Don stepped out of the cave into the crimson twilight of the Veiled Shadowfen.
The forest stretched before him—twisted trees with bark like diseased flesh, moss glowing faintly in sickly green patches, the air thick with the smell of rot and corruption. The war drums continued their steady rhythm in the distance, closer now than before. Multiple drums. Multiple locations.
Multiple targets.
Behind his right shoulder, The Executioner's Edge hovered in its semi-transparent state—two meters of guillotine blade, steel gray with pulsing crimson veins. Waiting. Patient. Ready.
Don checked his status one final time before moving:
Mana: 1200/1200 (FULL)
Stamina: 18/35
Level: 5 (845/1200 XP)
Stage: 1 - Iron Will (Level 1/6)
Quest Progress: 42/150 Goblins killed
One hundred eight more kills needed. Three hundred fifty-five XP to reach Level 6.
Achievable. Very achievable.
Don started walking, his enhanced Agility of 35 letting him move through the undergrowth without sound. His black energy—the manifestation of his Nexus of All Energies talent—circulated through his channels with perfect efficiency, guided by his newly acquired Adept Energy Control mastery.
Everything felt different now. Sharper. Clearer. His body responded faster, his mind processed tactical situations instantly, and the passive effect of his Severed Emotions kept panic and hesitation at bay even as normal awareness returned.
Stage 1 cultivation hadn't just made him stronger.
It had made him better.
[Well, well, little seed. Look at you—walking through a demon-infested forest like you OWN it. Such CONFIDENCE. Such POISE.]
Madness's voice carried genuine amusement, materializing beside Don in that familiar form—a copy of himself with both eyes glowing yellow like dragon fire.
[Finally... FINALLY, you've become INTERESTING!]
Don didn't break stride, his brown and yellow eyes scanning the forest ahead, tracking movement, cataloging threats.
"I reached Stage 1," he said quietly, voice flat. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it? For me to get stronger?"
[Oh, little seed, it's so much MORE than that!]
Madness walked alongside him—or appeared to, since only Don could see the entity.
[You reached Stage 1 with a SUPREME foundation. Seven sacrifices instead of one. Your soul is stronger than it has ANY right to be at this stage. And NOW—now you can actually RESIST me!]
The entity's grin widened, both yellow eyes blazing brighter.
[Not just suppress your emotions. Not just endure my presence. You can actually push BACK against my influence. Feel it? That wall between us? That's your Iron Will, little seed. Your foundation. Your STRENGTH.]
Don did feel it. A barrier in his mind that hadn't existed before. Madness's voice was still there, still present, but... distant.
Contained. As if speaking through thick glass rather than directly into his thoughts.
"Good," Don said simply.
[GOOD?! Oh, little seed, you don't UNDERSTAND!]
Madness laughed—a sound like breaking glass and bells ringing in harmony.
[This is what I've been WAITING for! A host who can fight back! A partner, not a puppet! Someone who can use my power without being CONSUMED by it!]
A pause, and when Madness spoke again, the tone carried something darker, hungrier.
[The things we're going to accomplish together... the power we're going to claim... oh, it's going to be GLORIOUS. You and me, little seed. Two halves of something MAGNIFICENT.]
"We're not partners," Don interrupted, his voice cold and final. "You're a tool. A resource. Something I use when necessary. Tools don't get opinions."
Silence.
Then Madness laughed again—but different now. Delighted. Impressed. Almost... proud?
[Oh YES! THAT'S the spirit! Reject me! Resist me! Make this INTERESTING!]
The entity's grin somehow widened further, becoming something that belonged on a predator's face rather than anything human.
[Just remember, little seed... even the STRONGEST walls crack eventually. Time, pressure, the right leverage—everything breaks in the end. And I'm very, VERY patient. I've waited eons before. I can wait a few more years while you convince yourself you're in control.]
Another pause, darker still.
[But we both know the truth, don't we? Every time you use Emotion Suppression, every time you let the cold tactical part of your mind take over, every time you do something that SHOULD make you feel guilty but doesn't...]
[You're becoming more like ME.]
[And eventually, little seed, you won't even notice when the line between us disappears completely.]
Don said nothing. Because arguing would validate the point. And part of him—the cold, analytical part strengthened by his Iron Will foundation—recognized the kernel of truth in Madness's words.
He was changing. Had been changing since the moment he awakened his skills. Every death. Every kill. Every choice that prioritized survival over morality.
Each one carved away a piece of who he'd been.
But that was fine.
The twelve-year-old boy who'd awakened in a dungeon cell was weak. Naive. Unprepared for what the world actually was.
Don had shed that weakness like a snake shedding skin.
What emerged was stronger. Harder. Better.
If that meant becoming more like Madness... well. He'd worry about that when his soul wasn't strong enough to resist anymore.
Right now, he had goblins to kill.
The war drums grew louder as Don moved deeper into the Shadowfen. Not just one drum now—multiple rhythms layering over each other, creating a cacophony that would have been disorienting to normal ears.
