The sight of that thin grey tendril of smoke changed everything. It was a declaration of ownership, a flag planted in the wilderness. Hope and dread warred in my gut. On one hand, more people meant more potential allies, a greater chance to build something lasting. On the other hand, my experience—both in this world and the one before it—had taught me that people were the most dangerous variable of all.
Elara melted back from the treeline, her face a grim, unreadable mask. "Campfire," she mouthed, her voice a ghost of a whisper. "Someone's home."
The newcomers huddled together, their brief surge of confidence evaporating. They looked at us, their expressions asking the silent, obvious question: Now what?
"We need to see who we're dealing with," I murmured, my mind already slipping into analysis mode. "Could be friendlies. Could be more goblins, though they don't usually favor caves like this."
"Or," Elara added, her voice cold as sharpened steel, "it could be something worse."
She was right. Goblins were a known quantity. Humans were a wild card.
"Same plan as before," I decided, taking command. "You all stay here. Stay low, stay quiet. Elara and I will scout ahead. We get a look, we assess the threat, and we report back. Nobody moves, nobody makes a sound until we return. Understood?"
I got a series of frantic, terrified nods. I glanced at Elara, and she gave a single, sharp nod in return. We were a well-oiled machine already.
We left the three of them—our fledgling settlement—huddled in the undergrowth and began a wide, circling approach. We didn't follow the stream. Instead, we pushed into the treeline, using the dense woods for cover as we climbed the rising ground that ran parallel to the cliff face. It was slower going, forcing us to navigate thorny bushes and thick roots, but it kept us out of sight. Elara moved like a phantom, her spear held diagonally across her back to avoid snagging it on branches. I did my best to imitate her, trying to place my feet where she placed hers, the crude goblin spear a clumsy burden in my hand.
As we got closer, the smell hit me. The familiar, comforting scent of woodsmoke was there, but it was tainted by something else. Something thick, cloying, and horribly familiar: the coppery stench of fresh blood. A lot of it.
My stomach clenched. This wasn't a friendly camp.
We reached a rocky outcrop that gave us a perfect, elevated vantage point about eighty yards from the cave entrance. We dropped to our bellies, concealed behind a cluster of weathered stones and hardy mountain shrubs. From here, we could see the whole picture.
There was a small, crackling fire built just to the side of the cave mouth. Two men were there. They were big, burly men in mismatched scraps of leather armor far more complete than my own. One had a thick, unkempt beard and wielded a heavy, brutal-looking axe that was definitely not a standard-issue starting item. The other was leaner, with a cruel, narrow face and a pair of wicked-looking daggers sheathed at his belt. They were both Level 3, my analysis flashing their stats in my vision. A Berserker and a Rogue. A classic, high-damage physical pairing.
But it wasn't them that held my attention. It was what they were doing.
They were dragging a body. A third man, this one clad only in the simple cloth tunic of a new arrival. His feet left two parallel grooves in the dirt as they hauled him from the cave entrance towards the edge of the cliff overlooking the stream. There was a dark, wet stain soaking the back of his tunic, and his limbs were limp, lolling at unnatural angles. He was dead. Unquestionably.
A notification pinged in my vision, cold and impersonal.
[You have witnessed a Player Kill.]
[PK events may alter reputation and Vocation paths. Choose your actions wisely.]
The two men grunted with effort, heaving the body to the precipice.
"Waste of a good set of boots," the axe-wielding Berserker grumbled, his voice a low rumble that carried on the breeze. "Kid should've just handed them over."
"He had spirit, I'll give him that," the Rogue sneered. "Called you a pig-fucker right before you caved his chest in. Pretty funny."
They shared a coarse laugh, and then, with a coordinated heave, they shoved the body over the edge. It tumbled end over end before splashing into the fast-moving water of the stream below, where it was quickly swept away.
I felt a wave of nausea. Beside me, I heard Elara let out a low, venomous hiss. This wasn't a misunderstanding. This wasn't a territorial dispute gone wrong. This was murder. Cold-blooded, casual murder for a pair of boots.
They were claim-jumpers. Predators who had found a prime piece of real estate and were killing anyone else who stumbled upon it. They were scum, the kind of people who thrived in lawless worlds.
