[You have killed an Essentor, Jooloo the Enchantless.] The robotic voice echoed in Artham's mind, but he paid it no heed. His attention shifted toward Ofero, whose chest rose and fell with slow, shallow breaths. Still alive—unconscious, but alive.
Again? Artham’s gaze sharpened. He had seen it all.
The girls' screams had drawn him to the scene. From the moment the goblins chased their group, to the carriage crashing, and Ofero swallowing the cixonberries in desperation—he had watched it unfold. Hidden within the dense forest, Artham observed as Ofero struggled against the goblins and Jooloo, the earth-bending Essentor. He had calculated every move, biding his time in the shadows.
Now, his moment had come. Jooloo lay dead, the goblins' leader fallen.
[Master, I am still analyzing the language. Full comprehension will take a moment longer, but I can grasp key words.]
Artham’s smirk widened as fragmented goblin speech reached his ears, their words jagged and distorted. He couldn’t fully understand, but their fear was unmistakable.
“Jooloo… krzzk dead!” one goblin screeched, pointing frantically toward their fallen leader, its voice quivering with disbelief.
Another stumbled back, gripping its weapon with trembling hands. “Jooloo… vrakk fallen… skarrg!” It stammered through a terrified breath, eyes flickering toward Artham.
The third goblin, wide-eyed with panic, barked at the others. “You… zshrr block… ratchk king!” Without waiting, it turned and bolted for the trees, feet kicking up dirt in its haste.
“Not so fast,” Artham muttered under his breath, his grin twisting with dark amusement as he moved, his body flowing into action.
He slipped between sunlight and shadow, swift and silent. The first goblin barely registered his approach before his blade cut through its side, a clean, decisive strike. Its eyes went wide in a moment of shock before it collapsed, dead before it hit the ground.
Another goblin charged, desperation driving its attack. Artham sidestepped effortlessly, allowing the goblin’s momentum to carry it forward. His blade arced, slicing across its throat in one precise motion. Blood sprayed into the air, and the goblin crumpled to the forest floor, its life draining away in silence.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Artham cleared his sword of blood, his gaze now fixed on the last goblin fleeing through the trees, stumbling in terror. A cold smile tugged at his lips. He drew his dagger, weighing it briefly in his hand.
Without hesitation, he hurled the blade. It sailed through the air with a sharp whistle, catching the fleeing goblin square in the back of the skull. The creature dropped mid-step, dead before it hit the ground.
[You have killed an unawakened nameless goblin.]
[You have killed an unawakened nameless goblin.]
[You have killed an unawakened nameless goblin.]
Artham stood still in the clearing, his breath steady despite the pulse of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He glanced around at the blood-streaked battlefield, the mutilated bodies of the goblins strewn across the ground. A strange hunger gnawed at him, deep and insistent.
'How strange,' he thought, 'I’ve trained for years in my previous world, but this body fights with its own instinct. The power... it's far beyond what I expected.'
[Master, the blood.]
His gaze shifted to the pools of blood soaking into the earth. A pang of hunger gripped his chest, sharper this time. "Oh, the blood," he whispered.
"Let’s use what you suggested," he murmured to himself. “All I need to do is open my palm… and…「Feed」."
As his hand stretched toward the blood, he felt a pull. The crimson liquid swirled, rising from the ground in thin streams, drawn toward his palm. The blood flowed into him, a sickly red current that drained the life from the three closest goblins, leaving their corpses shriveled and gray.
[You have consumed the blood of three unawakened goblins. Your life countdown has increased by +1 hour 41 minutes 12 seconds. Congratulations, master!]
Artham's brow furrowed as he muttered under his breath, “That’s barely enough.”
Mire's voice, cold and calculating as always, resonated in his mind. [Indeed, these goblins were weak. Their essence was negligible, master. They only extended your life force marginally.]
Artham's gaze drifted toward the larger goblin’s corpse, the one that had wielded some kind of earth magic. “What about that one?” he asked, his finger tracing the air toward the body of the fallen Jooloo.
