Neron, after a long trek through the dark and winding corridors, finally reached the caverns whose walls were rich with iron ore. This part of the caves seemed the most suspicious and dangerous. Thanks to the information obtained from the defeated skeletons, Neron knew that this section had been the target of an expedition the undead had undertaken when they were still alive.
The surroundings were distinctly different from the earlier parts of the underground labyrinth—the raw, rocky walls shimmered with dark, metallic glints. In some areas, natural, irregular veins of ore could be seen, glistening faintly in the dim light emanating from his eye sockets. The air was heavy and cool, saturated with the scent of moisture and minerals.
Neron paused by one of the walls, where he noticed clear signs of ore extraction. Someone—or something—had worked here, carefully prying chunks of raw material from the rock surface. The sharp edges and indentations indicated recent mining activity, and although the tools had long been removed, the marks they left behind were still evident. Neron ran his bony hand over the uneven surface, feeling the remnants of past work beneath his fingers.
He took a few steps forward when something else caught his attention—on the ground, in a thin layer of dust, he noticed many small footprints. They were uneven, pressed deep into the soft earth, and their chaotic arrangement suggested haste and disorder. Neron knelt down to examine them more closely. They were likely the tracks of small humanoid monsters—creatures that were both dangerous and irritating, judging by the clawed impressions at the ends of the footprints.
"So, this is where they were ambushed," he thought. "If they're still around, they could pose a serious threat. On the other hand... there aren't that many tracks, and they seem fresh."
The realization that the creatures were so close stirred mixed feelings within him. On one hand, it was cause for concern; on the other, it was a potential opportunity to acquire new resources. However, he couldn't afford to underestimate the danger.
Neron rose to his feet, scanning the area once more. For a moment, he contemplated his next move, analyzing every detail of his surroundings, every possible scenario. He knew that there was more to these caves than met the eye.
After a brief internal debate and a second assessment of the footprints, Neron decided to follow the trail, all the while keeping an eye out for potential threats. Perhaps it was a foolish decision, driven by a thirst for battle or greed for better equipment. Yet Neron didn't have to wait long before he heard some rather peculiar sounds.
"Well… their dialect is truly something special… I have to admit."
As Neron drew close enough to the source of the sound to get a minimal view of the situation without revealing his presence, the intelligent skeleton spotted three goblins huddled over the body of what was likely a human, devouring it in a particularly brutal manner.
On the goblins' grisly dinner, remnants of tattered, bloodstained clothing could still be seen—likely a farmer or a slave judging by the condition and cut of the fabric. The mere fact that the goblins had caught a relatively fresh meal meant one thing: Neron was getting closer to the cave's exit, and there had to be a village or town nearby from which the green-skinned trio had snatched their unfortunate prey. This realization was both good and bad news.
The goblins, engrossed in their grisly feast, made noises that sounded like a mix of faint giggles and heavy panting.
Each of the goblins stood barely a meter tall, their small, hunched bodies covered in rough, greenish skin. Their thin limbs revealed bony structures, while their razor-sharp claws gleamed in the dim light, reflecting the flickering glow of their crude torches in a menacing manner. Their faces were misshapen, with protruding teeth and large, bulging eyes, which stared at the man's corpse with an unsettling intensity.
The largest of them, though still quite small, had short, ragged ears that twitched constantly as if attuned to every sound. His voice was deep and guttural as he spoke in their strange, coarse language—a series of hissing and clicking sounds that, to a human ear, resembled a mix of groans and giggles.
The second, slightly smaller goblin had a nose resembling a pig's snout, which seemed to sniff the air, as if following the scent of the farmer's now cooling blood. His voice was higher-pitched, squeaky even, full of rapid, disjointed words that he threw out with undisguised excitement.
The third goblin, the smallest and most emaciated, had unusually long arms that dangled awkwardly at his sides as he moved. He seemed the most nervous of the trio, constantly glancing over his shoulder. His voice was soft and full of anxiety, as if expecting to be discovered at any moment.
Their conversation flowed in a bizarre, garbled dialect, interspersed with bursts of laughter and sharp, snorting sounds. They talked amongst themselves as they tore chunks of meat from the farmer's body, almost as if celebrating their macabre meal. The malice and twisted glee in their eyes were nearly as revolting as their very existence.
"Now, how to kill you... your positioning is interesting... hehe."
Neron stood motionless in the shadows behind the corner of the cave, watching the trio of goblins feasting on the farmer's remains. Two of them were close together on one side of the mutilated corpse, exchanging crude jokes in their harsh, unpleasant tongue. The third goblin, smaller and more alert, was on the opposite side of the body. Its large, bulging eyes scanned the surroundings, and then, suddenly, locked onto Neron's figure.
Realizing he'd been spotted, Neron grinned inwardly. A flicker of wild joy lit up in his empty eye sockets, something teetering on the edge of madness. Combat, to him, was more than just survival—it was entertainment, a brutal spectacle where he held the advantage. As a skeletal barbarian, stripped of empathy toward these creatures but not of intelligence, he knew how to manipulate fear, how to turn his enemies' confidence into despair.
"Time to play," he thought, tightening his grip around the shaft of his bone club, the cold, hard surface feeling like an extension of his own will.