The Berserker stretched, rolling his thick shoulders. "Well, that's the trash taken out. I'm starving. Let's see if that deer is cooked yet."
They swaggered back to their fire, utterly unconcerned, leaving the faint drag marks in the dirt as the only evidence of their crime.
I looked at Elara. Her face was granite, but her eyes were burning with a righteous fire I hadn't seen before. All the suspicion, all the cold pragmatism was gone, replaced by a pure, unclouded certainty.
"We kill them," she whispered, her voice lethally soft.
There was no hesitation in my mind. My cold, calculating Scholar's brain ran the scenario. Two Level 3 physical damage dealers. We were a Level 3 Ranger and a Level 2 Scholar. In a straight-up fight, the odds were against us. They were better geared, and both of them were built for raw combat.
But these men were arrogant. They were comfortable. They thought they were the predators here, secure in their new den. They didn't know they were being watched. They didn't know we had a Cleric and two other bodies waiting in the wings. They didn't know that my mind was a weapon far deadlier than their axe.
Killing them wasn't just justice for the dead man. It was a strategic imperative. That cave was the single most valuable resource we had found. It was a fortress. And these two were squatting in it. Allowing them to live, to remain a threat in our area of operations, was an unacceptable risk.
We needed that cave.
"I agree," I whispered back, my own voice tight with resolve. "But not just us. We use the team." I looked back toward the woods where our new allies were hiding. "We hit them with all five of us. Overwhelm them before they even know they're in a fight."
The plan coalesced in my mind with cold, crystalline precision. This wouldn't be a chaotic brawl like the one with the goblins. This had to be an execution. Every move, every spell, every arrow had a purpose. There was no room for error.
I looked at Elara, my eyes conveying the urgency. "We have one shot at this. Total surprise is our only real advantage. Here's how we do it."
We crawled back from the ridge, our movements silent and economical, and slipped back into the treeline to regroup with the others. They were huddled together, a knot of barely controlled anxiety. Leo was gripping his new shield like it was a part of him, Maria was nervously flipping her flint knife, and Samuel was murmuring prayers under his breath.
"Change of plans," I said, my voice low and hard, leaving no room for discussion. The time for gentle reassurance was over. "The men in that cave are murderers. They just killed another player for his boots. We are taking them out, and we are taking that cave. This is not optional."
A wave of fear washed over their faces, but it was tinged with something else—a grim understanding. They had just escaped death themselves. They knew what was at stake.
I drew a crude map in the dirt with the butt of my goblin spear. A circle for the fire, an X for each of the two men, a gaping maw for the cave. "They're by the fire, distracted, eating. Their names are Cutter and Shiv, Level 3 Berserker and Rogue. Elara, you'll initiate."
I looked at her. "It's a long shot, eighty yards. But you're a Ranger. Can you make it?"
Her eyes gleamed. "With what?"
"This," I said, and handed her the barbed goblin spear. A thought struck me, a flash of insight from my Vocation. "The fletching on a goblin spear is designed for a short, powerful throw, not for long-range accuracy. Tear it off. Let the shaft fly clean." It was a pure gamble, a theory based on a half-remembered text on primitive weaponry, but it felt right.
Elara didn't question it. She took the spear and, with a quick twist of her wrist, ripped the crude feathering from the shaft. She balanced the now-clean spear in her hand, feeling its weight. "The Rogue. Shiv. He's the faster one. We need to neutralize his mobility." She nodded. "I can hit him."
"Good," I said. "The moment your spear flies, that's the signal. Leo, you and Maria charge straight for the Berserker, Cutter. Don't try to be fancy. He's got an axe. You need to get inside its range. Leo, shield up, go for his legs. A blacksmith knows how to break things. Try to cripple him. Maria, you're faster. You flank him. Go for his weapon arm, anything to make him drop that axe."
They both nodded, their faces pale but set with determination.
"Samuel," I turned to the Cleric. "The second we engage, you start casting. I don't care what. `Divine Ward` on yourself, `Minor Heal` on standby. You are our safety net. The most important thing is that you stay alive and keep your focus. No matter what happens, you keep casting."
"I… I will," he whispered, clutching his holy symbol.
"And what about you?" Leo asked, his voice tight.