[That one was different. He was an essence user, master. Consuming his essence should increase your life force considerably more.]
The concept of essence still intrigued him—its mystery, its potential. 'Essence, huh?’ Artham mused, his curiosity piqued. Without hesitation, he opened his palm. This time, a faint glow of brown light, tinged with the dark hue of blood, emerged from the goblin's body—the very core of its being.
[You have consumed the blood of a low-tier Essentor! Your life countdown has been extended by 24 hours, 22 minutes, and 48 seconds. Congratulations, master.] Mire's voice held a hint of satisfaction.
Artham’s eyes widened. “What? Status!”
His vision blurred momentarily as the translucent screen appeared before him:
—Status Conditions: Life until 26:33:36 remaining—
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
He exhaled sharply, astonished by the vitality now coursing through his veins. "One goblin gave me over half a day?" His voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and amazement.
Mire, ever observant, chimed in. [Master, you might want to check on that man over there.]
Artham turned toward Ofero, still lying motionless beneath the tree, his body marred with deep, bloody gashes. “Right… I almost forgot.”
Striding toward Ofero, he crouched by the unconscious man. "Mire, scan him. What’s his condition?"
[Scan initiated...]
A blue light emitted from Mire’s orb, scanning Ofero’s broken body, revealing the extent of the damage.
[Scan complete. He has several spinal fractures, abdominal bruising, and traces of poison in his bloodstream. You have two options, master: give him a potion to stabilize him or... feed on him. His essence, being human, will be far more potent than the goblins’.]
The suggestion hit Artham like a slap to the face. He recoiled, disgusted. “Feed on him? Mire, are you out of your mind? He's not a monster. He’s a person. There are lines we don’t cross.”
Mire, unflinching, responded with cold logic. [Master, I only offer the most efficient solution. Morality has no bearing in a world like this. Survival is key.]
Artham’s grip on his potion tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. “No, Mire. We need him alive. He could have information, allies, something valuable to us.”
The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Then, [As you wish, master. But I must point out... when you speak of morality, I detect no emotion, no heartbeat shift. Are you truly...]
“Enough.” Artham's voice turned sharp, cutting Mire off. "Drop it."
[Yes, master.] Mire fell silent, obedient.
Artham uncorked the potion and carefully poured it down Ofero’s throat. The man’s wounds slowly knitted together, though he remained unconscious. The process was slow, but it was working.
“While we wait for him to wake up, let's handle the girls. Mire, how do I free them from this earth cage?” Artham asked, turning his attention toward the earthen dome that still imprisoned the captives.
[Analyzing essence traces...]
As Artham stared at the dome, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of this world’s strange and merciless laws. The ground beneath his feet was imbued with the residual essence of the fallen goblin, a constant reminder that this wasn’t his world. Here, magic ruled—far from the logic and science of his own reality.
He could envision a future where essence users bent fire, water, wind, and earth to their will. But what of higher elements—light, darkness, life, and death? He had already seen wonders and terrors beyond imagination. His old world, filled with the mundane, now felt like a distant memory, a place where things made sense.
But here? He was an outsider.
Artham's gaze hardened as the translucent words floated before him: [Analysis complete, Master. The structure is weakest at its base. Apply pressure there, and it will collapse.]
His hands flexed, grounding him in the task ahead. The world around him was unfamiliar, brutal, and filled with strange rules. But hesitation wasn’t an option. Survival wasn’t guaranteed.
[You can break it, Master, The essence traces within the ground have weakened since its user is dead.]
Artham nodded. “Alright, then. Here goes nothing.”
He stepped forward, muscles coiling as he pulled back his arm. The ground around the earthen dome crackled under the weight of his blow. With a thunderous crack, his fist drove into the earth, splintering the cage imprisoning the girls. Dust and dirt exploded outward, cascading down in crumbles.
As the debris settled, two wide-eyed figures came into view. The girls clung to each other, their faces streaked with tears, pale from fear and exhaustion. Their blonde hair was matted with grime, and their tattered dresses clung to their dirt-smeared bodies, stark reminders of the terror they had endured.
