Sol moved through the ruins with practiced stealth, blending seamlessly into the shadows. The darkness around him was almost a tangible cloak, wrapping him in its protective embrace. As he entered the dimly lit house, his eyes swiftly adjusted to the gloom, taking in the scene with cold, calculating precision.

He drew his silver stiletto, a weapon that shimmered faintly with a blue aura, its blade reflecting the eerie moonlight filtering through the broken windows. The beauty of the stiletto belied its deadly purpose, a silent harbinger of death.

With deliberate care, Sol approached the first sword-wielding goblin. The creature lay slumped against a wall, its uneven breathing a sign of deep sleep. Sol’s heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and nervous anticipation, but his hand was steady. He drove the stiletto into the goblin's head with a swift, practiced motion. The goblin flinched slightly but remained still, the fight extinguished in a single, silent strike.

One down, Sol thought, feeling a cold satisfaction but also a lingering unease.

He carefully withdrew the stiletto, its blade sliding out with barely a sound. Moving with the grace of a predator, Sol approached the second sword-wielder. This goblin was curled up in a corner, its position awkward and challenging for a silent kill. Sol frowned, his patience tested.

What a pain... he mused, choosing to leave this goblin for now. He had to focus on the immediate threats first.

Next, he turned his attention to the archer. With grim determination, Sol readied his stiletto again. He aimed carefully and drove the blade into the goblin’s eye. The archer's muffled scream was abruptly silenced by an enchantment, preventing any sound from escaping.

Two down... Sol thought, a hint of relief mixed with the weight of his grim task.

Surveying the scene, he judged the remaining goblins. The spear-wielder seemed like the more manageable threat. Sol crept closer, noting the goblin’s helmet gleaming in the dim firelight. He took a deep breath, his nerves fraying slightly under the pressure of the hunt. He pulled out his other weapon, a bloodlusted dagger with a green aura that pulsed ominously in the moonlight.

Sol gripped the dagger tightly, its cold metal biting into his palm. He approached the spear-wielder with deliberate care. With a practiced motion, he slashed the goblin’s throat, the blade cutting through flesh with a sickening ease. He stabbed again, the goblin’s surprised reaction causing a faint, panicked noise. After a brief struggle, the goblin fell silent, its life extinguished.

As Sol moved to clean his weapons, a sudden noise drew his attention. The last goblin, awakened by the commotion, stood up in alarm. It took in the sight of its fallen comrades with shock and horror. The goblin's guttural cries filled the air, a desperate call for revenge that cut through the stillness of the night.

Sol’s heart raced, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. He retreated behind a crumbling pillar, his pulse pounding in his ears. The goblin’s frantic movements and its enraged, unintelligible speech were almost palpable, an emotional charge that Sol could feel even if he couldn’t understand the words.

The goblin circled the pillar, searching for Sol with wild, fearful eyes. Sol held his breath, his body tense and ready. As the goblin rounded the pillar, Sol appeared behind it with a sudden burst of speed. The goblin, startled and clumsy, tried to dodge but stumbled. It fell awkwardly, barely managing to avoid Sol’s slash.

Desperation took hold of the goblin as it attempted to flee, but Sol was relentless. He sprinted, tackling the small creature to the ground. The two figures struggled, their movements a chaotic blur. Sol, larger and armed, managed to gain the upper hand. He pinned the goblin down, his hands firm and unyielding.

In a grim display of determination and rage, Sol repeatedly stabbed the goblin in the chest. The creature thrashed, biting and clawing in a futile attempt to escape. Sol’s emotions were a tempest of anger and resolve as he continued the assault until the goblin’s struggles ceased.

Out of frustration, he kicked the corpse away. Sol picked up a tattered piece of goblin cloth, its texture coarse and stained. He wrinkled his nose as he used it to wipe the blood and grime from his stiletto. The cloth felt alien and unclean against his skin, but he worked quickly, focusing on the task at hand to avoid dwelling on the unpleasantness.

The green aura of his dagger reflected the moonlight as he cleaned it next, using the same cloth. The blade had absorbed much of the goblin’s blood, and Sol meticulously wiped it down, feeling a mix of satisfaction and discomfort with each pass. The job had to be done; any trace of his presence needed to be erased to ensure his escape remained unnoticed.

As he worked, the sense of unease lingered. The brutality of the kill and the need to use the goblin’s own clothing as a cleaning rag were jarring. Sol’s mind was already turning over the events of the night, trying to process the emotions and the stark reality of his actions. The discomfort was palpable, but so was the resolve to complete his mission.

With the final goblin down, Sol paused, his breathing heavy and labored. The night was still again, the only sounds the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional call of a nocturnal creature. He stood amidst the carnage, the weight of his actions settling heavily on his shoulders. Four goblins had been vanquished, and one boar had been claimed.

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Sol took a moment to steady himself, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from his system. The scene around him was one of grim efficiency, a stark testament to his skills. He sheathed his stiletto and dagger, their blades slick with the remnants of the night's work.

He glanced around, his eyes falling on the discarded goblin clothing. A shudder of disgust passed over him. The foul smell of the goblins' garments and the blood-soaked fabric made his stomach churn. Despite his revulsion, he knew he had to clean his weapons to avoid any lingering evidence that might betray his presence.

Sol carefully looted the fallen goblins, his movements swift and efficient. He searched each body, methodically stripping them of anything useful or valuable. The goblins’ weapons—rusty swords, a worn bow, and a few crude daggers—were collected with a mix of practicality and caution. While they weren’t particularly valuable, they could serve as trade items or materials for future projects.