I hefted my own pathetic weapon—the small, crude cleaver I'd looted from the first goblin. It was barely a hand axe. "I have my own target." My gaze was locked on the map I'd drawn. The Rogue, Shiv. Elara's spear would wound him, but it wouldn't kill him. He'd be panicked, injured, and trying to flee or reposition. He was my responsibility.
"Let's move," Elara said, already creeping towards our designated firing position. "The longer we wait, the more time they have to get comfortable."
We fanned out, a silent line of five advancing through the woods. We stopped about a hundred yards out from the cave. Elara peeled off, melting into the shadows as she moved to her vantage point. The rest of us crept forward, closing the distance, narrowing the kill zone. We found cover behind a thicket of tangled bushes about fifty yards from the campfire. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, but my mind was a sea of calm. Every variable was accounted for.
I could see the two men clearly now. Cutter, the Berserker, was tearing into a haunch of roasted venison with his bare hands, grease dripping down his beard. Shiv, the Rogue, was sharpening one of his daggers on a whetstone, a cruel smirk on his face. They were utterly relaxed, completely unaware. They were meat.
I gave a silent, preparatory breath and focused my mind.
[Activating Skill: Subtle Influence (Level 1)]
[Mana Cost: 15]
[Global Projection: No Direct Target]
I didn't push a word. I pushed a feeling. A subtle, creeping sensation of unease. Not enough to trigger alarm, just enough to dull their senses, to make the hair on their necks prickle without them knowing why. A soft blanket of paranoia to make them second-guess the first sign of trouble.
Then I saw it. A glint of sunlight off metal from the ridge where Elara was hidden. It was the signal.
Time seemed to slow down. I saw the spear leave her hand, not as a clumsy goblin missile, but as a silent, perfectly thrown javelin. It arced through the air, impossibly straight, impossibly fast.
Shiv must have felt my subtle mental probe, because at the last possible second, he shifted on his log, turning to say something to Cutter.
It saved his life and damned him at the same time.
The spear, aimed for his center mass, instead took him high in the left shoulder. It punched through leather and muscle with a sickening, meaty thunk, the barbed head tearing a grievous wound and embedding itself deep.
[-92 HP!]
[Target Status: Impaled (Arm), Bleeding (Severe), Shock (Minor)]
Shiv screamed, a high, piercing shriek of pure agony, dropping his dagger and clutching at the spear shaft protruding from his shoulder.
"NOW!" I roared.
The world erupted into motion. Leo burst from the thicket with a bellow of rage, his shield held high, charging like a bull. Maria was right behind him, a frantic shadow with a gleaming hatchet.
Cutter, the Berserker, was on his feet in an instant, his mouth still full of meat. He grabbed his axe, his eyes wide with confusion and fury as he saw the charging duo. "What the hell—?"
He didn't have time to finish. Leo slammed into him, not with a weapon, but with the full force of his body behind the wooden shield. The impact was brutal. Cutter staggered back, his axe swing going wide. Following my instructions perfectly, Leo dropped low and swung his heavy ball-peen hammer in a vicious arc at the Berserker's knee.
There was a wet, cracking sound that was audible even over the chaos.
[-18 HP!]
[Critical Effect Applied: Shattered Knee!]
[Target Status: Crippled, Movement Speed -80%]
Cutter roared in agony, his leg buckling beneath him. As he stumbled, Maria darted in from the side, her eyes wild with terror and hate. She swung her hatchet with all her might, aiming for his weapon arm. The blade bit deep into his forearm.
[-11 HP!]
[Target Status: Bleeding!]
The Berserker, even with a shattered knee and a bleeding arm, was still a monster. With a furious scream, he shook Maria off and swung his axe in a wild, backhanded sweep. The flat of the blade caught Leo in the chest, sending him flying backward with a grunt of pain.
From the rear, a soft golden light bloomed. "In the light, find succor! Minor Heal!" Samuel's voice, though trembling, was clear. A wave of energy washed over Leo, whose health jumped back up.
While their drama unfolded, my focus was absolute. Shiv.
The rogue, screaming and bleeding, had managed to wrench the spear from his shoulder. The barb tore a ghastly exit wound, and blood now poured down his arm. He was panicked, his eyes darting around for an escape route, for his attacker. He wasn't thinking about the messy melee with his partner. He was thinking like a Rogue: reposition, hide, strike back from the shadows.
