The torchlight had been the cruelest kind of hope.
For one stupid, beautiful second, Soren had seen it flickering through the trees and felt his whole chest crack open with relief, because of course someone had noticed he hadn't come back, of course he wasn't going to die out here in the dark with dirt under his nails and blood drying in ugly streaks down his sleeves.
Then the wind shifted, carrying the wrong smell, smoke and rancid grease and something animal underneath it, and the silhouettes moved in a way no human ever would, too low, too quick, too sure of the forest.
A giggle cut through the night, wet and sharp.
Yellow eyes blinked in the torchlight.
Soren's stomach dropped so hard it felt like it took his ribs with it, and his legs did that horrible thing where they wanted to fold, because his body understood before his mind finished catching up, he had just chased bait.
He spun, half tripping on a root, mud splashing up his shins, and the world around him was suddenly full of little shapes, too many, circling between trunks, torch flames bobbing like fireflies that had learned how to hate.
His breath scraped in and out, loud enough that he heard it echo inside his own skull.
'No, no, no…'
His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the rusted dagger he had stolen earlier, the handle slick with sweat and old grime.
His fingers cramped around it as if white-knuckling it could change what he was seeing.
A chime rang out, bright and utterly indifferent.
The window slammed into his vision.
.
▶ Survive ◀
[Details: Survive for 13 minutes.]
[Difficulty: B+]
[Reward: Store Ticket, 50 Points.]
.
For a heartbeat, his mind tried to do something idiotic, tried to celebrate, because he had been starving for the system to do anything at all since he got here, and a quest meant structure, meant rules, meant he wasn't completely alone with just panic and a rusty blade.
Then the words actually sank in.
'A survival quest…?'
In the game, survival quests were the ones players complained about the most, because they were miserable, because they didn't care about your pride or your damage numbers, they just asked a simple question: "how long can you refuse to die", and the game always answered by sending something far above your level.
His eyes dragged to the difficulty rating, and his throat tightened so much the air whistled on the way in.
"...B+."
It came out rough, pathetic, almost a laugh that had been strangled.
His vision blurred at the edges, and for a second he honestly thought he might cry, right here in the mud, surrounded by torchlight and laughter.
'It's so unfair.'
He could feel it, hot and childish and furious.
A tantrum clawing up from somewhere deep, because of course his first quest in this world wasn't something simple like helping a fallen merchant or defeating a goblin or two, it was this, thirteen minutes of being hunted like an animal.
He didn't even have the time to properly hate it.
The goblins were already closing in, and he could hear them breathing, sniffing, clicking their tongues, the sound of eager little throats swallowing.
Soren forced his eyes to move, forced himself to count, even though numbers didn't matter when you were this exhausted.
'There's at least… fifteen…'
Fifteen was a lot.
It was insane.
It was more than enough to kill him in seconds if they rushed him together, but the B+ sat in his vision like a weight.
Something didn't fit.
B+ wasn't a level of quest deemed impossible by the system, it just meant that it would be fairly challenging, but the enemies before him didn't fit that level at all.
His skin prickled, it was the warning instinct that had kept him alive in the forest so far, and then he heard it.
Slow, heavy footsteps, not the quick patter of small bodies, but something that made the ground answer back.
The goblins nearest the sound moved aside, not in fear exactly, but with the automatic obedience of creatures that knew their place.
Torchlight stretched, shadows warped, and something tall stepped into view.
Soren swallowed, and it scraped down his throat.
The creature that appeared was green, but not the sickly moss-green of the goblins.
It was darker, thicker, a body built to carry muscle rather than hunger, and it was massive, easily twice a man's height, shoulders draped in torn rags that might once have been proper clothing.
Its hand wrapped around the hilt of a rusted greatsword that looked heavy enough to split Soren in half without effort.
Its face was ugly in a way that felt deliberate, tusks jutting, lips curled, eyes bright with a cruel intelligence.
The moment Soren met its gaze, his whole body lit up with warning.
Not a thought, not logic, just a full-body warning screaming: "you will die."
His knees threatened to buckle, and he hated that too, hated the betrayal of his own legs, hated the way his stomach rolled, hated how small he suddenly felt in his own skin.
