The sound of footsteps was light, almost imperceptible.
Two small, green creatures moved silently through the dark Dungeon corridor. Their eyes reflected the faint glow of the living walls, and their noses twitched every few seconds.
They were sniffing.
The air was heavy, thick with a scent both recognized, fresh blood, iron-rich, warm. One of the goblins turned its head in the right direction first and clicked its tongue softly. The other answered with a hoarse grunt, and together they quickened their pace.
Adrenaline bubbled in the thin, dark veins of their frail arms. Something, someone, was injured. Weak. Vulnerable. Easy prey.
A feast waiting to be claimed.
They turned a corner. The corridor narrowed.
And then they stopped.
About three meters ahead, right in the center of the path, lay a strip of white cloth, filthy and soaked in fresh blood. A used bandage, discarded. The smell was far too strong to be old. It had been left there only minutes ago, maybe less.
The goblins exchanged glances.
The first stepped forward, mouth slightly open, a line of drool dripping from his chin. The other crouched, as if sensing something wrong. Its ears trembled, straining for any noise. Nothing. Only the distant dripping of the Dungeon.
And then-
SHLACK!
A blade cut through the air and struck the back of the first goblin's neck. The edge didn't slice clean through, but the sheer impact was fatal. The goblin dropped dead to the ground, blood pouring from its mangled neck.
The second leapt back, screeching in rage and surprise. Its eyes locked onto the shadow emerging from the wall on the right, where the cloth had been, a trap.
The bloody bandage was bait.
Luki stepped out of the darkness, eyes narrowed, breath steady, already spinning his sword into a defensive stance. The goblin growled, lowered itself, and lunged like a wild animal.
It darted in with a low jump, claw raised. The strike was intercepted by Luki's blade with a metallic clang. But before the adventurer could counter, the goblin rolled nimbly across the ground.
With all four limbs planted, the monster launched itself forward, aiming straight for Luki's left leg. With little time to react, he jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike.
The goblin didn't relent. It repeated the same attack twice more, like a crazed beast testing its prey's defenses. When it realized it wouldn't land a hit this way, it switched tactics.
It rose quickly and charged at Luki, this time clutching a jagged stone. Malice burned in its eyes.
Luki answered with a vertical slash, pouring all his strength into the swing. But the goblin sidestepped, the sword slamming into the floor as if it had predicted the attack. In that same instant, it hurled the stone.
Luki ducked on instinct — BACK! — the projectile struck his helmet, ringing like a muffled bell. The blow didn't wound him, but it stunned him.
That was all the goblin needed.
— Shwriek!!!
It threw itself onto Luki, knocking him partly off balance. Before the warrior could recover, he was buried under a storm of frantic strikes: punches, scratches, bites, headbutts. The goblin used every part of its body as a weapon.
A low snarl rumbled from the creature's throat, driven by pure hatred.
But Luki endured. A sharp knee to its stomach broke the rhythm of the assault for a heartbeat. And in that heartbeat, he twisted his grip and slammed the bottom of his sword's hilt into the goblin's temple. To finish, a solid left hook to its face.
THUNK!
The impact made the creature's eyes rattle for an instant. It staggered back, dazed.
Panting, Luki pushed himself to his feet, raising his sword for another strike. The goblin tried to dodge, but the blade grazed its arm.
— Gruahhh! — it screamed, the shrill sound echoing through the Dungeon, before collapsing and clutching its wound.
Revitalized by the small success, Luki wasted no time. He advanced, sword raised high for a vertical slash that would end it. But the little monster hadn't given up yet.
Desperate, it hurled everything it could grab: stones, bones, dirt, anything scattered across the floor. Luki instinctively raised his arms to shield his eyes. His attack faltered.
That opening was enough.
The goblin scrambled back, panting, then managed to stand unsteadily. Its eyes locked on Luki. Doubt flickered there, calculation. It was deciding whether the fight was worth it.
But Luki wasn't going to give it the chance.
He charged with a quick, clean lateral slash.
That was enough to push the goblin to a decision.
Without another sound, it turned and fled, stumbling while clutching its bleeding arm. A trail of blood marked its escape.
Luki clenched his teeth, furious at the retreat.
Driven by impulse, he bent down, grabbed a heavy stone, and hurled it with all his strength.
— (Olha a pedra!)
THWACK!
The rock struck the back of the goblin's head. The monster let out one last shriek of pain before vanishing into the Dungeon's dark corridors.
For a moment, Luki stood still, trying to steady his breath. Sweat trickled down his temple, mixing with dust.
Tension still hummed in his muscles. Only then did he lower his guard slightly, ears tuned to the surrounding silence.
He knew the Dungeon wouldn't try the same ambush again so soon. It never repeated the same trick twice in a row.
— That's the fourth one to run away... — he muttered, half frustrated, half suspicious.
Monsters don't usually flee. Even when they're clearly losing, they keep fighting, as if they can't grasp the concept of self-preservation. Normally, they only retreat when the power gap is so overwhelming that fighting is literally pointless — which, thinking about it, is almost counterproductive. Still... that's what was expected of them.
They always behaved like game mobs: spot the enemy, close in, exchange blows, and the winner is whoever has more HP or deals more damage.
But now, ever since the Dungeon's "update," these goblins acted differently. They behaved like real animals.
They fled when they sensed the fight wasn't worth it.
They fought for food, or were "programed" to do this, whatever. But if they felt they couldn't win, that they'd only end up hurt, they simply retreated. No blind bravery.
Turn tail and run. Feet, don't fail me now!
— I'm starting to miss the old goblins, at least those wouldn't run off after a couple of hits — he said.
