Thwakk—!
Gruaahhhh!
I sliced through another goblin, its ugly green head soaring into the air before hitting the dirt with a dull thud.
I've already sent plenty of their kind to heaven... or maybe hell?
Can't really tell.
"I've read about them, heard all sorts of tales about their notoriety... but this is disappointing. I didn't think they'd be this weak."
The goblins were full of weak points. No — scratch that — their entire body was a weak point. Cutting through them was easier than slicing through wet paper.
"Damn it. I took the opposite route from Molen just to avoid these bastards, and yet... this whole region's crawling with these weaklings!"
I clicked my tongue, sighing in frustration.
Their corpses littered the ground around me — pitiful little creatures with nothing valuable on them.
"They won't fetch me much," I muttered, kneeling beside one of the bodies. "Their skin's worthless, their meat's inedible, and the only loot they drop are torn daggers and rusty long swords... not to mention those useless bows — where the hell do they even get those from?"
I gritted my teeth as I scanned their fallen bodies, evaluating, calculating.
Just then—
Whoosh—!
An arrow sliced past my hair, grazing it by a thread. My gaze snapped toward the source.
A goblin ranger.
"You came to die, huh, you little bastard?"
Before it could even react, I dashed forward and slashed through its neck in one clean motion. The head rolled, eyes still wide open in disbelief.
"Tsk."
I exhaled sharply. "This is no fun!.I didn't risk sneaking on their tent just to be disappointed like this right? And they are not profitable as well."
My eyes drifted toward the deep, shadowy woods. A grin crawled up my face.
"Guess I'll have to go deeper, huh? Not like I wasn't planning to anyway."
[The Constellation of Salvation suggests you to think this through.]
I froze for a brief moment, staring at the glowing message in front of me — then brushed it off.
If the monsters in this area were this weak, then there was nothing to think about.
"Live your life to the fullest while you can, monsters… because your Grim Reaper is coming for you."
A grin — wide and unsettling — stretched across my face as I stepped into the depths of the forest.
---
***
Aharan woke from his deep slumber with a heavy yawn. His sharp eyes scanned the room before he chuckled softly.
"A rat has trespassed into my tent while I was asleep."
He muttered flatly, standing up as he fastened his long sword to his waist. He already knew who had the audacity to sneak into his tent.
"It must be that arrogant boy."
His tone was calm but certain. None of his subordinates would dare touch his belongings — not when they valued their necks.
"He's bold," Aharan murmured, half amused.
Truth be told, he didn't hate the boy. In fact, he held him in high regard. Kids like him — gifted beyond measure — were rare even in this vast world.
After all, who starts speaking barely half a month after being born?
If that had been the only anomaly, Aharan might've dismissed it as a mere biological quirk. But he wasn't a man guided by emotions. No — he couldn't be, even if he wanted to.
Hailed as the strongest warrior of the village, Aharan carried the burden of protection on his shoulders. He'd long vowed to guard the village with his very life. Deep down, he wished for a successor — someone who would inherit that responsibility without fear.
And that boy… that once-in-a-millennium prodigy — was the perfect candidate.
He saw the village's future reflected in the boy's eyes.
Fortunately, the child never betrayed his expectations. At just three years old, he had already mastered the art of distribution — mathematics, quantities, and calculations — all taught by his father, Mareuine. From that day forth, Aharan's interest in the boy only deepened.
"He made quite the mess of my belongings," he muttered as he stepped outside the tent.
A mischievous grin appeared on his face.
"I should discipline him for good this time. Can't let him stray from the path."
Aharan had always been harsh on the boy — not out of cruelty, but necessity. To make a prodigy bloom into a full lotus, harsh soil was required.
"His family pampers him too much. That's why he's grown arrogant, even with such respectable parents," Aharan sighed as he walked forward.
"Well… I can't really blame them. If he were my grandson, I'd pamper him too."
He paused, smiling faintly.
"But that doesn't change anything. If there's someone to pamper him, then there must be someone to discipline him. If being the villain is what it takes to keep the village safe, then a villain I shall be."
He said it proudly — not out of spite, but duty.
Yes, Aharan had already accepted his role as the boy's villain. And he would gladly keep being one, so long as it shaped the boy into a righteous man instead of a rebellious brat.
After a few minutes, Aharan arrived at the distribution area. Everything was neatly arranged: three carriages half-loaded, supplies organized according to the ratio. He nodded approvingly — until his eyes fell on two figures.
Reiner and Paul — both collapsed on the ground, snoring.
But the brat? Nowhere to be seen.
"Maybe hiding somewhere after messing up my tent," he muttered.
He took a deep breath and then—
"WAKE UP, YOU LAZY BUFFOONS!"
His voice boomed like thunder. Both men jolted awake instantly.
"Wha-what?! Are we under attack?! Is this an ambush?!" Paul stammered, grabbing his weapon.
"Aghh...earthquake! Is it an earthquake?!" Reiner shouted, flailing.
"Where's the brat?" Aharan's voice dropped to a menacing growl as he glared at them.
Both men froze, exchanging nervous glances before replying — struggling to hold back their laughter.
"W-we don't know, sir! The last thing we remember was finishing the carts!
"Useless! Both of you are useless!"
Aharan clicked his tongue in irritation.
"Go and find him. Bring him here — he's probably hiding somewhere around camp."
The two nodded quickly and scattered, leaving Aharan standing there, arms crossed and eyes sharp.
***
Massive, predatory beasts cloaked in matted fur that glimmers faintly under moonlight. Their eyes burn with an unnatural glow—half instinct, half malice. Fangs like daggers and claws that carve through stone, they move in eerie silence, guided by a hunger older than reason. When they howl, the air itself seems to shiver, as if the night remembers to fear them.
