The first sensation was not light, but smell.
It was an overpowering miasma—a thick, wet blanket woven from rot, mildew, and the sharp, metallic tang of unidentifiable filth. It clung to the air, so potent it felt less like breathing and more like drowning in a sewer.
The second sensation was pain. A dull, throbbing ache that originated from the back of his skull and radiated outward, pulsing in time with a heart that felt strangely sluggish.
Ugh... what happened?
He tried to open his eyes. They cracked open, gummy and protesting, revealing only a dense, oppressive darkness. He was lying on something damp and uneven. Stone, perhaps, covered in... straw? No, something slimier.
He tried to sit up.
His body responded with a weak, uncoordinated lurch. His limbs felt... wrong. They were short, wiry, and his center of gravity was bizarrely low. He brought a hand to his aching head and his fingers met coarse, thin hair, slick with grime. But it was the hand itself that caused a spike of cognitive dissonance.
It was small, with long, gnarled fingers ending in thick, dirty claws. The skin was a sickly, pale green.
...What?
This was not his hand.
He remembered... He remembered Kotto, Douala. The smell of frying puff-puff in the humid evening air. He remembered the weight of the book in his hands—a well-worn fantasy novel. He'd been walking home, crossing the bustling street near the market, absorbed in a chapter about a hero awakening their mana core. He remembered the sudden, blinding glare of headlights and the impossibly loud screech of tires.
Then... this. This stench. This small, green, clawed hand.
A jolt of icy panic, colder than any air-conditioned room in Douala, shot through him. He scrambled backward, his small, strange body skittering over the damp floor until his back hit a rough, slimy wall.
He wasn't human.
He knew, with the certainty of a man who had read books like drinking water, exactly what this scenario was.
Transmigration. Reincarnation. Isekai.
He had read thousands of chapters detailing this exact moment. The protagonist dies a mundane death on Earth and awakens in a new world, usually as a hero, a prince, or at worst, a commoner with a cheat system.
He, however, had apparently drawn the shortest, greenest, ugliest stick.
He looked down at his spindly arms, the visible portions of his legs, the tattered, foul-smelling rag that passed for a loincloth. He felt the shape of his face with his clawed hands—the sharp, pointed ears, the flat, broad nose, the jutting jaw filled with teeth that felt too sharp.
A goblin. He was a goddamn goblin. The bottom-feeders. The tutorial-level trash mobs. The cannon fodder that heroes slaughtered by the dozen to reach Level 2.
A choked, guttural sound escaped his throat. It was meant to be a laugh of pure, despairing irony, but it came out as a weak, reedy cackle.
And as if summoned by that sound, a new sensation overlaid his vision. It wasn't physical. It was a pane of translucent, ethereal blue light.
[System Booting... Synchronizing with Host Consciousness...]
[Target Confirmed: Monster (Goblin) - 1st Evolution Stage.]
[Cross-Referencing Host's Residual Cognitive Framework...]
[Framework Origin: 'Earth'. Designation: 'Transmigrator'.]
[System Interface calibration complete. Welcome, Host.]
His breath—a foul, fishy huff—caught in his throat. A System. Of course. The universe couldn't be that cruel. A System was the cheat. It was the great equalizer. This was his path from a Level 1 slime to a Demon Lord. He'd read the script.
He focused his intent, his book-addled mind already knowing the commands. 'Status.'
The blue screen flickered and expanded.
[STATUS]
Name: (Unnamed)
Race: Goblin (Lesser)
Level: 1
Class: [None]
Title: [None]
[ATTRIBUTES]
Strength: 4
Agility: 6
Stamina: 5
Intelligence: 11 (Anomaly Detected)
Perception: 7
Mana: 3
[MONSTER EVOLUTION]
Stage: 1st Evolution (Standard Monster)
Next Evolution (2nd): 0.1%
Innate Ability (Race): [Cowardice (Passive)] - When facing a foe of superior Rank or presence, all physical attributes are reduced by 20%.
He stared at the screen, the initial flicker of hope dimming to a guttering ember.
His stats were... pathetic. A baseline ordinary human, an F-rank by any standard he'd read about, probably had 5s across the board. His Strength and Stamina were below that. His Agility was barely average. His Mana was a joke.