'A hobgoblin.'
It clicked into place with the same sick certainty as the torches, and suddenly the B+ didn't feel lackluster, it felt like the system had simply written "go die" in a more polite font.
Hobgoblins were still low-ranking demons, still "early game" in the way players talked about things safely from behind a screen, but even in the game they were the kind of enemy you didn't touch without a party unless you wanted to watch your health bar evaporate.
And Soren wasn't a party.
Soren was one exhausted first-year mage with a pathetic strength stat, shaking hands, and a rusted dagger that had already seen more blood than it deserved.
He didn't know what to do.
Running flashed through his mind, but his lungs were already on fire, his legs were heavy with fatigue that went all the way to the bone, and the forest was dark, full of roots and slopes and things that would happily trip him so a goblin could open his throat.
He dragged the quest window up again, desperate, irrationally hoping it would offer a loophole.
.
▶ Survive ◀
[0:19/13:00]
.
'Thirteen minutes.'
It was nothing in a normal life, it was a joke of a time, a quick shower, a short walk to the shop.
But out here it was an eternity.
His mouth tasted like copper.
He wasn't sure if it was from the dried blood on his lip, or the way fear made everything in him feel metallic and sharp.
Then the hobgoblin stopped moving.
Soren's eyes narrowed, confused despite himself.
'It stopped?'
The torches flickered, throwing light across its face, and Soren saw its expression properly.
A grin, wide and mocking, as if this was all a gift it had been waiting for, and then it laughed, deep and rough and pleased with itself.
[Kekeke.]
The sound made the smaller goblins shift, chittering in response, but none of them stepped out of line, all of them watching Soren the way dogs watched a thrown scrap.
It was looking at him as if he were a toy.
Soren knew, rationally, that he should be grateful it wasn't rushing him, that a pause was a mercy, that any second not spent being torn apart was a second he could use.
Instead, something hot snapped in him.
'...I'm pissed.'
It rose up so fast it shocked him, anger so sharp it cut through fear, because being hunted was one thing, but being mocked while it happened made his blood boil.
He wanted to defeat it.
He wanted to wipe that grin off its face with the only thing he had, even if it meant falling immediately after.
'But that's impossible.'
It wasn't effort, it wasn't willpower, it was just logic, the fact of his small body and thin arms, the fact that his magic was basic and fragile, the fact that the thing in front of him could probably swat him into the dirt without even committing to the swing.
Soren's jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.
He bit his dry lip until it burst again, not even on purpose, just needing something to do with the pressure in his face, and warm blood slid down to his chin.
The taste grounded him, foul and familiar.
'Fine.'
If he couldn't kill it, he could still be petty.
He could still make it bleed.
He lifted his hands, forcing them to move even while they trembled, and began forming a magic circle.
Wooooonngggg—!
Mana dragged through his veins like cold syrup, sluggish from fatigue, fighting him every step, and the circle wavered in the air, lines trembling, edges threatening to collapse.
He hissed through his teeth, breath shaking.
'Hold, hold, hold—'
Around him, the goblins didn't move.
None of them rushed him, none of them tried to interrupt the spell, as if they were all waiting for permission to exist.
Even that made his skin crawl.
It wasn't just numbers, it was hierarchy, it was the way the forest itself seemed to be holding its breath under that hobgoblin's presence.
The hobgoblin tilted its head, watching the circle with something close to amusement, and then it spoke, harsh consonants scraping out of its throat.
[Kekeke. Keraak!]
Soren couldn't understand the words, but he understood the meaning the moment one goblin stepped forward.
A single one, torch in one hand, crude dagger in the other, moving with a swagger that didn't belong on something so small.
'It's playing with me.'
His fingers spasmed, and the magic circle jittered.
For a second he wanted to scream, not from fear but from pure, powerless frustration, because this wasn't a fight, it was entertainment, and he was the punchline.
He forced a breath in, forced his eyes to flick to the timer again.
.
[0:56/13:00]
.
'I just need to stall.'
He swallowed bile, tightened his grip on the dagger, and snapped the spell out before his circle could fall apart.
