The blood had drained out of the goblin's fingers, and the wrinkly skin looked even drier and unappetizing. The crooked and creaking joints covered in greenish skin and the claw-like purplish fingernail, filled with dirt, made a repulsive combination.

The dread Ackster felt when he first arrived at this plan of action multiplied as even the mere thought of shoving that in his mouth was enough to make him gag.

It hadn’t been in his bag very long, and it had been surrounded by the Sun-kissed Grass most of the time, and if not the herbs, it had been around what Ackster, for now, decided to assume was a failed Doppelganger Slime. So, the poisonous goblin’s finger hadn’t had time to rot or spoil. At least not that much.

But it still smelled and looked like something not even a starved dog should eat.

Ackster wondered if he was insane when he came up with the idea to eat it.

Even if eating it would train both his Poison Resistance and help him acquire Iron Stomach, Ackster couldn’t believe he had thought about it while thinking he was sane and smart for thinking it. He blamed it on stress before taking a closer whiff of the finger.

“Huegh!”

Ackster recoiled back at the intense stinging smell that forced its way up his nostrils and tried to set his brain and nasal passages on fire.

‘Fucking Keen Senses!’

Ackster realized that not all skills were good at all times. Until he had mastered how to control his senses, he should take a little care when smelling pungent things like the finger in his hand.

But despite all his squirming and nose-wrinkling, Ackster didn’t let go of the goblin’s finger.

Although it was an insane and unsanitary idea, it was still a stroke of mad genius.

Based on how a single scratch from the goblin’s claws had put Ackster into a haze fever where he couldn’t even lie down without feeling like someone had thrown his head into a washing machine spinning one way and his body in another machine spinning the other way.

The poison had also given him Poison Resistance at F-rank in one go. Without the Sun-kissed Grass, Ackster would almost have certainly died.

The goblin finger was too precious to throw away.

Ackster could scratch himself with the claws to train his poison resistance. But it wouldn’t be as effective as eating it directly. And he wanted to get as much out of the poison goblin’s poison as possible before it stopped doing anything to level up his Poison Resistance skill.

However, he had a hard time moving the finger closer to his mouth, regardless of how much he knew it would be helpful to his future short-term growth.

After all, Ackster had just been an ordinary young man living an ordinary life half a week ago. He had been injured more these last three days than he had been his entire previous life, traffic accident excluded.

Doing crazy things like eating fingers wasn’t something he could just do at a snap of his own fingers. For some reason, the sheer disgust was worse than the pain and idea of stabbing himself in the leg. And neither of the situations had been as desperate as when he realigned his arm bone, which had been his most painful incident in this world so far.

But he had still been desperate when he stabbed his leg since there was less than a day left before the fight with The Hero. So, he had managed to force himself to do it. And after doing it once, it was easier to do it again.

The reaper’s scythe resting directly against his neck was a better motivator than when it was ten years away. Ackster could also hear a devilish voice tell him that he didn’t have to eat goblin fingers.

With what Strong Body had shown so far, training hard would be enough. He would be strong enough to save his life and stop the world from ending.

But Ackster knew that it wouldn’t be enough.

Simply training hard, even with Strong Body, wouldn’t be enough to bridge the gap between himself and The Hero. He couldn’t take it easy.

If Ackster wanted to save his life in up to ten years' time – he might die before that, after all – he had to go all out right from the beginning. He had to smash through his limits so hard that he entirely removed the notion of having them.

He couldn’t let anything hinder him, not even his own sanity and sense of self-preservation.

“You know what….”

‘This is revenge for that fight, you motherfucker.’

Ackster, finally having mustered up enough courage and motivation to make an attempt, pinched his nose tight using the strength from Strong Body. He also closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see the wrinkly old finger get close.

However, when he opened his mouth, the smell creeped into it and up into his nose anyways.

Ackster stopped himself from hurling and brought the finger even closer while thinking about how his clone would be getting ready to fight The Hero and how this was necessary if he wanted a life longer than a maximum of ten years.

The crippling realization that his life was far from guaranteed, that it might end at any point within the next ten years if he didn’t do his utmost to stay alive, finally got Ackster to insert the finger into the gap between his upper and lower jaw.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The finger didn’t touch any of his teeth or his tongue, but Ackster could still feel its presence. He winced and bit down on the finger.

The initial sensation was similar to stale jerky or maybe really dry chicken. But Ackster barely had time to experience that sensation before the taste overwhelmed him.

The pungent taste of leathery goblin skin smacked against Ackster’s tongue like a truck, and he spat out the finger while leaning on the ground and gagging. He couldn’t even understand the cacophony of unpleasantry that he felt when he tasted the finger.

But after a few deep breaths of clean air, he realized something.

It wasn’t as bad as it looked.

Ackster had just been taken by the initial burst of flavor after being influenced by the finger’s smell and appearance. It really was true that a majority of tasting food was in appearance and scent.

In truth, the finger wasn’t that different from a human finger–

‘That’s not any better….’

But how bad could a human finger really taste? To confirm his hypothesis, Ackster put his own finger inside his mouth and licked it.