The only outlier was his Intelligence. '11'. Anomaly Detected.
Right. My human mind. My consciousness.
It was his only advantage. But what good was an 11-point Intelligence when his racial ability was literally [Cowardice]? He was hard-coded to be a wimp.
And 'Class: [None]'.
Wait, he thought, his pulse quickening. The prompt said 'Class' and 'Monster Evolution'. That means... the dual progression I asked for. He'd never asked for anything. He was confusing his own desires from his past life with... oh.
Wait.
I want to be a goblin that grows to a class different from anything... I'll start from zero...
He wasn't just remembering his life. He was remembering his request. The thought resonated in his mind with the clarity of a divine bell. He had been asked what he wanted, right before the truck. Or maybe as the truck hit. Or perhaps... he'd been talking to... something.
A simulation.
This is the simulation I asked for.
The realization didn't make him feel better. It made him feel trapped. He had specified the terms of his own imprisonment. He had asked for this. He had asked for the grind.
[System Query Detected: Host desires a 'Class'.]
[Analyzing Host's attributes, racial disposition, and residual knowledge... Suitable Class paths are being calculated.]
[Classes Available (Choose 1):]
[Tribal Warrior (F-Rank)]:A basic combat class for primitive creatures. Grants [Basic Weapon Proficiency (Club)] and a small boost to Strength upon level-up.
[Sneak (F-Rank)]:A class for the cowardly and unseen. Grants [Hide in Shadows (Basic)] and a small boost to Agility upon level-up.
[Field Scavenger (F-Rank)]:A class for those who find value where others see only trash. Grants [Appraisal (Lesser)] and [Junk Tossing (Basic)]. Provides a minor boost to Perception and Intelligence upon level-up.
He stared at the three options, his human intellect rapidly dissecting them.
[Tribal Warrior] was the obvious choice for survival. But it was a dead end. A goblin warrior was just a slightly stronger piece of cannon fodder. It leaned into the "monster" side, but offered no real future.
[Sneak] was tempting. It played to the goblin's strengths—or rather, its weaknesses. But [Hide in Shadows] felt like a passive, reactive skill. It was about avoiding conflict, not winning it.
Then there was [Field Scavenger].
[Appraisal (Lesser)]. [Junk Tossing]. Boosts to Perception and Intelligence.
This... this was different. This was active. [Appraisal] was a classic S-tier skill in disguise. It meant information. Knowledge. In a world governed by Systems, knowing what something was—its stats, its weaknesses, its value—was paramount. And [Junk Tossing]? It sounded like a joke, but his mind was already spinning. What qualified as "junk"? Could he "toss" a rock? A sharpened piece of metal? A vial of acid he'd "scavenged"?
This class didn't just enhance his goblin nature; it subverted it by leveraging his one anomalous stat: Intelligence.
He focused his will. 'I choose [Field Scavenger].'
[Class Confirmed: Field Scavenger (F-Rank)]
[Skills Acquired!]
[Appraisal (Lesser) (Active) - Lvl 1]:Allows you to appraise one target (object or being) up to E-Rank. Provides basic information. Cost: 1 Mana. Cooldown: 10 seconds.
[Junk Tossing (Active) - Lvl 1]:Allows you to imbue a piece of "Junk" (value determined by [Appraisal]) with minimal mana, increasing its throwing velocity and impact force. Damage is relative to the object's weight and shape. Cost: 0.5 Mana.
[Your new journey begins, Host. Survive.]
The blue screen faded, leaving him once again in the putrid darkness. But the darkness was no longer absolute.
He could feel the 3 points of Mana in his body. It was a tiny, lukewarm puddle in his gut, but it was his.
He pushed himself to his feet. His legs were short and bowed, but they held his weight. The air was still foul, but his lungs were already adapting. This was his reality now.
Survive.
The System's last word echoed in his mind. It was the first, and only, directive.
He needed to get out of this... cave? Sewer? He needed light. He needed food. He needed to understand his environment.
He took a shuffling, claw-footed step forward.
And immediately tripped over something soft, wet, and decidedly corporeal.
He fell with a pathetic yelp, his hands landing in the same unseen thing. It was another body. Small, like his. Cold.
