft split apart with a sharp crack, its fragments clattering onto the forest floor. Behind him, several trees were severed at their trunks, toppling with a heavy thud, scattering leaves and dust into the daylight.
He straightened, exhaling through his nose, irritation stirring faintly within him—though his face, bound by the curse, remained utterly still. Then, without a word, he tossed the broken halberd aside—it hit the ground with a dull clang.
In one smooth motion, he drew his sword, the metal glinting under the sun, and fixed his gaze on the spirit.
The spirit met his eyes, her expression unreadable. For a tense moment, they stood still—two predators measuring one another. Then, without warning, he shifted his stance… and bolted.
The spirit blinked, momentarily stunned by the abrupt retreat.
There's no chance I'm fighting her, he told himself, legs pumping as he sprinted through the trees. He had already witnessed her power—one swing of her watery blade had sliced through several thick trunks like they were reeds. Fighting something like that head-on would be suicide.
So he ran. And ran. And ran—without looking back, without daring to slow down—until the forest finally thinned.
Breaking through the last line of trees, he stumbled onto a dirt road. Ahead, a few hundred steps away, stood a crossroads with three diverging paths. At the center rose a large steel signpost, its three arms pointing in different directions, each engraved with foreign words.
He approached, catching his breath, and read—or tried to.
Sigh… I can't read this.
The letters were completely unfamiliar, etched in a script unlike anything he recognized.
Why isn't the universal translator working? I can talk and understand the natives of this world—as proven by that spirit—but I can't read their letters? How am I supposed to write or send messages when the need arises?
He paused, frowning slightly in thought.
Well… I guess that's a problem for future me, not current me. Right now, I just need to decide where to go.
He looked between the three paths, then muttered, "Let's see…"
After a brief moment, he raised a finger and began the old childhood ritual.
"Eeny, meeny, miney, moe."
His finger landed on the middle path.
"Guess it's this one," he said, and started walking.