Chapter 12
Deeper into Goblin Territory
Date : Unknown (34th day of the Journey)
On the evening of the fourth day, Hyoren stopped on his track.
He dropped into a crouch, ducking behind a fallen log. He peered over the log. Up ahead, in a small clearing, sat a crude camp.
Two structures rose from the ground—shack-like constructions made from rough branches and thatched roofs. A firepit burned in the center.
“Goblin camps. Crude. And small, but it still a camp.”
Two goblin fighter. And four normal goblins. He counted them silently and tightened his grip on his spear.
“The number. It will be first time I facing more than one goblin fighter. Should I do it. Or avoid it?”
He assessed the situation. The camp was exposed. No easy approach. The goblins were alert, moving around the fire, chattering to each other.
Avoiding would be safer. He could circle around, continue downstream.
“I should fight them. It seems I’m moving deeper to goblin territory. I will face stronger and bigger group. I should train myself to handle these much threat.”
His hand brushed against his waterskin—the one filled with flower nectar.
“Not now. I can handle this number without relying on this.”
He began to creep closer.
His Forest Walker skill guided his feet, finding the silent paths, avoiding the twigs and leaves. When he was close enough, he stopped and drew his flint throwing daggers.
Three daggers in his hand. Six goblins in the camp. He took aim at the first target—a goblin crouching near the fire pit, its back to him.
He threw.
The dagger spun through the air and buried itself in the back of the goblin's skull. It dropped forward without a sound, face-first into the dirt.
The second dagger was already thrown.
A goblin resting on a log, staring into the fire. The flint found its mark on the forehead. It slumped backward, dead before it understood what had happened.
“Two down.”
The remaining goblins spun toward him, alerted by the sound of falling bodies. They snarled, grabbed their weapons, and charged.
He threw his third dagger at the leading goblin—a normal one with a crude club raised high.
It grazed the creature's leg instead of burying itself in flesh. The goblin stumbled but kept coming.
"Tch."
He drew his spear and planted his feet.
The leading goblin reached him first—its club raised. But before it could swing, Hyoren already moved. The horned-rabbit tip punched through its chest.
He yanked the blade free and jumped backward as a goblin fighter swung a rusted knife at his head. The blade whistled through the air where his neck had been.
He pivoted, spinning the spear, and drove the butt end into the face of another goblin trying to circle behind him. The creature howled as its nose shattered, blood spraying across its face.
He followed up with a slashing arc. The spear head opened the goblin's throat. It fell, clutching its neck.
Then he felt it—a chill on his back.
He twisted, bringing his spear shaft up just in time to block the rusted sword of the second goblin fighter. He was locked with the creature. It snarled at him—pushing against his block.
Then suddenly he felt pain on his right flank.
"FUCK!"
He gritted his teeth. The first goblin fighter—the one with the knife—had circled around while he was occupied. Its knife had opened a deep gash along his side.
He kicked the sword-wielding fighter in the chest. It staggering backward and fell to the ground.
He spun toward the knife-wielder, rotating his spear in quick motion. The butt end knocked the knife from the creature's hand. Before it could recover, he drove the horned-rabbit tip through its throat.
"Last one..."
He turned to face the remaining goblin fighter—the one with the sword. It had already regained its feet and was advancing again.
He sidestepped the creature's clumsy swing and thrust his spear into its back. The blade punched through its chest.
Silence fell over the camp.
"Haah... haah..."
His breathing was quick and shallow. He could hear his own heartbeat. He felt the blood seeping through his tunic
“Two goblin fighter at same time is still harsh…”
He looked down at his side. The gash was wide, the edges ragged. The rusted blade had done its damage.
He unrolled his grey leather tunic, exposing the wound.
"Damn. The gash is wide. And the weapon was rusted. Is there tetanus or similar bacteria in this fantasy world? I need to treat this quickly."
Then he felt it.
Something in his mind. Not new knowledge, but deepened understanding. The knowledge of using a spear—the parries, the thrusts, the footwork—had become more refined.
He understood how to parry better. How to fight multiple opponents simultaneously. How to position his body to minimize exposure. How to use the spear's length to control space.
“This sensation…. and knowledge... Spear skill level 2?”
But the knowledge didn't end.
After the series of spear-related understanding settled into his mind, a new image appeared. He saw himself standing with his spear pointed forward. The tip of the spear glowed. Then the charge—almost like teleport—covering around three meters in an instant.
“Is this… an active skill? unlocked after I reach spear skill level 2?”
He focused on his mind. The charging motion. The image of him.