— Either way, let's just get this over with.
With a resigned sigh, Luki approached the bloody rag he had used as bait and carefully picked it up. It was still damp and reeked of iron, practically gourmet bait for Dungeon creatures. He tucked the cloth back into his backpack, wrapped in another piece of fabric, to reuse later. Sustainable, even in desperation.
The next step was the most laborious and, curiously, the one he liked more than he probably should.
Dissecting the goblin.
Not out of sadism or anything. It was... technical? A kind of study, maybe. Knowing where to cut, where to find the crystal shards, understanding monster anatomy or whatever shit he liked in doing this.
He admitted it: there was a strange pleasure in the process.
Unfortunately, he was far from good at it. He had no proper tools, only his sword, and it was made to kill, not dissect. On top of that, cutting wasn't his specialty. His movements were clumsy, often tearing valuable parts and ruining materials that could've been sold.
But it was the best he could do.
When he finished, he straightened with a crack of his back, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and gave one last glance at the ruined corpse.
— Thanks for your contribution to science, buddy. — he said with a half-laugh.
Then he left and returned to the Dungeon corridors in search of more monsters.
And that's how his day went.
The truth is, the life of an adventurer is... repetitive. Except, of course, for the very real, very constant risk of a brutal and painful death.
You wake up, get ready, descend into the Dungeon, walk, find a monster, kill it, walk more, kill again. Collect the remains, gather crystals, repeat everything.
Almost like infinite farming. A daily grind. A job like any other, only with a lot more blood.
And far fewer labor rights.
...
[Some time later.]
Luki rested in one of the Dungeon's less hostile chambers: a wide, circular space with uneven ground, where the stone walls curved into a natural dome. There was only one entry and exit, making it easier to control the environment. A rare luxury in that hellish place.
With one hand, he chewed on a piece of hard bread and a strip of jerky that could've been mistaken for boot leather. With the other, he counted the mana crystal shards he had gathered so far.
— Twenty-eight... twenty-nine... thirty.
He sighed.
— Thirty shards... pathetic.
He tossed the little crystal back into his bag with a dull thud, crossed his arms behind his head, and stared at the moldy ceiling as if it might hold answers.
He remembered the first time he entered this place. He'd come out with eighteen shards and stars in his eyes. By his seventh run, he'd hauled out more than three times it, grinning ear to ear like he'd won the lottery. And now? Now he was stronger, more experienced even with a little, with decent gear and a steady routine.
And still... only thirty?
— Congratulations, Luki. You've officially gone back to freshman year of adventuring. — he grumbled.
In the end, today's expedition was a total waste. The effort hadn't been worth the risk, and the profit wouldn't even cover a decent meal. If that.
— But what can you do, huh? Better to live broke than die rich.
With the last bite of jerky devoured, Luki wiped his hands on his pants, pulled a small makeshift medical kit from his pack, and began changing his bandages. A task as routine as breathing.
The wounds were piling up. Cuts, scratches, bruises — each fight left its mark. None fatal, thank the heavens, but all painful. His new armor, bought with hard-earned gold, was holding up, but already showed signs of wear. At this rate, it would soon be nothing but an expensive sieve.
— At this point, if I take another heavy hit, I might as well fight naked. At least I'd run faster. — he muttered, fastening a fresh bandage around his left shoulder, where a nasty bite was starting to fester.
Just as he was about to use his last roll of bandages on his newest wound, a reddish glow from inside his pack caught his eye. A potion. A Minor Healing Potion, to be precise.
Luki froze, staring at the vial like it was some legendary item.
'Should I use it? I'm already all torn up, it makes sense. Wouldn't be a waste, right? But it was so damn expensive... what a crime to pop it now.'
The classic dilemma. Gamer mentality: buy healing items for emergencies, hoard them out of pity... and never use them. Because the future always feels more deserving than the present.
— Argh... you know what? Out of sight, out of mind. — he grumbled, gripping the vial firmly. — Just drink it with your eyes closed. If it's here, it's meant to be used!
With the resolve of someone diving into icy water, Luki downed the potion in one gulp.
— Blargh! Sour! — he gagged, grimacing. — Who the hell decided this should taste like rotten lemon?
As the thick liquid slid down his throat, Luki felt his whole body shudder. The potion's magic spread like burning coals, searing him from the inside out.
The wounds reacted almost instantly.
First came the sting, a sharp, biting pain, like boiling alcohol poured straight into open cuts. Then the edges of his wounds began to contract, flesh knitting together with involuntary spasms.
Thin, white smoke rose from his injuries as the flesh healed in real time, crackling faintly like wet embers. It was as if his body was rejecting pain, forcing it out, but at a heavy cost.
Luki clenched his teeth, letting out a muffled growl as he fought back the urge to scream. His muscles locked tight, the burning sensation racing through every inch of injured flesh, like he was being cauterized from within.
And then... silence.
The shallower wounds had vanished completely, and the deeper cuts were now only reddish scars, tender and new fleah, but sealed. The bite on his shoulder still throbbed, and the bruise on his ribs still squeezed his breath — but overall, he felt much better.
Better, but not whole.
The potion had healed plenty, but not everything. It was a Minor Healing Potion, after all. His body now worked at roughly ninety percent capacity, enough to keep fighting, but not enough to relax.
— So that's it? Guess potions restore a fixed amount of HP. If I was at 40/100, now I'm at 90/100. Not bad... but I expected more.
He tucked the empty vial away, muttering about its absurd cost, and exhaled deeply. He was ready to move on... even knowing the Dungeon, with its newfound malice, still had much more in store for him.