My HP had dwindled in the last fight, too low for comfort, and yet, I couldn't suppress the trepidation as I drank my sole health potion.

An itchy feeling spread throughout my body as the potion did its job. The health meter surged back up, leaving a red icon in the shape of a conical flask in the right corner of my vision. Similar icons of green and blue waited beside it.

As long as those icons remained, further use of the corresponding potions would poison me. And, if Mavari was correct, it took six hours for the potion timers to reset. I had less than three hours to unlock my inventory, making this the last health potion for the duration.

As if I wasn’t stressed out enough.

I didn’t have any techniques to hide my advance through the bushes. I relied instead on natural grace and painstaking carefulness. The layout of the forest looked the same in every direction, but some racial privilege was hard at work, seeing as I didn’t get confused.

I returned to the site of the initial ambush, breakfast tossing in my gut. A small swath of flora lay leveled at the location, leaving the ground clear of cover. Two goblin corpses lay amid the wreckage, alongside a single Dread Tiger.

The first goblin was but a lowly scout, complete with a knife and crossbow. The other was the Goblin Sorcerer. He lay with an arrow protruding from his throat, atop a broken staff that still thrummed with magic.

The corpses didn’t offer any tooltips, much like the deer. Maybe, the ability to loot creatures only applied to whoever landed the killing blow?

Regardless, I divested the first goblin of a set of throwing knives and fished a goblin horn from out of the grass. These I tied to my hip, via hooks on my pants. A long length of chain dangled around a tree, pinned in place by arrows. Mavari didn’t die here, that much I was sure of. But, I could only guess at her current condition.

Please, be safe.

The undergrowth returned to normalcy further away from the battlefield. Blood dotted the ground, terminating in a third goblin corpse. A flash of green caught my attention—wasn’t that Mavari’s cloak?

It fluttered in the breeze, snagged on a low-hanging tree branch. The fabric featured a jagged rip halfway down the middle as if made by a blade.

Cloak of Viridian Gleam [Common].

An item favored by Wood Elf Rangers. Contains an enchantment that blends in with greenery.

Requirement: Elven race.

Cloak of Viridian Gleam . . .

Enchantment aside, it made sense that Dark Elves weren’t the only members of their species on Vizhima. The bit about requirements surprised me, especially as the Blackreach had cost nothing to use.

Don’t question it if it works, Damien. There would be time enough if you survived this encounter to think about [System] mechanics.

A tremor reverberated across the forest: the sound of felling trees. I glanced in the direction of the noise and recognized it as the clamor of battle. A level 7 Dark Elf had no business fighting a goblin party.

It didn’t stop me.

I threw the viridian cloak over my shoulders and raced to Mavari’s aid. Even with my thoughts jumping all over the place, my racial gifts didn’t relent. I passed through bushes with barely a rustle until I ducked for tree cover about fifty meters away from the scene.

Eight Goblin Scouts prowled the area. Each of them brandished jagged blades and rode a large Dread Tiger. An arrow came close to striking one goblin in the cheek, but he ducked with impressive grace and maintained control of his mount. His companions returned fire. Crossbows went thwachk thwachk thwachk.

Mavari stood trapped amid the goblins . . . or more accurately, hid high up in the branches of a tree. She peeked out at intervals to rain arrows at the scouts who attempted to fell the surrounding trees to force her out of hiding.

The goblins circled her perch, baiting her attacks. They darted in and out of cover, making sport of the entire affair. They intended to wear her out—or so I thought until two of the larger goblins fired flaming quarrels into the roots of the tree.

Flames sprang from the bolt tips, joining a growing fire I had initially missed. A ninth goblin crouched behind the rest of the group, hidden away by rock cover. He sat surrounded by bolts, a lit torch, and a jar of oil. Each time a companion rode past his position, he tossed them a handful of flaming bolts.

Goblin Engineer LVL 11.

I used [Identify] on the rest of the group. Most of the enemies—mounts included—possessed levels below 15. Two Dread Tigers sat at level sixteen, paired with riders of similar rank.

The goblin engineer remained focused on his job, even as I crawled through the woodwork with the hood of the viridian cloak draped over my head. Mavari had probably noticed me from her vantage point, but a chance existed that she mistook me for one of the goblins.

Please, don’t shoot me, Mavari.

The goblin engineer stiffened. “Who’s there—”

Oh no, you don’t.

I clasped a hand around his neck and stifled his mangled gasp. The Blackreach Dagger flashed in the pattern I’d memorized. Three quick strikes to disable health armor, and a fourth across the throat.

The engineer died slowly, triggering a pang of unease within me at the viciousness of the deed. Yellow, toad-like eyes clouded over as the goblin bled in stunned silence onto the forest floor. His companions kept up their attack, oblivious to my presence.