“I don’t know the name yet. But… piercing thrust… it fit.”
But the pain in his flank was throbbing. He pressed a hand against it. The bleeding had slowed but not stopped.
“ I need to test it. But this wound needs to be treated first.”
He quickly gathered his scattered flint daggers, pocketed the magic stones from the fallen goblins, and headed toward the river. He needed water to clean and treat the wound.
***
At the river's edge, Hyoren crouched low.
The water flowed steadily before him, clear and cold. But he kept his distance from the deeper sections, his eyes scanning the surface. Dark shapes moved beneath the ripples—the red pike fish.
"Clean the wound first."
He scooped water carefully, keeping his body away from the edge.
"The blade was rusty and dirty."
He poured the water over his flank, gritting his teeth as it washed across the gash. The cold stung. Dirt and blood ran down his side, mixing with the river water before being carried away.
He scooped more. Poured again. Repeated until the wound was clear of debris.
"Now... healing grass."
He rummaged through his leather bag, pushing aside smoked meat and melopple until his fingers found the bundle. He pulled it out.
He stuffed a handful into his mouth and chewed. He swallowed the pulp and waited.
The energy started to come out from his core. The energy on his body then focused on his flank—on the wound.
"The effect is slow."
He pressed a hand against the gash.
"I feel it closing a bit, but..."
The wound was still bleeding. The edges were still ragged. At this rate, it would take hours to close—if it closed at all.
"Is there any way to increase the effect without alchemy?"
His mind drifted back to the university. The traditional medicine class he'd attended as an elective. The professor had droned on about ancient healing practices, and he'd half-listened, more interested in games and fantasy novels.
"Medicinal paste."
The memory surfaced.
"Primitive medicine. People used to grind herbs and apply them directly to wounds to make them heal faster."
He looked at the healing grass in his hand.
Eating it meant the healing properties had to travel through his digestive system first. His liver would process it, and his blood would carry it to his whole body—sure but slow process.
“Applying it directly might fasten the process.”
He scanned the riverbank. His eyes landed on a small depression in a flat stone—naturally bowl-shaped. Nearby, round and smooth stone.
“Perfect.”
He grabbed both stones and set to work. The healing grass went into the bowl-shaped one. The round stone became a pestle. He ground the blades against the stone, crushing them into pulp.
The grass released its juices. A green paste formed.
He pulled up his tunic and smeared the paste directly onto the wound. The sensation was immediate. He stared at his side in amazement.
"My wound feels cool. Not aching anymore. The bleeding is stopping."
He looked around for something to cover it. Large leaves grew near the riverbank—wide and flexible. He picked several and pressed them against the paste, creating a makeshift bandage. He secured them with thin vines, wrapping them around his waist.
"Thank god I still remember those classes. Grinding it to paste and applying it directly actually increases the healing property of this grass."
He tested his range of motion. The wound still pulled when he twisted, but the pain was manageable now.
He looked up at the sky. The dual suns had dipped below the horizon. To replace them, the three dark moons were emerging—blue, red, and black.
"I need to shelter quickly. Top of a tree again."
He gathered his gear and found a suitable ironwood tree. The climb was more difficult with his wound, but manageable. He hauled himself from branch to branch until he reached the top. He found a stable bough and wedged himself against the trunk.
He ate his dinner—smoked rabbit meat and melopple—. He checked his makeshift bandage. The leaves were still in place. The cool sensation continued.
Then he closed his eyes and let the soldier's sleep take him.
***
Morning came with suns light filtering through the leaves. Hyoren woke slowly, his body stiff from sleeping in the tree. He stretched carefully, mindful of his wound—there was no pain.
He pulled up his tunic and removed the leaf bandage. The wound was gone. Where yesterday there had been a deep gash, now there was only faint pink skin. New. But fully closed.
He ran his fingers across the healed skin.
"Completely gone. It seems that's the correct way to use the healing grass."
He thought about grass again.
"I'm sure this grass can be made into potions. Alchemy probably going to make it even more effective. But applying it directly gives better results compared to eating it raw."
He gathered his gear—spear, knife, and flint throwing dagger. Then he climbed down from the tree, dropping the last few meters to the forest floor.
"My wound is closed."
He stretched again—testing his range of motion.
"I should test my new active skill now."
He'd been thinking about it since yesterday. The image that had appeared in his mind. His newly acquired active skill. He needed to understand it. To master it.
He walked through the forest, looking for a suitable location.
He found it—a small clearing near a pond fed by the river. Open ground. Good visibility. He scanning and listening his surrounding—no rabbits, no squirrels, no goblins nearby. The area was clear.
