Lilya kept dragging herself backward on her elbows, her body scraping slowly across the damp, cold ground. Her breathing came in short, uneven gasps—her chest rising and falling rapidly as if her lungs couldn't keep up with the restrained panic inside her.
Her left thigh was growing numb.
Not just pain—emptiness.
A cold, heavy sensation spread through it, as if something was freezing her from the inside. The poison from the stab wound seeped steadily, not rushed but relentless, weakening her muscles until every movement felt delayed.
Wet soil and crushed leaves clung to her dress. What had once been light now felt heavy, dragging her down. Still, she forced herself to move—inch by inch—pushing her body away, as if even the smallest distance could mean the difference between life and death.
"Gii—"
The goblin laughed, its raspy voice filled with satisfaction as it savored her helplessness. It advanced slowly, confidently, its grotesque grin stretching wide as thick saliva dripped from the corner of its mouth. Its narrowed eyes gleamed like a predator certain its prey had nowhere left to run.
"N-no…!"
Lilya's voice trembled, breaking in her throat as she continued to retreat—
Until her back slammed into a thick tree root.
Hard. Unyielding.
Her last escape route was gone.
Her chest heaved, breath catching, as the goblin raised its spear high. The shadow of the poison-coated tip fell directly over her chest.
Time slowed.
The weapon began to descend—
And at that exact moment, a voice echoed inside her mind.
[Alert]
[Threat to Individual Detected]
[Forcefully Activating Partial Dormant Skills]
"Dormant… skills?" Lilya thought.
"…Huh?"
The goblin froze.
Everything froze.
The spear hovered just inches from her chest.
"What… is happening?"
"This voice… it's the same one I heard before, isn't it?"
The voice came from nowhere—and everywhere at once.
It wasn't sound. There was no vibration, no tone her ears could hear. And yet she understood it perfectly.
In this world, those with talent called it the Voice of the World—a whisper that only appeared when someone surpassed their limits, when body, soul, and fate converged at a single, unexplainable point.
And now—
That voice began to weave her fate anew.
Threads that had once been broken were pulled together again, forming a new pattern.
One by one, the skills she had only glimpsed in dreams surfaced into reality.
[Skill: Quick Step – Lv.100 Activated]
[Skill: Sword Slash – Lv.100 Activated]
[Skill: Precision Cut – Lv.100 Activated]
[Skill: Chain Strike – Lv.100 Activated]
[Passive Skill: Battle Instinct – Lv.100 Activated]
Time resumed.
The spear dropped.
[Quick Step]
In a near-silent burst, she shot to the side—fast, clean, like a shadow slipping free from its place. The ground she had been on was now empty as the spear struck the root with a dull thud.
The goblin froze.
Too slow to react.
Lilya landed awkwardly. Her knee nearly buckled as her weight pressed onto her numbed leg. The poison was still there—cold, heavy, creeping.
"Gh—!"
She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to endure the unnatural sensation trying to drag her back down.
Not yet.
She couldn't stop yet.
She forced herself upright, even though one leg barely responded.
Her hand moved—instinctively.
A thick branch lay near her feet.
She grabbed it.
Her eyes narrowed, her focus sharpening into a single point—the goblin before her.
[Battle Instinct]
The world dimmed.
The wind, the scent of earth, even the throbbing pain in her body—everything was pushed to the edges of her awareness.
Only distance remained.
Angles.
The opponent's muscle movements.
The way the goblin shifted its footing.
The tension in its shoulders before an attack.
Everything became clear.
"…I can fight back," she realized.
The goblin screeched in frustration and lunged again, faster and more brutal this time. Its spear thrust straight toward her abdomen.
But now—
Lilya saw it.
Not just saw it.
She understood it.
Her body shifted half a step to the side with almost no room to spare. The spear grazed past her, missing by a margin too small to call coincidence.
Her arm moved.
The branch swung.
No shout.
No exaggerated motion.
Just a single, clean strike—
[Precision Cut]
Crack.
The dry sound echoed as the goblin's spear shaft split cleanly in two.
The goblin froze, eyes widening.
Before it could react—
Lilya was already moving.
[Chain Strike]
One step in.
A short swing.
The branch struck the side of its neck.
Not deep.
Not fatal.
But enough to break its balance.
The creature staggered.
Its footing collapsed—its breath catching from the impact.
And Lilya saw the opening.
Not as an opportunity—
But as something that had to be taken.
Her body moved before hesitation could exist.
The branch rose in her hand.
Crude. Fragile. Barely a weapon.
But as she swung—
[Sword Slash]
Something changed.
A pale blue light wrapped around the branch, flowing like a thin layer of dense mist, tracing the arc of her swing with perfect precision. Not blinding—but enough to slice through the deepening shadows of dusk.
In a single motion—
She struck.
No loud sound.
No resistance.
The goblin's body split apart—
As if space itself had been severed between its halves.
Blood burst forth.
Warm.
Thick.
It splashed across Lilya's face, soaked into her blonde hair, staining the dress that had long lost its original color. Dark red droplets fell to the ground, mixing with mud and crushed leaves.
Everything stopped.
Silence.
"…ah…"
The sound slipped from her lips.
The branch fell from her hand.
Her body swayed—
Then collapsed.
She fell onto the ground, her breathing ragged and uneven. The clarity from moments ago faded, the edges of her vision blurring once more.
The cold returned.
Stronger.
The poison.
No longer just numbness.
Now it spread deeper—locking her muscles, stiffening her joints, delaying every signal from her brain.
Her legs—
Wouldn't respond.
Her hands trembled.
"Cecilia…" she whispered hoarsely.
She tried to stand.
Her palms pressed into the ground.
Her knees shook.
One push—
She lifted halfway.
Then faltered.
But she forced it.
One step.
Her leg lagged behind her will, heavy—like it belonged to someone else.
Still, she moved.
Another step.
Lilya dragged herself through the wrecked camp—past the dying fire, past scattered bones—her breathing rough, her eyes fixed on the narrow path through the bushes.
The path she had seen.
The path that had to lead to Cecilia.
She had no time.
Not to stop. Not to hesitate.
One more step—
Then she froze.
Not because of the poison.
But because of something worse.
From the shadows of the ruined tents—
From the darkness between the trees—
From the blind spot she hadn't watched—
They appeared.
One.
Two.
Then more.
Goblins.
But—
Not the same.
Lilya swallowed hard.
Her eyes moved instinctively, reading.
[Hobgoblin – Lv.18]
[Hobgoblin – Lv.20]
[Goblin – Lv.12]
[Hobgoblin – Lv.23]
"…what…?"
Her breath caught.
There were more of them.
Ten.
And their levels—
Far higher.
Her body stepped back on reflex.
Her legs barely responded.
But—
Her eyes remained fixed on the path behind them.
"…there's no doubt. Cecilia is there."
That certainty settled deep in her chest.
Lilya drew a short, heavy breath and forced herself upright despite the poison eating away at her strength. Her fingers tightened around the blood-soaked branch—rough, fragile, yet now her only weapon.
"Cecilia, wait for me!" she called, her voice hoarse but firm, cutting through the tense forest air.
As she swung it lightly at her side—
[Battle Instinct]
Her gaze changed.
Colder.
Sharper.
As if all hesitation had been burned away, leaving behind nothing but pure resolve to survive and move forward.
Her breathing was heavy, dragged down by exhaustion. Cold sweat gathered at her temples as her body pushed past its limits—numb muscles responding sluggishly, joints stiff—but still, she forced them to move.
Droplets slid down her cheeks, tracing over skin still stained with blood.