One down.

I ignored my revulsion and snatched two throwing knives from a satchel on the engineer’s hip. Time was of the essence, seeing as his companions could return at any moment for more ammunition.

I doused the throwing knives in oil with shaky fingers and set them ablaze. Then, in a couple of smooth motions, I leaned into my Common Dexterity and launched the knives into the flanks of two Dread Tigers.

The large beasts went berserk. One ran toward Mavari, rider in tow, and fell alongside its goblin under a volley of arrows.

The other Dread Tiger dislodged its rider and fled for the bushes. I dived out of the way lest it should trample me to paste. The fiery knives hadn’t even pierced skin due to the protection of health, but the Dread Tigers had bolted regardless.

I could use that.

The goblins shrieked behind me, recovering from their brief confusion. I gathered the torch and oil jar and made for the safety of the trees.

One Goblin Scout noticed my movements but stopped short in befuddlement before he could pursue me.

Thank you, cloak!

“Did you see that?” the goblin yelled. “There’s a tree spirit in the forest!”

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“Tree spirit?” his nearest companion asked. “You're sure it’s not an elf?”

The dislodged rider sought refuge behind the same rock that had sheltered the engineer. He froze at the sight of the corpse, eyes widening in his head. “Oi, what’s this? Pigsnout’s dead!”

“Pigsnout?!” his fellows cried, almost in disbelief.

The goblins loped toward my general position, bristling with the need for vengeance.

I arced around them, all the while struggling with the lid of the jar. Common Dexterity ensured I kept hold of all the items despite singeing myself on the torch.

Goddamn, it hurt. What was the point of health armor if it didn’t do anything for pain?

The jar came unsealed.

Goblin Oil [Common].

A highly flammable fluid. Keep away from kids and soft-bellied elves.

Requirement: None.

The goblin oil lived up to its description, coming alight with terrifying ease. Flames rose in a line behind me, giving the goblins pause.

I hooked the torch beneath my armpit and slathered the throwing knives in oil. A small quantity remained, enough to encourage me to cut a strip of cloth from my sleeve and roll it into the jar. For the final touch, I raised the goblin horn to my lips—

Ignore it, Damien. Ignore the secondhand kiss.

—and blew for all I was worth.

The riders faltered. Flames surged onto the greenwood, feeding on the droplets of oil. My erratic heartbeat warned against taunting the goblins, but [Scaredy-cat] fired at that moment, replacing two of the three [Fear] stacks I’d lost.

No going back, huh?

I changed positions and blew again on the horn.

A Goblin Scout snapped. This one stood taller than most of the others and numbered among the stronger pair whom I’d identified at level 16. He reared his mount and charged ahead of the others.

I finished the crude Molotov in time to meet his advance. Anger blossomed on the goblin's face as he finally caught sight of the source of their troubles.

“You,” he spat, intent on running me down.

I launched the jar in lieu of an answer. It flew in a perfect arc, aimed at the goblin's torso. The bullish goblin sneered in return and swung his knife.

Ouch.

The makeshift bomb exploded over his arm, dousing both rider and mount in liquid fire. The latter bucked out of control. It unseated the goblin and trampled him, and then it continued in a frenzy onto my path.

Tamed Dread Tiger LVL 16.

[Fear Aura] responded to prompting. The rampaging beast resisted as expected, but a sudden message appeared.

Tamed Dread Tiger is in a state of panic. Mental resistance has thus been lowered.

[Fear Aura] has taken root.

You have afflicted Tamed Dread Tiger with [Dismay]!

I lunged with my dagger and landed on the tiger’s back. My initial strike failed to split open its hide, but I’d long adjusted to the mechanism of health armor. I plunged the dagger over and over into its nape. The Dread Tiger collapsed beneath me.

The unfortunate rider groaned as he struggled to his feet. His health had taken a beating, first from the burn and then the trample. But, he was still a Level 16 Goblin Scout.

That didn't stop me. [Fear Aura] poured from my form, forcing his toad pupils to contract to pinpricks.

Goblin Scout is in a state of panic. Mental resistance has thus been lowered.

You have afflicted Goblin Scout with [Dismay]!

I swung for all I was worth. The injured goblin parried my blow, much to his credit. His knife arm trembled, however, and my return strike raked across his belly.

The Goblin Scout dove for me only to end up with a monster core to the face. The sudden flash of light and heat did little damage. But, considering that the goblin was already dismayed, momentary blindness worked better than anticipated.

I closed the distance to the flailing goblin and punched my dagger into his belly. His health meter bottomed out with an audible zing.

I tried again and buried the dagger this time in his throat.

It had to be the throat.