But Don's Sense stat might have been pathetic at 5, but his other enhanced attributes compensated. He could hear the individual drums, separate them, use them to triangulate locations.
Three major sources. Three camps, most likely.
But one was closer than the others. Much closer.
Don adjusted his trajectory, moving toward the nearest drum. Through the twisted trees ahead, he could see a faint glow—not natural light, but the orange flicker of fires.
A settlement. A camp.
Target acquired.
He slowed his approach, moving from tree to tree, using the massive trunks and thick undergrowth for cover.
His black armor—the leather and metal Diana had given him—absorbed light rather than reflecting it, making him a shadow among shadows.
Through a gap in the foliage, Don finally saw it.
The goblin camp.
It was larger than he'd expected. Much larger.
A clearing perhaps fifty meters across, carved out of the forest through brute force—trees hacked down, stumps still visible, the ground trampled flat by hundreds of feet. Crude huts made of wood, bone, and leather dotted the space in rough clusters.
Fires burned in stone-ringed pits, casting dancing shadows. And goblins—
Hundreds of them.
Don's yellow eye narrowed, cataloging everything with tactical precision.
Common Goblins: The majority. Adults ranging from one to one-and-a-half meters tall, green skin, yellow eyes, wearing scraps of leather and fur. Armed with crude weapons—clubs, rusty blades, sharpened sticks. Most were going about camp activities—cooking, arguing, fighting each other, sleeping.
Children: Smaller versions of the adults, perhaps half a meter to a meter tall. They ran between the huts, playing or fighting or just existing. Their yellow eyes held less intelligence than the adults, more animal than sapient.
Don felt nothing looking at them.
No pity. No hesitation. No moral conflict.
They were goblins. Monsters. Enemies that would kill him without hesitation if given the chance.
And his quest required one hundred fifty kills. It didn't specify adults only.
[Oh my. Are you really going to...?]
"Yes," Don said simply, voice empty of emotion.
[Even the CHILDREN? The little ones who can barely hold weapons?]
"There are no allies in the Abyss," Don quoted, his tone flat as stone. "Everyone is my enemy. Age doesn't change that. Size doesn't change that. They're goblins. I need to kill goblins. The math is simple."
[...]
Madness was quiet for a long moment. Then:
[You know what, little seed? I think I'm starting to REALLY like you.]
Don ignored the entity and continued his observation.
Goblin Warriors: Larger than the commons, perhaps one-point-seven meters tall. Better muscled. Better armed with actual metal weapons—axes, swords, spears. Wore crude armor made of leather, bone, and scavenged metal. There were maybe thirty of them scattered throughout the camp, identifiable by their size and gear.
Goblin Shamans: Five that Don could see. Distinguishable by their staffs—gnarled wood topped with bones, skulls, or glowing stones. They wore robes instead of leather scraps, and their yellow eyes held a cunning intelligence that made them far more dangerous than the commons.
And in the center of the camp...
A larger structure. Not quite a building, more like a tent made of stretched hides and supported by thick wooden poles. Guards stood at its entrance—six goblin warriors, better equipped than the others.
The leader's dwelling. Had to be.
Don activated Analyze, focusing on one of the guards.
[SKILL: ANALYZE ACTIVATED]
[MANA COST: 9]
[TARGET: GOBLIN WARRIOR ELITE]
[ANALYSIS...]
[GOBLIN WARRIOR ELITE]
Level: 6
Status: Alert, guarding
Threat Level: Moderate
Notable: Better trained than commons, loyal to camp leader
Weakness: Overconfident in numbers
[MANA: 1191/1200]
Level 6. Higher than Don's current level of 5, but not insurmountable—especially not with his Stage 1 cultivation and Supreme Foundation giving him stats far beyond what a normal Level 5 should have.
But six of them guarding the leader's tent meant whoever was inside was important.
Strong.
Don pulled back slightly, settling into a crouch behind a thick tree trunk, and began counting.
Total population visible: approximately five hundred goblins.
Commons: ~430
Warriors: ~35
Shamans: 5
Elite Warriors: 6 (guarding leader)
Leader: 1 (inside tent)
Children: ~30
Five hundred targets. Only one hundred fifty needed for the quest.
But why stop at the minimum?
More kills meant more XP. More XP meant faster leveling. And if eating goblin flesh gave him stat increases...
Don's eyes tracked a patrol leaving the camp—five common goblins, heading into the forest on what looked like a routine sweep of the perimeter.
Perfect.
He needed to thin their numbers. Make the camp more manageable. And he needed to do it quietly, systematically, without alerting the main force.
One week. Seven days to reduce five hundred to something he could handle in a direct assault.
And he needed to eat.
His stomach had been growling for hours now, the hunger becoming a constant distraction. No food since entering the Abyss. No water. Just combat and cultivation and walking.
The human body needed fuel.
And the Abyss provided plenty of potential meals.
Don waited until the patrol was fifty meters from camp, deep enough in the forest that screams wouldn't carry.
Then he moved.