That's how monsters like these before me were described in the books I've read. It would be a lie to say I'd never seen them before — I had, but only their corpses. Now, hidden in a bush, I watched three wolves tearing apart the goblin meat I'd used as bait to lure them out.
"It actually worked. By spreading the blood stench around the area and using the dead goblins as bait, I managed to lure in three wolves. Molen did mention that leaving a hunted monster's corpse could attract others." I mutter to myself while observing the wolves.
[The constellation of salvation praises you for your cunning endeavors]
I gaze at the glowing words for a brief moment.To be fair,I wished for monsters other than goblins, but who knew I'd stumble upon such a good haul? Wolves are actually pretty profitable — their fur can be used to make sweaters; I even wore one myself during winter. Their fangs can be turned into accessories, and their meat… yeah, let's not talk about that.
"Haha...I was distracted for some meager seconds" I chuckled amusingly and leaped out of the bush.
"But these little bastards spotted me without any hitch" a satisfied grin appeared on my face.
And right at that moment, the wolves lunged forward,crashing into the bush and tearing it apart.
"Their noses must be incredibly sensitive to spot me through all this blood! Now these are what I call monsters… the goblins don't even come close."
In the next second, the wolves surrounded me, a predatory glint in their eyes, their sharp fangs bared as they circled closer. I took a defensive stance, watching them move in a silent cycle around me. Any sudden move, and they would pounce. Strike one, and the other two would tear me apart. So I waited… waited for them to make the first move.
Fortunately, it didn't take long. Just as I let my guard drop even slightly, all three of them leapt at me in unison. Maybe it was instinct, but they jumped in almost the exact same manner. I channeled all my strength into my legs and soared high above them, and they collided midair, stumbling slightly.
'Slaaaaash!'
I slashed through one of them; its head fell cleanly to the ground. Without hesitation, I leaped back and assumed a defensive stance yet again.
The remaining two wolves now circled me, a bit more cautious this time. They must have sized me up as somewhat dangerous—not enough to scare them off, but enough to make them wary. I waited silently, watching their every move… but they didn't attack.
"They're smart, too," I muttered.
They crept closer, testing, but made no attempt to strike—even when I pretended to lower my guard. Apparently, they had learned from the earlier clash. With no other choice, I dashed at one of the wolves.
"Thaawkkk!"
Tsk. I aimed for its neck, but my arms didn't reach; it was slightly larger than me and easily evaded. My dagger pierced its hide, but missed any vital point. The blade got stuck, and the wolf lunged, snapping at my arm. I yanked the dagger free and staggered back.
"Swoooshhh!"
Then it happened—the other wolf lunged at my head. Thankfully, I instinctively ducked. I leaped two steps back and assumed a defensive stance, gripping my remaining dagger tightly.
The wolves grew fiercer, their predatory glint returning. One of them—the uninjured one—tracked my every movement before suddenly lunging, its jaws snapping toward my leg maybe to hinder my movement? They truly were cunning. I dodged swiftly, only for the injured wolf to seize the opening and go straight for my head.
It was fast—too fast. If I tried to dodge again, I'd lose a limb for sure.
"Kuwaaaakk!"
I made my decision in an instant. Waiting until its fangs were just about to close around my neck, I grinned and drove my dagger straight into its eye. The blade stuck deep, but I quickly drew my other dagger from its hide.
"HaHa! This is fun!"
The second wolf, enraged, leapt at me. I twisted away and thrust my remaining dagger into its eye as well. Both wolves howled in agony, thrashing wildly. I used the moment to leap back, putting some distance between us.
My daggers were gone—both stuck deep in their sockets—but the upside was clear: both wolves were now blind.
I heaved a great sigh and panted heavily. It was obvious my body didn't have much stamina— all that jumping and dancing with these beautiful wolves had drained me dry.
"This frail body is hindering my fun! Fuck you, my small frame!" I cursed under my breath as I tried to pull myself together.
But something was amiss. The growling and frantic panting from the wolves ceased, and by the time I realized what was happening I was already in a dilemma. The wolves had lunged from above—there was no time to evade. I leapt to protect my vital points, but they seized the chance and sank their teeth into my legs and thighs.
"FUCK! It hurts like a fucking bitch!" I gritted my teeth to choke back a scream and glared at them.
"Thank goodness their jaws are weakened because of those daggers in their sockets or else they would have ripped my leg off," I thought, calculating. I slammed my fists onto the exposed hilts and hammered them deeper, one after another, until the blades drilled into their skulls.
Their breath ceased and their jaws loosened around my legs and thighs. Seizing the moment, I yanked my legs free—blood gushed, and deep wounds opened along my flesh. I fumbled for a low-grade potion and poured it over the cuts.
"Fuck it! Fucking hell… it hurts more than when the wolves bit!" I grit my teeth, but a scream ripped out anyway.
Through the blur of pain a wicked idea sparked.
"If I ever interrogate someone," I thought, "I'll crush them, then stitch them back up with potions until they beg to spill everything—hehehe."
It was a surefire trick. Anything worse than death would make them talk.
[The Constellation of Salvation congratulates you on your victory and is satisfied with your skill]
I stared at the glowing writings as I tried to stand but couldn't. My leg had healed up—yes—but it was pretty sore. Thus I lay down on the ground, making one of the dead wolves' bodies a pillow while retrieving the daggers stuck in their skulls.
Now lying down, I analyzed my bloodstained twin daggers and chuckled, satisfied. As far as I could remember I had always felt drawn to daggers and swords. At age five I held a real sword for the very first time and felt oddly comfortable. It is weird for a five-year-old boy to pursue daggers or swords that can slit another's throat instead of toys. But to me, they felt something akin to comrades; I can't really put it into words.
After some moments of rest I stand up ..my body was covered with blood not mine but the dead wolves that I had lean on.