A whisper of tension rippled through the forest canopy.
Then the sky darkened.
Thousands of arrows hissed down from every branch, a storm of splintered wood and steel. Airen didn't flinch. He slid one foot back, shoulders loosening, breath falling into a steady rhythm.
The first shafts struck—and his sword moved.
Steel flashed like a sheet of lightning. Airen spun the blade in smooth, continuous arcs, each stroke precise enough to shear an arrow mid-flight. Splinters whirled around him in a glittering halo as he carved through the barrage, his movements sharp yet effortless, as if dancing inside a rain of death.
He stepped, turned, slashed—the rhythm never breaking. Arrows shattered against the flat of his blade or glanced harmlessly from the faint aura clinging to his skin. By the time silence returned, the forest floor lay carpeted with broken shafts.
Only one arrow remained. Airen flicked his wrist, snatching it between two fingers just before its point could graze his cheek.
A heavy stillness settled over the grove, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his gaze. Ten goblins clung to the surrounding branches, yellow eyes wide, jaws slack as they realized not a single shot had touched him.
Airen's lips curled in a faint, cool smile. He reversed the shaft in his hand and sent it spinning upward. The arrow blurred, whistling through the canopy before punching clean through a goblin's skull. The creature tumbled from its perch, thudding into the undergrowth.
Panic rippled through the rest.
Airen was already moving.
He sprang, crossing the gap to the nearest tree in an instant. His sword swept in a perfect horizontal arc—two goblin heads toppled from their shoulders before their bodies hit the ground.
Using the branch as a springboard, he flipped backward through the air, landing on another bough where three goblins crouched. His blade cleaved one clean in half. Before the second could nock an arrow, Airen slammed its skull into the trunk; bone burst with a wet crunch. The third raised its bow too late—Airen seized its wrist and crushed it with raw strength, splinters and claws snapping in his grip.
The five survivors leapt in terror, scrambling from the trees toward the ground. They weren't fast enough.
Airen launched after them, boots barely touching bark as he descended. He landed squarely atop one goblin's head, driving it several inches into the soil with a muffled crunch. Spinning with the momentum, he lashed out with a kick—the blow sent another creature hurtling into a nearby trunk. Wood cracked, the tree itself snapping and crashing down.
Only two remained.
Airen flowed forward, severing one neck with a single clean stroke. The head spun away, eyes still wide in disbelief.
That left one.
The last goblin dropped to the grass, trembling violently. Its bow clattered from numb fingers as it crawled backward, then spun and tried to flee on all fours.
Airen advanced, calm and measured, sword hanging loosely at his side. He raised the blade for the finishing cut.
"P-please," the goblin blurted, voice shaking, tears cutting tracks through the grime on its face. "Don't… don't kill me!"
Airen froze mid-swing, eyes narrowing. A monster… talking?
[That's possible because you have the System,] the voice in his mind replied evenly.
The goblin's gaze flicked up, startled. "Y-you… you can understand me?"
For a heartbeat, both predator and prey stood motionless, the air between them heavy with shock.
Then the goblin swallowed hard and stammered, "P-please… spare me."
Airen's expression stayed cold, voice flat as steel. "And what do I gain by letting you live?"
"I—I can take you to our secret vault!" the creature blurted, clutching its hands together.
[Goblins sometimes guard rare treasures.]
Airen's lips curved into a slow, hungry smile — the kind that came whenever the scent of profit reached him. He wasn't interested in mercy; only in rewards.
"Now we're talking," he murmured.
A flicker of hope brightened the goblin's face. "So… you'll spare me?"
"That depends," Airen said, eyes narrowing. "Your treasure had better be worth it."
The goblin puffed out its chest, trying to sound proud. "You will not be disappointed. It's the rarest thing we own."
Airen's gaze sharpened, a spark of anticipation lighting his features. "What kind of treasure?"
"A… a broken sword handle," the goblin admitted.
Airen's excitement vanished like smoke. "What?"
[Fragment detected: a piece of an ancient sword. Potential value: unknown — but possibly rare.]
Rare, you say? Airen thought, brows lifting. Aloud, he said, "Fine. Lead the way."
"So you really won't kill me?" the goblin asked, inching closer.
"Yeah, yeah," Airen replied with a dismissive wave.
A shimmering panel appeared before him:
[Experience gained: 550,000]
[Points earned: 5,500,000]
[Level Up! — Current Level: 50]
Why are you showing this so late? he asked the system silently.
[I assumed you'd finish him off as well — I waited to tally everything at once.]
Before Airen could answer, the goblin uncorked a small vial filled with glowing blue liquid and gulped it down.
Airen's eyes narrowed. "What are you drinking?"
A sudden burst of white light flared from the goblin's body, dazzling and fierce. Airen squinted, throwing an arm over his face.
When the brilliance faded, the forest seemed to still.
Where the trembling goblin had stood was now a woman — tall, lithe, and undeniably beautiful, though her skin shimmered a soft, jade-green. Her features were delicate yet sharp, framed by long, silvery hair that cascaded down her back. The curve of her figure was graceful, her eyes bright and golden, catching the sunlight like molten coins.
Airen blinked, stunned. "What… the hell?"
The woman tilted her head, a mischievous glint in those golden eyes.