“Are you okay?” Artham asked, his voice softer, gentler than he felt inside. He scanned their faces, trying to hide the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.
The girl with the trembling lips tried to speak, “A-”
Artham raised an eyebrow. “A?”
Before she could finish, the other girl’s voice broke through with a cry, “Arthanis!”
Artham froze. “Arthanis?” He repeated the name, confusion settling like a stone in his chest. The name was foreign, yet it tugged at something deep inside him, something he couldn’t quite place. Why did it feel familiar?
A sharp, searing pain shot through his skull without warning. He staggered, clutching his head as a high-pitched ringing filled his ears. The world around him blurred, spinning into chaos as fragmented memories crashed into him like waves against a jagged cliff.
He wasn’t Artham. Not here. Not now.
Images flickered in rapid succession: a sunlit meadow, vibrant with the smell of flowers; his own laughter ringing out as he ran through the fields with two young girls by his side. But the scene turned dark in an instant. The laughter ceased, replaced by screams—blood seeping into the earth, staining the pristine white petals red. The girls fell, lifeless, their bodies crumpled at his feet.
The vision shattered, and the world changed.
Now he was a soldier, surrounded by chaos and bloodshed. His hands gripped a sword, the metallic tang of blood filling his senses as he cut down wave after wave of goblins. The battlefield was a wasteland, bodies piling at his feet, yet no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t stop the overwhelming force. The creatures were too many, too strong. Claws and teeth tore into his flesh, ripping him apart piece by piece until there was nothing left.
And then, in a heartbeat, the memory shifted again.
He was crawling, dragging his broken body across the ground, blood pooling beneath him. His legs were gone, and a shadow loomed over him, suffocating him with a malevolent presence. He was fleeing—desperately, hopelessly—toward the only place that felt safe. The white flower field from before. But when he arrived, he found something horrifying: his own decapitated body lying in the center of the meadow, blood pouring from the severed neck.
A scream pierced his mind, drowning out all other sound, as the vision dissolved into nothingness.
Artham’s eyes snapped open, his breath ragged, chest heaving as he staggered back into reality. Sweat dripped down his face. What had just happened? The memories—no, visions—felt real, as though they belonged to him. But they weren’t his.
A translucent window blinked into existence in front of him:
[WARNING!!!]
[The original owner's memories are surfacing. Returning user to reality...]
His hands trembled. “The original owner?” he muttered. The name ‘Arthanis’ echoed in his mind. Was that who he was now? Or... who he used to be? He glanced at the girls, still watching him with hope and recognition.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Mire?” he snapped, his voice laced with frustration.
[I was unable to, Master. The original owner suppressed his memories. Only certain triggers could unlock them.] Mire’s voice remained calm, though it felt distant. [I apologize for the confusion.]
Artham sighed heavily, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Fine. We’ll deal with it later."
“Brother Arthanis... are you okay?” Ziera asked, stepping closer, her voice trembling with concern.
He forced a smile, though his mind was anything but settled. “I’m fine,” he lied, trying to mask the turmoil within. The truth was, he didn’t know who he was anymore. Arthanis? Artham? Both? Neither? He would have to play along, pretend for now.
[Impressive, Master. You're adept at deception.] Mire’s voice cut in, sounding almost... amused.
'Not now, Mire. Stay silent.' He needed space, clarity.
[As you command.]
“What about Uncle Ofero?” Miera’s voice broke through the tension, her wide eyes brimming with worry.
“He’s safe,” Artham said, nodding toward the oak tree where Ofero rested. “I gave him a potion. He should wake soon.”
The girls exhaled in relief, tears slipping down their cheeks. “Thank you for saving us,” Miera whispered before throwing her arms around him. Ziera quickly followed, their small frames shaking with emotion as they clung to him.
Caught off guard, Artham hesitated before returning their embrace, his heart heavy. He wasn’t their brother, Arthanis, but for now, he had to be.
As the girls’ tears soaked into his shirt, he couldn’t shake the lingering question: What happened to the real Arthanis?