He recoiled, crab-walking backward until his back hit the wall again. His heart hammered against his ribs—a frantic, tiny drum.
A body. Another goblin.
He stared into the blackness where the thing lay. His new, enhanced (7-point) Perception was feeding him information. The air wasn't just foul; it was the specific, coppery-sweet stench of old blood. The silence wasn't empty; it was filled with the distant, wet skittering of... something.
And worse, from the direction of the body, a new sound: a low, wet snuffling.
Something was in here with him. And it was eating.
The [Cowardice] passive skill flared to life. His 4 points of Strength felt like 3. His 6 Agility felt like 5. A primal, instinctual terror seized him, screaming at him to freeze, to run, to die quietly.
No! His human mind roared back, battling the innate racial trait. I will not die as goblin #7 in the tutorial cave!
He forced his trembling hand to point toward the sound. He activated his new skill, his 3 points of Mana instantly draining by a third.
'Appraisal!'
[System: Mana Cost: 1. Target acquired.]
Race: Rot-Skin Goblin
Level: 2
Rank: F-rank
State: Starving, Diseased
Note: A standard goblin that has begun to succumb to Cave Rot. Its hunger has overridden its caution.
Level 2. F-rank. Stronger than him.
The snuffling stopped.
A pair of small, glowing red pinpricks appeared in the darkness, precisely where the body lay. They rose, swiveled, and locked directly onto him.
A low, guttural growl echoed in the small space. The thing was hunched over its meal, and it did not want to be disturbed.
He was Level 1. It was Level 2.
He had 4 Strength. It, as a warrior-type goblin, likely had 7 or 8.
He was fresh from "birth." It was starving and diseased, which meant it was desperate.
He was going to die. His first fight, five minutes into this new life, and he was going to be eaten by a diseased version of himself.
No. Think. Scavenger. Junk Tossing.
His claws frantically swept the slimy floor around him. His fingers brushed against something hard and sharp. A rock? No... a bone. Small, sharp, probably from some cave rat.
He grasped it. It was "Junk." It had to be.
The red eyes lunged.
The goblin moved with a speed that his own 6-point Agility couldn't track. It was a blur of pale green, diseased skin, aiming for his throat.
Instinct and human desperation merged. He didn't think; he reacted.
'Junk Tossing!'
He didn't "toss" the bone. He threw it, stabbing it forward as he fell backward. The skill activated. His 0.5 Mana—a pathetic sixth of his total pool—drained from him, wrapping the shard of bone in a barely visible shimmer of energy.
The skill wasn't about throwing. It was about velocity and impact.
The bone shard, held in his fist, became a low-rent pile-bunker.
PSSSHKT!
The sound was disgustingly wet. The Rot-Skin Goblin's lunge carried it directly onto the point. The mana-enhanced bone shard, backed by the goblin's own momentum, punched straight through its soft palate and into its brain cavity.
The red eyes went wide with shock, then instantly dull. The creature's momentum carried it forward, tackling him. Its dead weight slammed him back against the wall, its jaw hanging open, its foul blood and ichor pouring over his chest.
He lay there, hyperventilating, pinned beneath the corpse of his first kill. The stench was unbearable.
Then, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard chimed in his mind.
[You have slain a [Rot-Skin Goblin (Lvl 2)]!]
[Experience Gained: 8 EXP.]
[Your Class [Field Scavenger] has Leveled Up!]
[Level 1 -> Level 2]
[Stamina +1, Perception +1, Intelligence +1]
[You have learned a new Class Skill!]
[Scavenge (Active) - Lvl 1]:Allows you to 'scavenge' a target (corpse or object) for useful materials. Success rate is based on Perception. May destroy the target.
He shoved the corpse off him, gasping for air that wasn't saturated with death. He scrambled to his feet, his body shaking, not from fear, but from a wild, desperate adrenaline.
He looked at his Status.
His Level was 2. His Intelligence was now 12, his Perception 8.
He had survived.
He looked at the two corpses in the dark. The one he had tripped over, and the one he had just made.
Food. Materials. Experience.
This wasn't Kotto. This wasn't Douala.
This was his new world. And he was a goblin.
He felt his lips pull back from his sharp teeth in a grimace that was not quite human. It was a terrible, sharp-toothed grin.
Time to scavenge....