He scrambled back towards the darkness of the cave mouth. He was fast, even injured. But I was faster. I had anticipated this. I was already moving, my small cleaver I had grabbed held in a reverse grip, my path an intercept course to the cave.
He saw me at the last second—a half-naked, wild-eyed man charging at him from an impossible angle. His eyes widened in disbelief. He tried to bring up his remaining dagger to defend himself.
He was too slow.
I didn't aim for his chest or his throat. I wasn't strong enough to punch through his armor with my pathetic weapon. I aimed for his face.
I lunged, and as he raised his dagger, I ducked under his guard and drove my cleaver forward, not in a slashing motion, but in a brutal, straight-line punch.
The corner of the rusty iron blade slammed into his right eye socket.
The impact was horrifying. It wasn't a clean cut. It was a crush. I felt the crunch of bone, the wet, popping give of the eyeball. The force of my charge drove the blade deep into his skull, into his brain.
[Targeting Vital Point: EYE!]
[Massive Critical Hit!]
[-450 HP!]
Shiv's body went rigid. A choked, gurgling sound escaped his lips. The dagger fell from his nerveless fingers. His one remaining eye stared at me, wide with a final, searing moment of agony and disbelief. Then the light went out.
His body was still connected to my hand via the cleaver embedded in his skull. With a grunt of revulsion, I ripped the weapon free. It came loose with a wet, slurping sound that turned my stomach. Shiv crumpled to the ground, a dead heap, his face a ruin of blood and bone.
A gout of hot liquid spattered my chest. I looked down. It was my own blood. In his death throes, he had managed to slash me across the ribs with his dagger.
[-15 HP!]
[Status: Bleeding (Minor)]
I ignored it. One down.
I turned back to the main fight. It was a desperate, ugly stalemate. Cutter, the Berserker, was on one knee, his leg a mangled mess, but he was fighting with the fury of a cornered animal. His axe was a blur, keeping both Leo and Maria at bay. Leo's shield was a splintered wreck, barely holding together. Maria had a nasty gash on her forehead.
[Berserker Skill Activated: Last Stand!]
[Damage +50%, Damage Resistance +30% while below 25% HP!]
He was getting stronger as he got weaker. Elara was sprinting down from the ridge now, but she was too far away to help. It was up to us.
"Samuel! `Divine Ward`! Now!" I yelled, my voice raw.
I saw the Cleric's face, tight with concentration. He slammed the butt of his holy symbol into the ground. "Faith is my shield!" A shimmering, translucent barrier of golden light enveloped him just as the Berserker, seeing him as the source of the healing, hurled his axe in a desperate, last-ditch attack.
The axe spun through the air and slammed into the divine ward. There was a deafening GONG of impact, and the axe bounced off, its magical flight path disrupted. The barrier flickered violently but held.
The Berserker was now disarmed.
That was the opening.
"Leo! Pin him!" I screamed.
Leo, seeing his chance, abandoned his ruined shield and charged, tackling the one-legged Berserker around the waist. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Cutter was stronger, but Leo was desperate, grappling, holding him down.
Maria and I converged on the thrashing form on the ground. There was no finesse now. No grand strategy. This was just brutal, ugly work.
Maria raised her hatchet high and brought it down on Cutter's exposed neck. It hit with a dull thud, but didn't cut deep enough. He roared and tried to throw Leo off him.
I dropped to my knees, my own bloody cleaver raised. I looked down at the Berserker's face, contorted in a mask of hate and pain. I saw the man who had laughed while throwing another human being off a cliff for a pair of boots.
My Scholar's mind went silent. The cold calculus vanished. All that was left was a hot, white rage.
I drove my cleaver down into his throat. I didn't stop there. I put my weight on it, grinding it back and forth, severing muscle, cartilage, and windpipe. Blood foamed and gushed around the blade. His struggles weakened, his furious roars turning into wet, gurgling coughs.
His eyes, full of hate, locked on mine. And I stared right back as the life drained out of them, making sure he knew exactly who was killing him.
Finally, he went limp.
The forest was silent again. The only sounds were our own ragged, sobbing breaths, the crackle of the unattended fire, and the distant, indifferent gurgle of the stream.