It didn’t taste that much, and it was definitely something he could eat if it weren’t for the fact that it was his own finger.

So, how bad could the goblin’s finger be? Sure, it was green. Sure, it was beginning to rot. Sure, it was filled with poison. Sure, it hadn’t been washed once in its lifetime. Sure, it smelled like a monkey’s hairy ass.

Ackster forgot where he was going with his train of thought, so he grabbed the finger again and bit down. Properly, this time.

After telling himself that the finger wasn’t so bad and biting down on said goblin finger, Ackster forced himself not to taste or feel what was inside his mouth. However, he couldn’t ignore the crunching feeling as he bit down hard enough to crack the fingerbone.

Ackster was a little surprised that he broke the goblin’s finger that easily. Maybe it had withered or decayed and become more fragile over the last few days. If the poison goblin had been that weak when he fought it, Ackster wouldn’t even have been scratched, much less get an arm broken.

Since he had expected hard bone to chew on and struggle to digest to help him get Iron Stomach, Ackster wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not.

The fingers would go down a lot easier if he could crunch on them like crackers, but he wasn’t sure they would be enough to help him get Iron Stomach if they were like that. He could only hope earring the poison he felt begin to tingle his tongue would be enough.

Ackster snapped himself out of his musings. He was supposed to be training right now. Reflecting on how effective his choices were would come after he had suffered through the consequences.

Now, it was time for the second part of the Poison Resistance training. Or rather, the training that made use of the Poison Resistance Training.

Since the poison goblin’s poison induced fever, hysteria and robbed him of his balance, and stuff like that, Ackster would get a perfect opportunity to not only train his body’s tolerance to poison but also to train the effectiveness of his mind while affected by debuffs.

Even if he ranked up his Poison Resistance, Ackster would surely encounter situations where he wouldn’t be able to think straight for some reason or another. There was probably a limit to what he could do to train and prepare for such situations.

If he lost his sense of balance, he lost his sense of balance. Training wouldn’t change that.

But it could help him handle it and deal with it once it happened. If he were used to the feeling, Ackster could train how to move his body, even when it felt like his arms and legs had switched controls.

The goblin’s poison also made it hard for him to think straight. So, by doing math problems and solving riddles while enduring its effects, Ackster could train and sharpen his mind so that he wouldn’t be as incapacitated in similar situations in the future.

At least, that was the theory behind the training Ackster put himself through. He would have to determine how effective it had been after he finished eating all the goblin fingers, one at a time.

But at the moment, Ackster was busy enough enduring the effects of a single finger, so that would have to wait.

The world was spinning around him so quickly that he didn’t even think he could find the next finger.

However, Ackster was still lucid enough to continue chewing the leathery goblin finger in his mouth.

He wouldn’t get the Iron Stomach skill if his stomach didn’t have to work, after all. He had to swallow the finger even to try and get the skill.

Fortunately, the feverish nausea and vertigo from the poison had already taken over his senses. Ackster didn’t have to force himself not to think about the taste of the finger since the finger was paradoxically enough doing it for him.

Now, it just felt like he was chewing on mealy chewing gum while strapped to a spinning hamster wheel. It definitely wasn’t the most comfortable sensation.

It was horrible, actually. But it could have been worse.

And that was exactly why Ackster wasn’t satisfied.

He had plopped down on the ground as soon as the poison started taking effect and robbing him of his balance. If that happened in a fight or a situation where Ackster’s life was threatened, he would die.

So, to prevent anything like that from ever happening, Ackster stood up, and the hamster wheel added a couple of directions to its spinning in response. So, Ackster had to hold onto a nearby tree to get up on his feet.

It was just that the tree sometimes was right in front of his nose, and other times, it was several strides away. It didn’t help that it bent and twisted following Ackster’s gaze and when he tried to grab it.

The goblin’s poison would have been a socially dangerous hallucinogenic drug if it weren’t for the splitting headache and the feeling of his throat and tongue swelling and squeezing on his airways.

Ackster briefly wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew as he felt his swimming vision fade as a few black spots appeared here and there. He didn’t think even spartans killed themselves during their first training session.

Ackster wasn’t even sure whether he was standing or lying down at this point or whether he was breathing or not. Everything he saw, felt, heard, touched, tasted, and smelled blended together in the mixer someone had shoved inside his head and turned to max volume.

Ackster thought he would handle eating an entire finger for two reasons. One, he had been scratched by multiple claws when he had first experienced the goblin’s poison. Two, he had acquired Poison Resistance, and it had ranked up once from G to F. So, even if he took an entire finger’s dose, he should still be fine.

However, the fading consciousness, despite the loud whirring sound, told Ackster that he had been wrong. He had been very wrong.

Eating an entire poison goblin’s poison finger and all its poison might have been a little too much, even for Ackster’s desperately spartan training plan. And by little, Ackster meant a fuckton too much.

He hadn’t merely bitten off more than he could chew. He had bitten off more than he could bite.

Ackster lost consciousness without even being able to blame himself for letting his desperation for survival and more strength force him to make life-threatening decisions.