The goblin died with ugly retching noises. Don’t listen. Keep moving, Damien.

A spate of text boxes announced my rise to level 8. Less than I’d expected for both kills, but then again, the Dread Tiger had done some of the work.

A crossbow quarrel glanced off my shoulder. It threw me to the ground, which turned out to be a good thing as a second bolt flew past my head.

“Hey!” one of the shooters said. “That’s no tree spirit. That's a bloody Dark Elf!”

Goblin Scouts have resisted [Fear Aura].

Oh, come on.

I killed the aura to avoid giving away my position and tried to run. All five riders gave chase, led by the surviving level 16 scout. I had no tricks left in my arsenal; a fact that became increasingly apparent as the big cats galloped after me.

“Too weak, maggot,” the lead goblin taunted.

Too weak.

I had three free stat points and Willpower that probably read 6 (8) due to the two stacks of [Fear]. The [System] had warned about the effects of [WIL] on mental attacks.

Put [3] stat points into Willpower? Y/N?

Yes!

Hurray for you, chap! You have upgraded an attribute.

[WIL] has changed from [Lesser] to [Common].

Your base mental resistance has increased by 1.5x.

Your base mental proficiency has increased by 1.5x.

You can now use two sustain-type techniques simultaneously!

I darted behind a tree, just in time to avoid a tackle from a Dread Tiger whose paw carved a chunk from the tree trunk. It tumbled and then reoriented itself, doing so with feline grace.

[Fear Aura] came off cooldown at that moment, flooding the forest.

Tamed Dread Tiger has resisted [Fear Aura].

Goblin Scout has resisted [Fear Aura].

Oh, for fuck’s sake! Why tell me to improve [WIL] if it ended in the same result?!

I had lost the torch sometime during the fight with the other goblin, so I crushed a monster core instead atop the oil-drenched knives. They sprang ablaze.

The Dread Tiger charged, spurred on by its excited rider. Large claws reached for my face.

The blow would have torn through my health had my knives not flown first and struck the tiger in the chest. The dread beast staggered backward, more out of terror than pain. Shadows extended from The Blackreach Dagger in my grasp, borrowing from the wisps of [Fear Aura].

Tamed Dread Tiger is in a state of panic. Mental resistance has thus been lowered.

[Fear Aura] has taken root.

You have afflicted Tamed Dread Tiger with [Dismay]!

I ducked beneath the rider’s quarrel and lashed out in a flurry. The Dread Tiger fought back with awkwardness, hampering its rider more than it helped.

A final strike split the beast open from chest to belly. Entrails tumbled out onto the forest floor. The tiger’s aggrieved rider rose from its back and kicked me upside the head. I rocketed into a tree trunk.

The blow forced a downward slide in my health meter, but I was more bothered by the fact that I could feel my brain slosh around in my head. Health armor didn’t offer full protection against concussions. It sucked to find out this way.

The Goblin Scout pulled a long knife from its belt. This goblin, unlike his peers, had a formidable amount of Strength. Probably 20 or more. Could monsters allocate stat points like we could? For that matter, why did sapient species like goblins count as monsters?

No. Focus. That was the concussion talking. I’d come too far to die here. Not at least until Mavari was safe.

I rose to my feet, proving that Willpower was at least good for something. I still had the problem of being outmatched even as the fog cleared in my head. My Strength had slipped from 10 to 9 with the loss of one [Fear] stack, forcing me to appreciate firsthand the difference between tiers.

“Stringy meat,” the goblin said, running a purple tongue across his knife. “I will enjoy this.”

The other goblin riders waited in the distance, oddly hesitant. [Fear Aura] hadn’t managed to [Dismay] them, but it had done something. Their body language revealed their reluctance to approach the Dark Elf covered in shadows. Apologies to you, Willpower.

I switched off the ability and raised The Blackreach Dagger in front of my face. The soul-steel glinted with the light of multiple fires which were a few minutes away from growing unruly.

I imitated the bring it on gesture from that one movie with the actor who spoke too little. “Come then, milkskin. We don’t have all day.”

The goblin bristled. "I'm not a milkskin! My hide is the finest green, just like my mother's!"

Oh? So, milkskin referred to goblins who looked paler than the others? What did that have to do with drinking milk?

Regardless, I taunted, "Your mother would skin herself if she saw the beating you're about to take."

"My mother's dead," the goblin fired. "I killed her myself. Snuck into her cave on my eighth birthday and slit her throat." He laughed at the look on my face. "Deliver a message for me, why don't you? Tell her 'ugly' says hi."

Yeah, this was why I didn't trash talk. I was too soft-bellied for it, unlike these monsters.

I gripped my dagger and settled into a stance.