"This will work."
He approached the tree and paced out a distance. Three meters. The same distance he'd seen in his image.
"Let's try."
He gripped his spear tightly.
"How do I activate this skill? Usually, protagonists in novel or manga need to say the skill name loudly. But some series also depict active skill can be activated with thought too.”
He settled into the stance from his vision.
“I need to test both."
He raised the spear, aiming the tip at the bark.
"Let's try thought activation first."
He focused. Picture the motion in his mind. The charge. The thrust.
Piercing Thrust.
Nothing happened. The spear stayed steady in his hands.
"I should try again with other keywords."
He tried again. Imagining the spear tip glowing.
Pierce.
Nothing.
Thrust.
Nothing.
Quick Thrust. Fast Thrust.
Still nothing. His brow furrowed. He lowered the spear and took a breath.
"Is it really voice activation?"
He tried one more time, pouring his will into the attempt. Imagining himself moving quickly—like teleporting—with the thrusting motion.
Teleport! MOVE!
Nothing happened.
His breath came ragged. Small beads of sweat appeared on his forehead from the effort.
"Did I do something wrong? Or can active skills really not be activated with the mind?"
He stared at the spear in his hands.
"But shouting the word loudly... especially during a fight. It would scream my intention."
During a fight, throwing an enemy off guard by making them not know what you were going to do was basic.
“And to announce your attack out loud? It was amateur. Reckless. Show off.”
He then looked up to the sky. His eyes saw not the clouds—but at distance past.
"And if there are other people nearby, hearing what I say every time I use an active skill..."
He rubbed his face.
"I would be so cringed. I'm not a chuuni anymore. I already buried that past!"
He remembered his younger self. The middle school years. The dramatic poses. The shouted attack names in empty rooms.
He'd worked hard to become a normal university student. To leave that behind. And now this world wanted him to shout attack names again?
He took a deep breath.
"But I should still test it."
He settled into the stance again. Spear raised. Tip aimed at the bark. Three meters of distance.
He opened his mouth.
"Piercing Thrust."
Then within split second—it happened. He felt his magic core in his chest bursting with energy—an energy which then rushing into his hand and to his spear, making the spear tip glowed brightly.
With sonic boom, he launched forward. The spear, propelled with magic energy, pulling him with a burst of speed. The distance between him and the tree vanished in an instant.
The tip met the bark.
CRASH.
The bark exploded. Splinters flew in all directions. Hyoren stumbled forward, carried by momentum, barely keeping his feet.
"Whoa."
He stared at the destruction.
"What power. And the speed... I moved that far instantly."
He approached the tree and examined the damage.
A deep gouge had been carved into the trunk. The wood splintered and torn.
"This defies physics."
He ran his hand across the gouge.
"The bark is gouged. With this much kinetic energy, this horned-rabbit spear should have been destroyed in the process."
He checked his spear tip.
"But this tip… Not even scratched."
He understood now. The skill didn't just enhance his speed or strength—it protected his weapon. The magic reinforced everything—the thrust and the durability.
And it required a verbal activation. He already felt resigned to that fact. He would have to shout the name every time he used it. The cringe was unavoidable—but it was necessary.
"I need to test it more."
He stepped back from the tree.
“To see how consistent it is."
He spent the next half hour testing Piercing Thrust.
"It's consistent."
He wiped sweat from his forehead.
"The skill manages to gouge the bark with similar power each time. It also launches me forward around three meters."
He paused after the final test, focusing inward. His magic core felt... diminished. Not hollowed like when he deplete his magic, but lighter.
"It definitely uses magic. Like enhancing my body with Magic Manipulation."
He estimated the cost.
"With my current amount... I think I can manage to use Piercing Thrust about twenty times before my magic is depleted."
He thought about the implications.
"I can use it sparingly. This will help against Goblin Fighters. But I can't spam it. As long as I use it every once in a while, my magic regeneration should keep up."
He gathered his belongings—scattered flint daggers, his satchel, his waterskins. And left the clearing behind and continued downstream.
***
With newfound power, Hyoren’s fifth day journey downstream was even smoother.
The forest continued to change around him. The trees grew denser, the goblin presence more pronounced. Camps appeared more frequently—crude structures of goblins.
He encountered a group of five goblins—normal ones, no Fighters—and engaged them without hesitation.
The fight was over in seconds. He stood among the bodies, his breathing steady.
"Five goblins…. Used to give me trouble. Now I don't even lose my breath."
