Meanwhile, walking deeper into the forest, I still held a firm grip on the sheathed sword.
The forest swallowed sound.
With each step forward, the sound behind me was dulled, replacing it with something quieter. Heavier. The air itself felt different… rather thicker, as if carrying the weight of a strong odor.
I moved carefully.
Not slow enough to hesitate.
Not fast enough to be careless.
My grip on the sword remained steady, fingers firm but not tight. The sheathed blade remained resting at my side, angled slightly for the sole purpose of being able to unsheathe it quickly and easily.
Listening.
Watching.
The path… if anyone would even call it that… faded quickly. Dirt gave way to uneven ground, roots breaking through the surface, branches stretching low in places where they shouldn't.
Signs of neglect.
Or avoidance.
Good.
That meant fewer interruptions.
I stopped.
Something felt off.
Not danger.
Not yet at least…
But, a shift in the air.
Subtle… but enough to notice.
I lowered my stance slightly, eyes scanning the surrounding area again.
There.
Tracks.
Small.
Uneven.
Multiple.
Goblins.
Fresh, from what I could see.
I crouched, studying them more closely.
Disorganized.
Overlapping.
No pattern.
They moved frequently.
And in big numbers at that.
A nest, then.
Likely nearby.
I stood slowly.
Unsheathing my sword, I adjusted my breathing along with adjusting into a battle stance.
Then continued forward.
The first one came without warning.
A sharp rustle to my left…
Then movement.
Small.
Fast.
Ugly.
The goblin lunged.
Its weapon… if it could be called that it was little more than jagged piece of metal strapped to stick.
Crude.
Unbalanced.
Deadly enough if ignored.
I stepped back.
Not far.
Just enough so that the strike passed in front of me.
Wide.
Uncontrolled.
Predictable.
My body moved on instinct before my thoughts could catch up.
The blade more…
Clean.
Precise.
The goblin's movement stopped instantly.
Silence returned.
I exhaled slowly.
"...One."
The word left my mouth without any meaning.
The body hit the ground later.
THUD!
Still.
Lifeless.
I watched it briefly.
Not out of hesitation.
But observation.
So this was it.
Real combat.
Not practice.
Not controlled.
Messy.
Fast.
Fatal.
Final.
A sound broke the silence.
Then another.
Different direction.
Then…
More.
I turned.
Three.
No… more.
They emerged from the bushes, eyes sharp, bodies covered in dirt, movement erratic but aggressive.
Not coordinated.
But not mindless either.
Their attention locked onto me immediately.
Weapons raised.
Teeth bared.
I shifted my stance.
Lower.
More stable than last.
Breathing steady.
Heart… beating faster now.
The first goblin charged within the group.
Reckless.
The second followed.
The others circled slightly.
Better.
More coordinated.
They learned.
Or at least…
They reacted.
The first swing came low.
I stepped to the side.
Too slow.
The blade clipped its shoulder, but didn't stop it.
It screamed.
Not in pain.
Rage.
The second one lunged immediately after.
Closer.
Faster.
I raised my sword…
Blocked.
The impact traveled through my arm.
Heavier than expected.
My grip tightened instinctively.
Too tight.
The third moved in.
From the side.
I saw it…
Late.
I twisted my body, the strike grazing past my ribs instead of cutting through.
Too close.
My footing shifted.
Wrong.
I corrected instantly.
Stepped back.
Reset.
They didn't give space.
Didn't wait.
All at one…
They came again.
I moved.
Not faster.
Not stronger.
Cleaner.
The first…
A step forward.
Not back.
My blade pierced through its chest before it could react.
Pulled free.
The second…
High swing.
Predictable.
I ducked.
Cut upward.
Neck.
The third hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Enough.
I closed the distance.
No wasted movement.
No hesitation.
The blade struck once.
Then again.
It didn't rise after that.
The fourth ran.
I didn't chase.
Silence returned.
Slowly.
Carefully.
I stood still.
Breathing heavier now.
Not uncontrolled.
But no longer calm.
My grip loosened slightly.
Then tightened again.
"...Too slow."
The word came quietly.
Not frustration.
Just truth.
My eyes shifted to the bodies.
Four.
Clean cuts.
But messy.
Not because I lacked skill.
But because…
This wasn't training.
They didn't move like opponents meant to be read.
They rushed.
Adapted.
Pressed.
I crouched briefly, cutting what I needed.
Left ears.
Proof.
The work was unpleasant.
But necessary.
As I stood again, I paused.
Listening.
Nothing.
For now.
But the tracks from earlier…
There were more.
Far more.
This wasn't the nest.
Just the edge.
I looked deeper into the forest, it was already turning dark, quiet.
I continued forward.