I’m not sure if my final decision was more influenced by the fact that I had strayed way too far from the path or by my growing love for that state of tension, focus, and adrenaline rush during combat that I subconsciously sought again.

Because there was no doubt in my mind that my recent behavior was anything but normal.

Ultimately, I reluctantly chose the path of a hero, and of a bloody slaughter. Mainly the bloody slaughter. That last thought was definitely driven by the dull ache in my arm.

Yeah.

Suffice it to say, I wasn’t a fan of small green monsters, and if I were in their place, I wouldn’t expect any mercy from me. I considered that a fair stance since I wasn’t counting on their mercy either. I’d say those nasty beasts weren’t even capable of mercy, but enough on the flaws of that vile race.

After a quick meal, and I’m still surprised I could eat so calmly amidst the corpses, I prepared to move on.

Instead of wandering aimlessly through the forest, hoping to stumble upon something, I chose the only logical path.

Nearby was the same stream where I had replenished my water supply. I decided to follow it downstream, as I expected it would lead me to a makeshift goblin base.

And I wasn’t disappointed.

After a few hours of trekking and minor skirmishes with lone goblins, and surprisingly, a pair of wolves. I spotted from a distance a cave in the cliffside.

Why did I think it was a goblin den?

Because at the entrance stood a totem with some scribbles that probably passed for the height of artistic vision among goblin society.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

And, of course, the guards.

There were two of them. One with a club, the other with an axe. Both were rather scrawny, dressed in rags, and as alert as retired watchmen in a forgotten guardhouse after a few strong drinks.

They stood there, surprised and helpless as I closed the distance between us. Evidently, what they were seeing didn’t align with their understanding of reality. Their tiny brains couldn’t fathom where I had come from or, more importantly, why the charging attacker wasn’t screaming his head off but instead attacking swiftly and silently against superior forces.

Their realization came too late. By the time I was between them, I had already executed a perfect slash at the first goblin’s neck. He tried to defend himself, desperately backing away from the rapidly approaching blade of my axe.

In vain.

His severed head separated from his body with a gush of blood. It was as beautiful as a magnificent painting capturing the beauty of nature, created in a moment of inspiration by a talented artist.

Alright, clearly, something was wrong with me. But, strangely, I was okay with that.

Perhaps survival in this world required such a mindset. Or maybe it was humanity’s renowned ability to adapt to even the most extreme conditions revealing its true, primal nature.

After all, contrary to what some might think, humans were predators. Hunters. And not just any hunters, but endurance hunters. It was one of the oldest methods of human hunting and, in my personal opinion, the most cruel.

The hunter pursued their prey, always staying within its field of vision. When the prey, having successfully distanced itself, tried to rest, the hunter sped up to force it into another desperate flight. This continued until the exhausted prey, unable to rise, awaited the approaching hunter and the fatal blow.

Hope and fear.

And the merciless strike that became an almost merciful release.

That’s what humans were.

And though we’ve distanced ourselves from our ancestors, especially in this comfortable modern era, deep within our genes lies the hunter. The primal, ruthless hunter. A truth history has often demonstrated about our species.

I think some trace of my thoughts showed on my face because the axeman panicked and turned to flee.

A flight that I quickly ended by my axe shattering his spine.

Yeah. Turning your back on an enemy is never a good idea.

After a quick search of the bodies, I added more coins to my pouch and turned my gaze toward the cave’s entrance and whatever awaited me in its depths.

The time for the hunt had come.

A time of sweat, fear, screams, and pain.

A time for rivers of spilled blood.

My favorite time.