"「Gaia!」"
The ground under his feet and under the goblin's feet softened, then liquefied, earth turning into thick, sucking mud with a wet, obscene sound, and the goblin's legs sank in up to the shin immediately, its swagger dying in an instant.
[KEURK?!]
It flailed, trying to yank free, but the mud grabbed it greedily, and Soren lunged.
He didn't run with any grace, he stumbled forward, half slipping himself, boots sliding, knees screaming, and he threw his whole body into the goblin like a desperate tackle.
THUD!
They hit the ground hard, Soren's shoulder jarring, his teeth clacking, and the goblin shrieked, torch flying out of its hand and hissing in the mud.
Soren barely registered it.
He scrabbled for control, hands shaking, trying to remember anything he had seen in games, anything Alex might have done in this situation, but his mind was just static and panic, so he did the simplest thing.
He threw his weight down.
His knee crashed into the goblin's stomach, and it wheezed, a nasty, wet sound, then tried to twist.
Claws raked across Soren's forearm, tearing fabric and skin, and pain flared white-hot, making him gasp.
"Ah, fuck—!"
He clamped his left hand around the goblin's weapon arm, forcing it down into the mud, and the thing bucked under him, stronger than it looked, all wiry muscle and hunger.
It snapped its teeth at him, saliva flying, breath hot and rancid.
Soren's heart slammed against his ribs.
'Move, move, MOVE—!'
He raised the dagger and drove it down toward the goblin's head.
The blade hit bone and skittered, the impact jolting up his arm, and the goblin's skull felt wrong, denser than he expected, hard like a stone under thin skin.
[KEKEKE.]
The hobgoblin's laugh rumbled from the edge of the torchlight, approving, amused.
Soren's vision went narrow.
'It's too fucking hard!'
The goblin clawed at his chest, nails snagging, ripping his uniform open with a sound that made his skin crawl, and Soren felt the cold night air hit sweat-slick skin.
It hurt, but the humiliation hurt worse, the way he was being opened up in front of an audience.
He snarled, animal, and tried again.
The goblin's hand slammed into his face, nails scratching his cheek, and the sudden sting made his eyes water, which was perfect for his enemy, because his grip slipped on the dagger's handle.
The blade scraped, useless, and panic rose so fast he nearly vomited.
Then the goblin bit him.
Not a deep bite, not enough to tear flesh away, but teeth clamped onto his shoulder through cloth, grinding hard, and pain shot down his arm.
Soren made a sound that wasn't human.
He reacted on instinct, the kind of ugly, untrained instinct he had spent his whole old life without noticing, and he drove his forehead into the goblin's face.
The headbutt cracked, torchlight flashing across tusks and eyes, and the goblin squealed.
Soren didn't give it time.
He shifted his grip, angling the dagger, searching for soft, for weak, for anything that wasn't skull, and his gaze caught the goblin's eye, wide and shining.
He stabbed.
The blade slid into the eye socket with a horrible, wet resistance, then a sudden give, like pushing through overripe fruit, and hot liquid splashed over his fingers.
[KEEEEAAAAAAAAAK—!!!!!]
The goblin screamed, high and piercing, its whole body convulsing under him, legs kicking, hands clawing at his arms, and Soren's stomach lurched at how alive it still was, how it fought even with a dagger buried in its face.
Blood ran down the blade, thick and dark, smelling of iron and rot, and it warmed his knuckles.
Soren's breath came in ragged sobs.
"Just fucking die already!"
The goblin thrashed harder, nails tearing at Soren's skin, one claw catching his ear, ripping enough that he felt warm blood drip down his neck.
Soren nearly lost his grip.
He slapped his other hand over the dagger handle, both hands now shaking violently, and pushed down with everything he had, weak body screaming at him, arms trembling from the effort.
There was a soft crunch.
The blade went deeper.
Splatter.
Something inside the goblin gave way, the scream strangled off into a wet gurgle, its limbs still jerking for a second longer, then it went limp so abruptly it was almost confusing, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Soren froze, hovering over it, waiting for it to move again, because his brain didn't trust the silence.
Then the system chimed, confirming the end of the demon's life.
[+1P]
————「❤︎」————