He thought what had changed. The skill improvement wasn't just about strength or speed—it was understanding. He could see the openings in their attacks. He knew exactly where to position himself.
"Engaging three goblins at the same time won't give me trouble."
He retrieved his flint daggers from two of the corpses.
"With a slight shift of my spear shaft, I can parry their attacks. With minimal movement, I can evade their lunges."
He collected the magic stones and continued downstream.
The next group appeared. Six goblins. Two of them were Fighters—the same composition that gave him wide gash yesterday.
He approached from downwind, his footsteps silent. Two flint daggers found their marks before the goblins even knew he was there.
The remaining four turned, snarling and reaching for weapons.
He already aimed his spear at the nearest Goblin Fighter.
"Piercing Thrust."
The skill activated.
He closed the distance instantly—three meters. His spear tip punched through the Fighter's chest, leaving a hollow cavity. The creature died before it could raise its weapon.
The remaining goblins froze for a split second.
That was all he needed. He slaughtered them before they could recover.
“Six goblin group with two fighter. Now they can’t even scratch me.”
He stood among the bodies.
“This is the power of skill level up and active skill.”
He moved deeper into goblin territory.
The next group appeared—a crude camp with seven goblins. Three of them were Fighters, resting around a fire pit. Weapons lay scattered around them—rusty swords, crude clubs, jagged knives.
He ducked behind a fallen log and observed.
"Before this, I would run away seeing this number."
His eyes scanned the area again.
"But now I think I can manage."
With the same strategy that had worked before. He rose from behind the log.
Two flint daggers flew through the air. Two goblins fell, daggers jutted in their foreheads.
Before the others could react, he was already preparing his stance—the spear tip aimed at the nearest Goblin Fighter.
"Piercing Thrust."
The goblins heard him. They snarled and reached for their weapons.
But the skill already activated. The glowing spear tip met its mark. The Goblin Fighter's head exploded, gouged by the spear tip.
A goblin swung a crude club at him from the left. He parried with the butt end of his spear, deflecting the blow with minimal effort. Then he thrust backward without looking—the horned-rabbit tip found the chest of a goblin trying to flank him from behind.
He reversed his grip and swung the spear in a wide arc. The blade opened a deep gash across a goblin's torso. It fell, clutching its stomach.
Two left. They were Fighters—one with a sword, one with a knife.
The sword-wielding Fighter lunged at him. He sidestepped with minimal movement. The blade cut through empty air.
Behind him, the knife-wielding Fighter charged—but his spear was already aimed forward.
"Piercing Thrust."
The Fighter's chest was gouged open before it could bring its knife to bear. He yanked his spear, then swung it to clear the flesh from the tip.
The sword Fighter was recovering from its missed lunge. The Fighter attacked again—a desperate overhead swing. He stepped inside the guard and drove his spear through its throat. It gurgled and fell.
"Haah... haah."
Hyoren stood among the bodies, his breath coming faster than before. His blood still ran with adrenaline.
He took a deep breath, forcing his heart rate to slow.
"The fight has become more manageable."
He examined himself again—no wounds or scratches.
"I didn't receive any damage, even with seven goblins. But I still can't be careless. One small mistake, and those rusty swords will be in my chest."
His breathing steadied. His heartbeat returned to normal.
He thought about his limits. What could he handle?
"I think I can manage eight."
He flexed his fingers around his spear.
"If I grit my teeth through a few wounds. And I can easily heal them with healing grass, so it should be fine."
He considered higher numbers.
"But I don't think I can win fighting nine of them without some serious wounds. And ten or more..." he shook his head.
"I'm definitely running away."
He collected the magic stones from the bodies. He checked the camp for anything useful.
As he only found useless thing—rusty weapons, rotting meat, crude tools—He left the camp behind..
***
At midday, after the group of seven goblins fell, Hyoren felt it.
The newfound power and energy start to spread to his whole body. He straightened his body.
"Level 6."
He let the sensation wash over him.
"This quickly..."
He thought about the journey so far—the endless goblins.
"It's thanks to the sprawling goblins. And the elite Goblin Fighters giving more experience too, I guess."
Flexing his hand, he checked his new power.
"384 experience. I thought it would be a daunting task."
But it hadn't been. The goblin territory was dense. The experience accumulated faster than he'd expected.
He stood among the bodies and stretched.
"Level 6 brings me to almost super-human state."
He tested his reflexes, throwing a quick thrust at the air.
"If my assessment is correct, every level up gives me around five percent increase of my original capabilities. Level 6 means roughly twenty-five percent increase."
He thought about his original self. Then he looked at his hands.
