The leaders of their charge fell immediately. Their burst bellies and blown-off limbs really helped to make the goblins second-guess their charge. Only for a few seconds though, then they regained their nihilistic rage and rushed him with renewed fanatical fury.
But that was all the time Thomel needed to be more conservative with his ammunition, carefully going for headshots rather than the centre of mass like he was before.
In only a few seconds, the entire horde was dead or dying, and he was down to just under half a magazine.
Even after losing a leg, one of them still hobbled its way towards him, desperately clawing at the ground in rage.
It was a waste of a bullet, but he put the fiend out of its misery with a merciful headshot.
He basked in the silence. Counting, one, two, three, to calm his rapidly beating heart.
Carefully, he moved through the goblins, finishing off any stragglers that still clung to life whilst examining the bodies.
They wore tattered clothes made of bone and leaves, stitched together with dried tendons.
Their weapons were hardly better, just some sturdy branches that had been sharpened into spears.
Leaning down, he inspected the hands of one corpse. In many ways, it was similar to his own.
The only real difference was that the thumb was positioned closer to the other fingers than most human hands. That and the claws.
They weren’t sharp or long enough to deal proper damage in a fight, but he imagined they were rather useful for sharpening objects and scavenging.
He let go of the corpse’s stiffening arm and moved on, inspecting the other bodies quickly.
All of them were the same as the first. They all shared thin and weak arms, which looked to be more bone than anything else. Large, beady eyes with dilated pupils embedded into their over-sized heads. The only real uniqueness he could find was how each one had a differently shaped nose.
“Weird little creatures” He murmured to himself, whilst brushing himself off. he surveyed the battlefield as he took a drink from one of the water bottles, his mouth had gotten rather dry at some point.
This horde in total amounted to nine individuals, including the one he had killed earlier. Whatever tribe they were from should be fairly weakened now.
At least until the next wave of adolescents grew up, which would only take a month if he remembered correctly.
Checking his status screen absentmindedly, he almost dropped his bottle at what he saw.
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His level had increased twice, just from killing a few goblins. He had hunted great whites out at sea and brought down lions in some of the more bloody tournaments, but they all gave him less experience than just killing one single goblin.
He just needed one more level up, and he would get a class boon.
Maybe killing the troll would even get him a gift, but that was likely too optimistic, so he shunned the thought and got to investing his points.
Just like he had done with all his points so far, he put them all into the physical attribute.
He wasn’t in any way a mage and had zero magical abilities, so putting them into the mana category was completely out of the question.
And while being more talented at things was always nice, connections and boons were far more important. being a talented hunter wasn’t going to get him anywhere in life.
Letting out a sigh, he was taken by surprise when a hand-sized mosquito type of bug landed on his shoulder in a flurry of beating wings and literal bloodlust.
It was amongst the most uncomfortable things he had ever experienced, and he immediately grabbed it with his hand and threw it onto the ground, stamping it into the bloodied soil.
His hand stung and, looking down at it he was shocked to see a bunch of scrapes and cuts.
It was a disgusting and painful reminder that he had a job to do and the sooner he got it done, the sooner he would be back in an air-conditioned building and not have to swat overgrown bugs off himself or risk dying of blood loss.
That thing looked like it could drink him dry. depending on the sorts of boons and gifts it had, it very well could have.
Shaking his head, Thomel dripped some of the water onto his hand and wiped it on his armoured vest.
Then, before following his boon’s guidance, he took out the nearly empty magazine and replaced it with a full one.
He started to follow the tugging feeling in earnest, eager to get to where the troll was located and get out of this place.
He tried his hardest, but he still couldn’t help brushing against overbearing leaves and touching the flora around himself.
There was just too much of it to avoid; he would duck under one leafy plant to almost be hit in the face by a large branch, and then once he got away from that he would then step onto a sapling or some other small plant.
Or he would almost trip over a root and have to steady himself by grabbing onto a nearby tree's coarse trunk.
He was a hunter not an assassin, the primary gist of his class was following tracks, not avoiding making them.
By the time he reached the large cave that couldn’t more obviously be the troll’s lair, he had lost count of how many times he had been bitten by hidden insects or stung by barbed plants.
This whole place was awful. How had he gotten through it so easily to begin with? And now that he was more conscious and cautious he was getting abused by it?
Now he could end all that, though.
Double-checking that the magazine was loaded properly and that the safety was off, he gulped down what remained of the water bottle he’d been using to quench his thirst and tore into one of the tasteless energy bars.
Then he waited, letting the nutrients be absorbed and sink into him while he considered how he would deal with the troll and any escorts it may have.
Once he came up with what he hoped was a suitable strategy, he stood up and began to walk towards the cave, keeping a close eye on the nearby bushes and treetops.
Nothing so much as swayed, the lack of wind was both unsettling and also quite helpful.
Arriving at the cave mouth, he breathed in deeply and then began his advance inside.
Just a few more steps and this would be all over.