I activated Stealth again and slipped forward. One step. Two.
I slipped along the side of the aisle, hugging the shadows. The goblin on watch shifted, muttering something in its throat, but didn't turn. It never had the chance.
I drove the dagger up under its chin, precise and fast. The tip pierced into the soft roof of its mouth and lodged in its brainstem. The goblin went limp without a sound, slumping backward. I caught the body and lowered it gently.
[Critical Strike Successful – Bonus Damage Applied]
[Silent Assassin – Threat Not Alerted]
Not bad.
The other two were still distracted. One still crouched over the backpack, ripping it apart in anger, and the other was scratching at its belly with its blackened claws. They hadn't heard a thing.
I moved closer, shifting my weight with care. One hand on the dagger, the other on my katana, just in case.
Appraisal: Goblin Scavenger (Common)
Level 4. Low HP. Fast. Distracted.
Perfect.
I crossed the space in seconds. The closer one turned just as I drew my katana in a tight, low arc. The blade sliced through its throat and chest in a single motion, spraying the wall with a sharp line of blood.
The third shrieked, but it was too late.
I slammed it into the ground and buried my dagger into its side, angling upward through the ribs, then ripping sideways. It collapsed without another sound.
[Dual Kill – No Alert Triggered]
[Stealth Bonus Applied]
All three were dead. None of them screamed.
I stood over the bodies, breathing slowly and quietly.
Stealth, Critical Strike, Silent Assassin—they weren't just passives with numbers. They worked. They turned me into even more of a ghost with a blade. Sure, I could have killed the goblins without the skills, but why waste a gift?
I wiped my dagger on one of their rags and crouched beside the backpack. Nothing impressive, half a protein bar, dead batteries, a cracked flashlight, but I pocketed what I could.
Then I activated Tracking again. My vision shifted, soft blue glows tracing the floor. Disturbed dust. Drag marks. Goblin prints. A bloody handprint smeared across a display case.
Fresh.
Still warm.
I moved deeper into the floor, my grip tightening.
I was on the right trail.
I followed the trail deeper into the fourth floor. The Tracking glow pulsed faintly beneath my boots, leaving blood smears, dragged bodies, and claw prints as I headed into the dark.
The first group found me near the broken security kiosk. Two goblins were sniffing around a shattered vending machine. I killed them both before they could blink.
The second group, consisting of three more, was holed up near the restroom corridor. One had a piece of bone tied to its shoulder like armor, which didn't help.
Like smoke, I drifted between storefronts, unseen and weightless. Home goods. Luggage outlet. A shuttered tea shop.
Another two. Then four. Then another group of three was fighting over scraps near a dead body.
The fighting blurred together.
Steel, blood, silence.
The same rhythm I'd always known.
[Level Up – Level 6]
A wave of warmth rolled through me, and I didn't slow.
Three more by the broken escalator. They went down fast, but one nicked my shoulder.
I barely felt it.
Then I spotted a group of five: bulkier, well-fed, their movements slower and satisfied. It got messier that time. One tried to scream, but I didn't give it the chance.
[Level Up – Level 7]
Finally, I am level 7. Leveling alone was fast with no talking, no babysitting, and no second-guessing.
Just me, my blade, and the next target.
But fast also meant I'd fought more goblins in the last hour than some of my people had seen total. And I felt it in my legs and my grip. I could feel the fatigue setting in, but I must press on.
The trail veered off towards an employee access corridor. Flickering lights buzzed overhead, shards dangling, the broken ones sparking in the gloom.
That's when I saw it.
The bones were stacked in a crude spiral near the back wall of a broken clothing outlet, right where the Tracking trail dimmed. At first, I thought it was just another pile of bodies, but no. It was deliberate.
Goblin skulls, stripped clean, were placed at even intervals like grotesque milestones. Human fingers, small ones, maybe from young children or teenagers, had been tucked into the gaps between them, their tips dried and curled. Tangled among the remains were scraps of cloth: a pink scrunchie still clinging to a tuft of dark hair, the frayed strap of a bra, and what looked like a child's shoe, blackened and cracked. A silver dented necklace that still held a small locket hung loosely from the jaw of a broken skull.
It looked like a ritual. I didn't know what it was for, and I wasn't about to stick around to find out. I'd never seen anything like it in real life, only in horror films. The kind that stuck with you after the credits rolled, but this wasn't fiction. It was real, and that's what made it worse.
I didn't touch anything and didn't breathe too deeply either. The stench clung to the air like something old and spoiled.
Just beyond that display of death, I followed the trail toward a narrow hallway partially hidden behind toppled mannequins. A busted sign still hung overhead: Management Offices.
I pushed the cracked door open slowly, careful not to make a sound. The hinges creaked, low and drawn-out like the floor itself was exhaling.
The room inside was dark. Just enough light from a flickering overhead panel to make out the overturned desk, scattered paperwork, and half-open filing cabinets. I stepped in cautiously, eyes scanning every corner and shadow.
I moved around the desk, checking behind drawers, nudging a broken chair aside with my boot. Then I crouched, and then I saw him.
Curled under the desk, barely more than a shadow at first. A boy, or maybe a very young man, hunched down with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. His shirt was soaked with blood, not all of it his, and his body trembled with shallow, rapid breaths. His eyes were wide and unfocused, not tracking me when I stepped closer. Not reacting. He must be in shock.
He couldn't have been more than twenty. Maybe not even that.
I crouched slowly, keeping my movements steady and my voice low. "Hey."
He flinched. No words. Just a broken, hollow inhale that rattled in his throat.
"Can you walk?"
There was a pause, a long one, before he gave the smallest nod.
That was enough.