Without further hesitation, Neron activated his first ability. From his dead skull came an inhuman scream, reminiscent of a banshee's wail—full of agony, suffering, and threat. The "Battle Cry" echoed through the cave, carrying a chilling presence that seemed to seep into every crack. Terror washed over the goblins' faces—their green skin paled, and their primitive laughter turned into high-pitched squeals of fear.
Neron felt his strength surge, an overwhelming energy building within his skeletal frame. With unbridled glee, he charged forward, heading straight for the goblin that had spotted him. Before the creature could even shout a warning, Neron unleashed his "Quick Strike." His movement was fluid, almost imperceptible—a swift swing of his bone club with a force far beyond what any ordinary skeleton could muster. The club crashed into the goblin's head, shattering it into pulp. The remnants of its skull thudded to the ground, and the creature's body collapsed, lifeless.
"Hehe... This is way more fun than smashing skeletons' skulls."
The two remaining goblins, having witnessed the brutality of the attack, attempted to flee, but Neron was already upon them. Utilizing his increased attack speed, the first fell beneath another swing, its small body nearly torn in half by the sheer force. The last goblin, barely able to stand from terror, tried to back away, but Neron had already predicted its movements. Savoring the sadistic pleasure of the moment, he slowed his pace, relishing the creature's fear.
As he loomed over it, the goblin collapsed to its knees, begging for mercy in its strange, unintelligible language. Neron, with a cold grin spread across his skeletal face, raised his bone club high above his head and then brought it down with all his might. The last sounds to echo through the cave were the wet crunch of a skull being crushed, followed by the stillness of deathly silence.
"Funny how easily they break," Neron thought, wiping his bone club against the dirt. For him, combat was more than just survival—it was an opportunity to assert his dominance, a reminder that even in death, he could still take pleasure in every victory.
The euphoria of battle faded quickly as Neron's gaze shifted to the surroundings. Ignoring the goblins' recent meal for the moment, his eyes landed on the spot where the tallest of the green-skinned creatures had been sitting moments before.
Neron noticed a sickle, likely belonging to the now-dead farmer lying beside it. From the handle protruded a curved blade in the shape of a crescent, made of iron, though over time it had accumulated a thin layer of rust. The rust created uneven patches along the blade's surface, giving it a worn and neglected appearance. The edge of the sickle was dull, chipped in several places, a clear sign that the tool had been heavily used over the years before ending up in the hands of the three goblins along with its unfortunate owner.
"What kind of weakling was this farmer to let himself be killed by such pathetic creatures? Unbelievable." Neron muttered to himself before grabbing the sickle, and before his hollow eyes, a small system window appeared:
[(Worn Farmer's Sickle) (Rank E) (+5 STR, +4 AGI)]
"Stats boost isn't bad, though in practical combat, the ogre bone seems more effective. Still, the sickle offers slashing attacks... Let's see what else you have," Neron mused, looking over the mangled corpse of the farmer. The sight was less than pleasant, though Neron felt no disgust. The goblins had flayed the man, devoured his eyes, torn out his tongue—treating him like a gruesome buffet. The rest of the body wasn't in much better shape, but leaving aside the state of the farmer's corpse, Neron's eyes landed on the boots at the man's feet.
The boots had a simple, rugged form, reminiscent of what medieval peasants might wear in old films. Leather, clearly aged and worn, made it difficult to discern what animal it came from. The hide was thick, rough, and cracked in places, with a dark brown-black hue that further obscured its origins. It seemed like the boots had spent years in damp conditions, gaining an air of harsh durability. Every stitch, though uneven, was sturdy, showing the farmer's concern for resilience over aesthetics. These were not boots made to be admired, but they clearly served their purpose: survival in tough conditions.
[Sturdy Peasant Boots (Rank E+): +6 VIS, +5 END, +5 DEX]
"Dammit, if you were still alive, I might've thanked you. Now the real question is: will these fit my orcish feet... my feet," Neron thought with a frown.
He glanced down at the boots, which almost seemed to mock him with their tight fit. His new, larger feet—those of an orc's skeleton—were much too big for the rough, leather shoes. At first, he tried to carefully slip his bony toes into them, but the boots wouldn't yield. The weathered leather, though old, resisted stubbornly.
With a silent sigh, Neron decided to use more force. Grabbing the edges of the boot, he pressed harder until he heard a faint, unpleasant crack. The leather tore in several places, but his foot finally slid inside. Though damaged, the boot still clung to his foot, serving its purpose, if only barely. Neron glanced down at the result, resigned. With no other options, he grabbed the second boot and repeated the process. This time the tear was worse, but it would still hold. For now.
"Fuck... At least I can answer the question of whether damaged equipment reduces its stat bonuses."
[Damaged Sturdy Peasant Boots (Rank E-): +3 VIS, +4 END, +2 DEX]
"Now I kinda regret not keeping my original skeletal legs... Fuck."
Neron paused for a moment, scanning the dark, unsettling part of the cave that seemed to pulse with unease. Shadows danced on the rough, damp walls, whispering in a language he had never learned but instinctively understood. With slow, almost eerie steps, his skeletal form moved toward the exit. In the distance, he caught the glow of sunlight piercing through the heavy darkness, as if even light hesitated to enter this place.
"As long as I don't burst into flames like skeletons do in video games, things are getting interesting," Neron muttered, a grin flickering across his face.