The echo of the gunshots faded quickly into the silent forest, leaving behind only the rustling of leaves in the wind and the increasingly strong stench in the air—a nauseating mix of goblin black blood and rotting flesh.
Wakasha held the cold Deathbird in his hand, his fingertips brushing over the purple-gold crow pattern on its black frame. The feeling that this weapon was an extension of himself became even clearer. The awkwardness he had felt when firing it moments ago vanished almost instantly, replaced by a strange sense of perfect harmony.
He glanced down at the system panel in his mind. His EXP had risen to 2, while Deathbird's progress bar now read LV1 (2/1000). There was still a long way to go before the next level-up, but even so, it was enough to make him ecstatic.
Having read countless kill-to-level novels in his previous life, Wakasha knew exactly what a panel system like this meant. It meant he was no longer just that orphan who had survived by hiding his abilities and keeping his head down. It meant he finally had the means to establish himself—and maybe even grow strong—in this world where the strong devoured the weak.
"2 EXP for killing 2 goblins... so does that mean an ordinary goblin always gives 1 EXP?"
"Or is the EXP based on the monster's strength?"
"And besides free EXP, the skill used to kill monsters also gains experience..."
Wakasha murmured to himself, his eyes falling on the three goblin corpses on the ground. The complexity in his gaze had already faded, leaving behind only calm—and a trace of excitement he could barely conceal.
The hesitation and discomfort he had felt moments ago were crushed the instant the system notifications sounded, overwhelmed by the instinct to survive and the desire to grow stronger.
In this world, showing mercy to monsters was the same as being cruel to yourself. Especially for a race like goblins—wretched creatures with endless crimes to their name, impossible to truly wipe out—killing one more meant one less threat to human settlements, and one more bit of confidence that he could keep himself alive.
He dismissed Deathbird. The black handgun instantly dissolved into a wisp of faint light and merged into his right palm, leaving behind only a trace of warmth, as if it had never been there at all.
The fact that he could summon and dismiss it freely was undoubtedly a huge advantage. It meant he could catch enemies off guard in combat, and he would not have to be weighed down by a weapon during special situations.
Wakasha did not linger.
He knew that although the gunshots had been quiet, they might still attract other monsters—or nearby goblin groups.
He first cut off the left ears of the three goblins and placed them into a leather pouch.
This was the standard proof of a monster kill. Unless a quest specified otherwise, extermination missions usually required some body part or material from the monster as evidence.
Then he searched the three goblins to see if they had anything useful on them. As expected, they had nothing.
After that, he walked over to the tree where he had left his bag and checked his supplies first. The black bread and water skins were intact, and the wound ointment and herb pouch were still there too.
Wakasha stretched his stiff body. His arm still throbbed faintly where the goblin's club had struck him. The leather armor there was already slightly misshapen, but thankfully it was not torn, and his skin had not been broken.
He took out the herb pouch the general store owner had given him and opened it. A faint herbal fragrance drifted out, dispersing some of the stench clinging to him and easing the pain in his arm a little.
He poured out a bit of the powdered herbs, mixed them with water, and gently applied the paste to the bruised area. A cool sensation spread through his arm immediately, and the pain eased considerably.
"Old Boss's herbs really do work."
A warm feeling rose in Wakasha's chest, strengthening his resolve to survive safely and earn money.
He could not betray the kindness of the people who had shown him goodwill, and he certainly could not betray himself. Whether as Wakasha in his previous life or Wakasha now, all he had ever wanted was a stable life. In this world, though, stability was something he could only fight for with his own hands.
He dusted off his cloth bag, slung it back over his shoulder, and sheathed the short sword at his waist again.
Even though he now had a powerful weapon like Deathbird, Wakasha did not immediately cast the short sword aside.
Deathbird was a spell-like armament, and it generated bullets by consuming mental power. He had no idea what his upper limit was, nor how much mental power each shot used. If he ran out of mental energy and Deathbird became unusable, then the short sword would be his last line of defense.
Besides, he had almost no experience in close combat. Fighting just three goblins had already drained all his strength and left his arm numb from a club strike. In a more complicated situation, the short sword might prove invaluable.
Wakasha adjusted his breathing and tightened his grip on the short sword at his waist, his eyes turning wary once more.
He did not retrace his steps. Instead, he moved a little farther into Chalk Forest—though he had not forgotten the town guard's warning. He remained strictly within the outermost zone and did not venture deeper into the forest proper.
The three goblins he had just hunted were probably only a small scouting group. Since goblins were active here, there was a good chance more were nearby. He had no intention of missing the opportunity to gain EXP and make money.
The outskirts of Chalk Forest were dense with trees, but not especially dark. Stray rays of sunlight filtered through gaps in the branches and leaves, scattering patches of light across the ground and illuminating the way ahead.
Wakasha slowed his pace and lowered his body, trying to move as quietly as possible. His feet pressed into the thick carpet of dead leaves, making only the faintest rustling sounds.
As he moved, he made use of his senses, paying close attention to everything around him. With 6 points in Perception, his hearing and sense of smell were both sharper than an ordinary person's. He could pick up subtle noises and catch faint odors.
Wakasha walked for another ten minutes or so. Along the way, he saw plenty of animal tracks—rabbits, pheasants, and some unidentified beasts—but no goblin traces, nor that distinctive foul odor.
He did not grow impatient. If anything, he became even more cautious.
The calmer a place looked, the more likely it was that danger was hidden there.
Goblins were good at ambushes. They could easily be hiding in bushes, behind large trees, or in shallow pits in the ground, waiting for prey to walk right into their trap.
After another ten minutes or so, Wakasha suddenly stopped, a slight frown appearing on his face.
His nose caught a faint foul odor. It was weaker than the smell from the three goblins he had killed earlier, but it was more spread out. It did not seem to be coming from a single place—rather, it drifted in from all directions.
At the same time, his ears picked up a faint, chaotic series of chattering sounds. They were far away and blurred, mixed into the rustling of leaves in the wind. If he had not been listening carefully, he never would have noticed them.