You have consumed a spirit orb.

Time left till next ingestion: 23:59:59.

A soft glow emanated from my skin, interrupting a modest brunch of bread and a dark stew that wasn’t meant to go on bread . . . if its spiciness was any indication.

The automated consumption of spirit orbs required some getting used to. But, it beat having to do so myself. As it was, every day at noon, when the timer neared zero, the [System] sprung into action.

I had burned through five spirit orbs since arriving in Vizhima. Five more to go. Unless I received a new quest or uncovered some other way to collect the orbs, my life remained in jeopardy . . . which sounded a little underwhelming, seeing as I’d adopted Jeopardy as a last name since waking at the pyramid.

I ate some more bread.

Sunlight pierced through an errant portion of tree cover to beat down on my head. Two days of sleeping amid mulch and tree roots left me looking haggard, though mercifully clean-shaven too because of an elven inability to grow stubble.

The similarities between elves in Vizhima and those in earthen fantasies were too glaring to ignore. However, overthinking the matter wouldn’t do much to help me, so I focused instead on the one thing within my control: gear.

The Ring of the Mana Conduit gleamed proudly on my finger. I’d played around with its mana-storing capabilities for a day and gleaned some useful info.

Firstly, the ring stored MP just fine but couldn’t be utilized until I’d depleted my reserves. This solidified its purpose as a backup reservoir but left me vulnerable to a smart enemy, who could divest me of the ring to arrest a second wind.

The excess mana granted by the ring also didn’t appear on my status screen. The benefits of this initially evaded me, but I’d since come to realize that it made for a nice sleight of hand should I encounter enemies with the power to peek into my stats.

If anything bothered me, it was how the ring, despite being of Greater value, needed no extra requirements. It shared that characteristic with The Blackreach Dagger, making both weapons my most prized possessions.

I still didn't understand why no one had bothered to loot the Barrow Wight since its demise. Did I even want to know?

Nevertheless, [Fear Aura] held the distinction of being the only technique in my arsenal with a mana cost. Prized though it was, the ring suited me poorly. Had I been a caster, it would have been a different story entirely. But, I just had to specialize into Assassin. Goddammit, Damien.

I scarfed down the rest of brunch and rose to my feet. The leather jerkin creased as I moved, rife with stains and tears. I didn’t need to sniff myself to know I stank to the high heavens. However, water was a luxury in this part of the woods. And, after the last incident with the Rock Lurker, I had no desire to strip naked in a brook only to be introduced to the Rock Lurker’s aquatic cousin.

If I reeked with no one around to perceive it, then did I really reek? The Damien magisterium voted no.

“Quests,” I said, switching my attention to the [System] log in the periphery of my vision.

It opened without hassle. The Legacy Quest occupied the top of the list, revealing that I had 359 days left on the timer. This was the only route available for me to earn more orbs.

However . . . gather strong allies? What did that even mean? It’s not like I could put out an ad requesting assistance.

“Now hiring,” I joked. “Party needed to avert the apocalypse. Minimum requirement of level 70 and Greater-tier gear. Wage? What do you mean by wage? The gratitude of the entire world is its own reward—!”

A loud bang went off in the forest, ending my musing. Birds fluttered off in the distance, chased out by echoes of the disturbance.

The ranker in me burned with interest to investigate. But, the old Damien argued in favor of turning away. Curiosity didn’t stop at killing the cat in Dreadwood. It tracked down his mate and their wee kittens and chopped them into fine, little pieces.

Eldritch Leviathans were also in short supply in my immediate vicinity, leaving me with no escape by counterforce should I run into another high-leveled monster.

All in favor of ignoring the ruckus—?

A second bang resounded, accompanied by a muffled shriek.

Oh, crap. That sounded like a fight. There was no way I could ignore it now.

Steeling myself, I summoned the Blackreach and surged in the general direction of the uproar.

I could spare a quick look. If it proved too much for me to handle, I’d nope back the way I came.

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That plan went to shit the instant I arrived at the location.

First off: People! And, three of them too. I’d given up hope of finding anyone in Dreadwood.

The only other problem? The goblins had found them too.

I’d been wondering what those green bastards were up to ever since our last encounter. Nothing good, by the looks of it.

A single wagon lay flat on its side, riddled with crossbow bolts. The three people from earlier stood with their backs to it, pressed in a tight formation. One of them—a dark-haired man with a felt hat and goatee—stood farther back than the others. He sported a terrified expression and struggled to rein a skittish donkey about two times his size.

His companions, unlike him, cut more interesting figures. Both of them dressed in apparel straight out of a role-playing game—which was par for the course, considering the nature of Vizhima. The blond man with the broadsword and worn leather armor bore muscles built to perfection, but it was the black woman with the braids and overlarge witch’s hat that caught the most attention.