"I'm almost super-human. But I'm not invincible."
The memory of gash from yesterday was still fresh. If he'd been slower, if the Fighter's blade had gone deeper, he'd be dead. Level 6 didn't change that fact.
"I won't let this level up make me careless."
He kicked a goblin corpse aside and retrieved a flint dagger from its head. He wiped the blood on its loin-cloth and tucked the weapon back into his belt.
He thought about the next threshold—the pattern had been consistent so far.
"Also, next level up... twice the points required for Level 6. That means 768 experience points."
He looked around the clearing. Seven goblins. Twenty-one experience from the normal ones, twelve from the Fighters. Thirty-three total.
"To get from Level 6 to Level 7, I'd need to kill... 23 groups like this…." he shook his head.
"Level 7 will need weeks of grinding goblins."
The thought was exhausting. Getting stronger and leveling up was his goal at the first—during the 30 days he spent in his cave, trying to survive in the forest—but had already changed now.
"I need to remember my purpose."
He gathered the last of the magic stones and stood.
"Finding civilization. That's why I left the cave."
He looked downstream, where the river continued its endless flow.
"I can continue leveling up after I find my first settlement or town. A base of operations."
He adjusted his grip on his spear.
"And after I met people who may answer my questions about this world."
He stepped over the bodies and continued downstream. Behind him, the goblin corpses would feed the slimes. But he was focusing on his current goal, reaching civilization.
***
The morning of his sixth day was disturbed when Hyoren heard anomaly while he walked through the forest.
He'd grown accustomed to the sounds of the forest—the rustle of leaves, the distant rush of the river, the occasional chatter of goblins. But this was different—many voices—loud snarl.
"Another goblin patrol. But they're so loud."
Patrols were usually quieter. More cautious. This sounded like group—a large group—making no effort to hide.
He found a small ridge overlooking the trail and crouched behind a fallen log. Twenty meters ahead, the source of the noise came into view.
"Fifteen goblins. It's not a patrol anymore. It's a warband."
He scanned the group, analyzing its composition. Four goblin fighters with their rusted weapon and ten normal goblins with their crude clubs and sticks.
And something new.
At the center of the formation walked a goblin unlike any he'd seen before. Taller than the Fighters—not the stature of a child anymore, but closer to a pre-teen. Its muscles were more defined, its posture more confident. He stared at the new variant.
"It looks strong. And the weapon..."
A real sword—not rusted from years of neglect—maintained and sharp. This was a different kind of goblin entirely.
He continued scanning the group. He tightened his grip on his spear.
"15 goblins. And my limit should be ten. Plus the new variant. Goblin Warrior… I should avoid them."
It was the logical choice. He was Level 6 now, but it didn't make him invincible. Fifteen goblins would overwhelm him. The new variant alone might be a challenge for him
He should let them pass. Continue downstream—find civilization—survive.
Then he saw it.
Five of the goblins were struggling carrying single burlap sack. Each of the five carried part of the burden. The sack wriggled and squirmed. And from inside, muffled sounds emerged—cries, sobs, pleas for help.
"Damn it."
He stared at the sacks.
"Those five goblins. Carrying something…. From the shape, the muffled screams, the wriggling..."
Human silhouettes. Body contorted inside the sack.
"The goblins have prisoner! Damn it. Is it human? Or another monster?"
He listened harder. The muffled sounds reached his ears—terrified whimpering, desperate sobbing.
"It sounds human. Not the snarls of monsters."
He analyzed the information.
"I'm sure it is human. Or at least humanoid race. I don't know if there are other races in this world like other fantasy staples. Like Beastkind... or Elves… or others… But that prisoner definitely intelligence creature like human."
The warband continued down the trail, oblivious to his presence. The prisoner writhed in the sack, helpless.
He had a choice—save them or not.
This was his chance to meet another human. His first contact with civilization. The prisoner might have information—but the risk was also enormous—fifteen goblins and new variant he'd never fought. The odds were against him.
He then thought about his conscience. The thought of turning away. Of leaving them to their fate.
"If I turn a blind eye to someone in peril..."
He gripped his spear tighter.
"I'd be haunted every night with the thought of someone being eaten. Or worse."
His mind went to his memories. Female prisoner. What goblins might do to them. The horrors he'd read about in dark fantasy novels. The atrocities committed by monstrous races.
"Raped... by those goblins."
His jaw tightened.
“I’m not a hero. And would never pretended to be one. But if I left them alone…”
But once he crossed this lines, he would never come back. Some choices defined who you were.
"I will save them."