Instead, he started searching for a cave and slowly made new traps to secure the area. It took a few months, but he felt quite good about the new situation.

The cave he had chosen was on the side of a mountain, not high up and easy to access. It was also close to a nearby spring and had plenty of obsidian nearby. The mountainous area Edvard felt confident few would come from, allowing him to place his focus on securing the cave and the area in front of it.

He had realized the danger of the cave. It was not deep, just 10 or so meters (33ft). If he was to find himself trapped inside he realized he would have little chance of surviving the encounter.

So, to counter this he started by making fences and later a garden to make life easier. His hope was to turn the fences into walls, though he failed to see how he was supposed to accomplish that alone.

The fences however were not hard to make and Edvard felt they would do the job. They were not pretty, with spikes planted before them and a large part of the grounds before his house filled with sharpened rocks and sticks he planted. Simplified caltrops.

He still planned to make pitfalls, however, the time they required was far more than he felt he had.

Near the cave he had also built a gazebo, for when he wished to work and make new weapons or tools. Doing so outside helped keep the area he slept at clean, while it also allowed him some fresh air and to spot any coming danger should his internal clock fail him. Though it never did.

By the time a year had passed his home looked truly impressive. He had made good use of the obsidian he had found in the cave. Making proper tools and plenty of arrows. He had multiple bows at the ready and was planning to make a few crossbows soon.

Stretching, Edvard wondered when an orc would arrive. Slinging a bow over his shoulder and taking an obsidian spearhead spear as a walking cane, Edvard set out with a mission to refill his poison stockpile. Taking one of his weaver baskets to carry the dangerous plants.

His clothing could even be called decent at this point. It was certainly not professionally made, but it warmed him and also protected him against most glancing blows. Having placed strategic reinforcements of bone, wood, and stone in key areas.

Sure, it made the clothing less comfortable but the protection it gave outweighed comfort any day of the week. Edvard also didn't go overboard with them, only having them where he had learned beasts normally aimed for.

Unlike humans, this was not the chest and head. Rather, it was the neck, sides (hips/ribs), thighs, calves, and armpits. Soft spots that their teeth could easily sink into. Naturally, he also had protection on his forearm as he often used it as a shield if things got hairy.

As for the reason for his trip, Edvard hoped that a poisoned arrow would directly kill the orc, or at the very least weaken it. Edvard did not mind using all the things he had at his disposal to survive, no matter how cowardly it might appear. It was not like there was anyone to disapprove.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Around half an hour's walk later he arrived at the plant, a brightly colored one. Purple and cyan leaves with red and pink flowers. The purplish milk of the plant was extremely dangerous, Edvard had learned this the hard way.

Even without directly entering one's body, just touching the skin, it would cause a searing pain that was nearly impossible to get rid of. Water simply spread this pain further, the only way to get rid of it was to wait for it to dry.

He knew that the pain it caused was far worse when it entered the body. He had seen it when using it on some animals. After a few seconds they would become unable to walk, their muscles spasming and their mouths foaming. In less than a minute they would die, even if the cut was shallow.

Carefully breaking the stems he let them bleed out into a carved wooden bowl he had brought with. Placing the stems in the basket and finally the filled bowl atop, covering it with another bowl slightly larger that fit over the filled bowl, he then tightened them with a self-made grass rope.

The milk was a light purple and blue mixture and something he did not want touching him. Thus he took his time while storing it and securing it in his basket.

He had only taken enough to fill the one bowl, leaving the rest of the plant for later harvests. On his way home his body reminded him that it was time for a fight.

Stopping and quickly getting rid of all things that would slow him, Edvard looked around warily. Spear in hand.

Seeing no immediate threat Edvard took the time to better ready himself. Picking up his bow that he had thrown down and opening his poison container that was running low, a small carved wooden tube with a leather stopper. Edvard dipped his arrow inside and waited for something to tell him where the enemy was coming from.

Finally, he saw movement. Not willing to wait to confirm what it was, he let his arrow fly. A cry of pain informing him of a hit, angry shouts confusing him.

'What? That's like 6 different voices.'

Edvard quickly discarded his bow knowing that he still had plenty of weak points with it. Having only used it this cycle, and while he was proficient, he did not wish to die today.

Taking his spear he moved to some cover and waited for what was coming.

After some time six goblins rushed through the undergrowth into the clearer part of the forest where Edvard had been waiting. One of the goblins lagging behind and dying second after its arrival, its death angering its friends.

Their shouts of anger made no sense to Edvard. He stayed and listened, waiting for the perfect time. Part of him wished to leave them be. They looked like starving children, their ribs clearly visible. The only thing making it clear they weren't children were their green-mud-colored skin and sharp canines.

Telling himself that this must be the same as all the times before, Edvard readied himself to slaughter children lookalikes. Finally, when they all had their backs to him he charged out. Having learned how to move quietly through the dense plants from his years of fighting in the forest.

Edvard struck at the nearest goblins, his spear easily piercing its back and through its chest. Its cry of pain causing his heart to break, yet, he would not let emotions stop him during a fight. He quickly pulled out his spear and killed another before they could even turn around.

None of them had any good weapons, only small sharpened sticks, shivs. It looked more like toys than weapons, but they seemed unaware of this. Shouting in anger they rushed at Edvard.

Their lacking weapons did not help Edvard, instead, it made his heart break even more. Yet he suppressed his emotions and slaughtered.

Their strength was pathetically weak. Much like one would expect from starving children, a thought that stayed and haunted Edvard as he stood up from the killing spree. Looking at the mangled bodies littering the floor and his bloodied hands in utter horror.