Her dark robes left little to the imagination, featuring a slit that went all the way to the hip. Her large breasts jiggled as she swung a magic staff, threatening to tumble out of her vestments.

Seven goblins surrounded all three, baring yellow teeth. Two walked on foot, while the remaining five rode Dread Tigers.

I sought cover behind a tree and performed a quick scan of the situation.

The man with the donkey registered as a City Merchant LVL 20.

The other two appeared as a Swordsman LVL 18 and a Novice Witch LVL 16.

The goblins all ranged between levels 13 and 19, with their mounts falling not too far behind. Two Dread Tigers lay slain, probably from the noises I'd heard earlier.

I switched my dagger to my left hand and pondered how best to proceed. The humans could use my help, but I’d learned firsthand how vicious goblins could be. My feet trembled at the memory.

Think you can give me a boost, [Scaredy-cat]?

Hey! It seems you are afraid.

+1 has been added to all stats.

And, then another:

Hey! It seems you are afraid.

+1 has been added to all stats.

Sweet.

The Swordsman stepped forward and swung his sword. Flames roared up in a wide arc, scattering the goblins.

The Novice Witch waved her arms and summoned a tentacle—an actual, fucking tentacle—from the ground. It snared a Dread Tiger and goblin both, forcing squeals from their fang-riddled mouths.

Those squeals died as quickly as they started, courtesy of a flaming slash from the blond swordsman.

I sprang into action at that point, taking advantage of the chaos caused by the burning victims.

One unmounted goblin stood with his back to me, making for an easy first target. I latched a hand across his mouth and struck with my dagger. Health armor resisted, but my Greater [DEX] lent more power to the blow. The goblin crumpled, bleeding from the throat.

The swordsman engaged a goblin rider, buying me time to duck around a tentacle and disembowel the second foot soldier.

Four goblins left on tiger-back. Gotta move fast.

I reached my third target of the day only to be interrupted by an ear-splitting wail. One of the goblins had found the dead bodies of their compatriots, and judging by his cry, he didn’t like the sight.

I tried to back away into the trees, but two Goblin Scouts circled me from atop their mounts, knives at the ready.

The swordsman shot me a surprised look but retained enough of his professionalism to avoid questioning my presence. He refocused instead on his enemy and barked a command to his female companion.

She moved as if to assist me and missed the Goblin Scout advancing from her flank. One well-placed strike from a Dread Tiger sent the magic staff flying and the witch tumbling to the ground.

The Dread Tiger's claws had turned black at the moment of impact, clueing me into the application of [Bleed]. Her resultant shriek also helped.

The swordsman glanced her way with widened eyes, a complete novice move, and lost the upper hand in his fight. The goblin floored him, then trampled him for good measure beneath the paws of his mount.

I returned my gaze to the advancing goblins, who leered at me with toady eyes that gleamed yellow in daylight. The two of them brandished jagged knives that promised tetanus and disembowelment, yet those knives paled in comparison to the salivating Dread Tigers which could deal more damage in half the time.

I shouldn't have joined this fight.

The first Dread Tiger charged and ran into my defense. [Fear Aura] blossomed like a wall between us, stopping it in its tracks.

You have inflicted Goblin Scout LVL 16 with [Dismay]!

You have inflicted Dread Tiger LVL 13 with [Dismay]!

I didn’t give them time to react. Two heads went flying, reducing the total number of goblins to three.

The combination of [Dismay] and the brutal kills sent the accompanying goblin bolting for the woods. He fell off his Dread Tiger in his haste, allowing me to catch up and run my dagger through his neck.

Two more to go.

“Don’t move, elf scum!” one of the final goblins spat.

He spoke in a guttural tongue that managed to taint the [System]’s translation. He also brandished a wicked crossbow that left no room for dissent.

My heroics ground to a halt.

The goblin’s Dread Tiger growled low in its throat and placed a heavy paw atop the fallen witch’s back. She twitched beneath its weight, hurt but nowhere near out.

The second Goblin Scout had gone for the merchant. He gripped the man by the throat, knife shoved up to his face. The merchant's donkey brayed from somewhere in the bushes.

Fucking traitor.

“D-drop the knife,” the goblin with the crossbow said, “and raise your hands! Or they both get it.” His voice trembled as he spoke, proof that he had also been dismayed.

The swordsman quivered on his knees, leaning on his broadsword for support. “Please, friend,” he rasped. “Do as they say.”

I would have agreed to his request if I didn’t know that the goblins would kill us the first chance they got. I raised my arms and formulated a plan. “Hey, hey. No need for violence. You critters were the first to attack—”

A bolt whizzed through the air, faster than I could react. It punched my chest, forcing the air from my lungs. The health meter in the upper right corner went into freefall.

The back of my skull made contact with the ground.

Goddammit.