He rifled through their pockets and pouches, finding a modest sum of coins and a few small trinkets. None of it was extraordinary, but it added up. Every little bit was crucial in the harsh world he navigated.

With the loot secured, Sol turned his attention to the boar. Maneuvering carefully, he ensured the creature was properly prepared for transport. The boar’s carcass was heavy and cumbersome, but he managed to fasten it with makeshift ropes he had brought along. As he hoisted it onto his back, he felt the strain of the weight but remained focused. The boar was a valuable prize, promising sustenance and possibly a bit of profit.

With his spoils and the boar in tow, Sol made his way home. The journey back was quieter than the one in, the adrenaline of the night’s events gradually ebbing away. The cool night air was refreshing, and the familiar path back to his dwelling offered a sense of relief.

Sol pushed open the door to his home, the familiar creak of the hinges a comforting sound in the stillness. The first floor was modest but functional, with a worn wooden floor that had seen better days. A sturdy oak table stood in the center, its surface scarred and marked from years of use. The room was sparsely furnished, with a few mismatched chairs and a simple cot pushed against one wall. A flickering oil lamp provided the only light, casting long, dancing shadows that filled the corners of the room. Sol placed the boar on the table, the weight of the carcass making a heavy thud as it settled.

He then climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor. This area was cluttered, a reflection of the life Sol led. The room was filled with various items—piles of old clothes, a small stack of books, and several boxes crammed with tools and trinkets. There was barely enough room to walk between the clutter, but Sol maneuvered with practiced ease, finding space to stow his loot.

As he finished, he heard the familiar voice of the skull, perched on a makeshift pedestal in the corner of the room. Its empty eye sockets seemed to glimmer with an inner light as it spoke.

"Welcome back," the skull greeted. "Was the hunt smooth?"

Sol sank into a chair, its worn cushions creaking under his weight. He faced the skull, a mixture of exhaustion and grim satisfaction on his face.

"Yea—"

Before he could finish, the headband he wore tightened abruptly, a sharp pressure clamping down on his head. It felt as though his skull were being squeezed, and he winced in pain.

"No..." he managed to mutter through gritted teeth.

The skull let out a sigh, its hollow voice echoing slightly in the quiet room. "Why do you even do this?"

Sol chuckled darkly, though it came out as more of a strained breath. "Hehehe... just testing..."

The skull's voice took on a more serious tone. "Tell me the truth."

"I tracked down and hunted four goblins," Sol admitted, his voice strained. "Everything was smooth until the last wretch woke up and gave me a struggle."

The skull regarded him silently for a moment before responding, "Four, huh...?"

"Yes, they were hunting, and I patiently waited for them to sleep," Sol explained, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The skull was silent again, its presence heavy in the air. Finally, it spoke. "You're improving... that's good."

Sol shook his head, his voice tinged with frustration. "Don't flatter me. This isn't enough... I'm not even at their level."

The skull's voice was gentle but firm. "Well, no matter what you say, this is good progression. Have you learned any skills?"

Sol’s eyes flickered with a mix of pride and weariness. "Just one new skill, a passive ability called [Silent Stalker]. It makes me a little less noticeable."

The skull's empty eye sockets seemed to narrow as it processed this new information. "A useful skill," it remarked thoughtfully. "Being harder to detect can make a significant difference in situations like tonight. How does it affect your movements?"

Sol leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of the day’s events pressing on him. "It makes my movements quieter and helps me blend into the surroundings better. It’s not perfect, but it’s been helpful in avoiding detection."

The skull’s voice carried a hint of amusement. "Well, look at you. You don’t look as pathetic as before now."

Sol shot a glare at the skull. "Shut up."

The skull laughed softly, then asked, "Are we going to the city tomorrow?"

Sol was taken aback. "I... I don’t know."

The skull pressed on, its tone persuasive. "Come on, Sol, you've got all this loot but you won’t even sell it? Don’t worry, we’ll be quick. She won’t even notice you."

Sol had been postponing this day for a while. The thought of returning to the city made him uncomfortable, filled with memories and regrets he preferred to leave behind.

The skull continued, trying to convince him. "Look, isolating yourself here isn't good for you. Besides, you need supplies, and the city is the best place to get them. Think about it—if you stay here, you’ll run out of essential items sooner or later. And who knows? The city might offer new opportunities or information that could be useful."

Sol’s expression softened as he considered the skull’s points. The idea of remaining isolated did seem increasingly untenable. He needed to replenish his supplies, and avoiding the city forever wasn't practical.

The skull went on, "And remember, it’s just a quick visit. You’ll be in and out before anyone even notices you. If you wait too long, you might miss out on valuable items or information. It’s an opportunity you can’t afford to ignore."

Sol sighed, the internal struggle evident on his face. "Fine. But we’ll only go there to buy supplies. No more reasons beyond that."

The skull's voice was tinged with satisfaction. "Deal. Just remember, Sol, sometimes stepping out of your comfort zone is necessary. You never know what you might find or how it might help you in the long run."

With a resigned nod, Sol stood up, preparing himself mentally for the journey ahead. The city was a place he had hoped to avoid, but practicality and necessity outweighed his reluctance. As he made his way to the boar and the loot, he steeled himself for the task at hand, knowing that tomorrow’s visit would be unavoidable.