The morning mist still clung to the edges of the hamlet as Arthur stepped into the treeline, the soft crunch of leaves under his boots accompanied by the uneven rhythm of three smaller sets of footsteps behind him. The goblins—barely a week old, yet already standing, snarling, and eager—trailed close, each clutching a crude wooden spear he had forced them to carve themselves. Their greenish skin was taut over wiry muscles, their eyes bright with feral alertness, and yet when Arthur glanced at them, he saw not monsters, but tools—extensions of his will.
His own bow hung easily across his shoulder, string taut and ready, while a hatchet rested at his belt for closer work.
"Three of you," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with dry amusement. "One week ago, nothing. Now you're my little… investment." A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Merlin wanted to be useful—well, she's feeding the first one back home. And here I am, with her brood already walking at my side. Almost poetic."
One of the goblins growled at the underbrush, jabbing its spear as if to ward off invisible prey. Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Good instincts… dumb, but useful. You'll learn."
They pressed deeper into the forest. Arthur's mind flicked briefly to the image of Merlin, still in the stables, clutching the first goblin like some deranged mother hen, whispering to it, caring for it. The memory made him snort.
"She thinks that's her place now," he muttered. "Fine. Let her rot in straw with her pet. I'll be out here grinding levels while she drowns in her own devotion."
He stopped, crouching low. Ahead, the faint rustle of movement—wild boar, maybe, or something smaller. His hand slid to the bow, fingers testing the string. Behind him, the goblins tensed, their little spears angled forward, awaiting his signal.
"Alright," Arthur whispered, a sarcastic edge curling his words, "let's see if my assets can turn a profit."
Arthur raised his hand, a short, sharp gesture. The three goblins froze instantly, ears twitching as they sniffed the air. From the brush ahead came the sound of snapping twigs—prey was close. A massive boar burst from the undergrowth, bristling with coarse hair, its eyes burning with rage.
"Time to test you lot," Arthur muttered, pulling his bow from his back and nocking an arrow.
The beast charged. Arthur loosed—thwip!—the arrow whistled through the air and sank into the boar's flank. It squealed in pain but kept barreling forward.
"Now!"
The goblins rushed in, shrieking. Their crude wooden spears jabbed at the beast. Two scraped shallow cuts into its hide, while the third stumbled and crashed face-first into the dirt. The boar swung around, tusks catching one goblin and throwing him aside.
Arthur already had another arrow drawn. He steadied his breath, released—thunk! The shaft buried itself deep in the boar's neck. The beast staggered, stumbled, then collapsed. The goblins descended, stabbing and stabbing, their guttural cries echoing through the clearing until the creature lay still.
Silence followed, broken only by their heavy panting.
Arthur lowered his bow and approached the carcass. A strange, weightless sensation brushed through his chest, and in the back of his mind, a familiar whisper:
+50 XP (25 base + 25 bond bonus)
He allowed himself a thin, crooked smile. "Fifty out of two hundred… still a long way to go, but a start."
His eyes slid to the goblins, their green bodies smeared with blood, their chests heaving like wild hounds. "You're not entirely useless," he said dryly, sarcasm lacing his tone. "Let's see how many corpses we can pile up today."
The goblins met his gaze, eyes glinting with feral hunger. Arthur felt it—power growing, raw and dangerous, yet tethered to his will.
The boar's carcass steamed in the cool morning air, blood seeping into the dirt. Arthur wiped the edge of his arrowhead against his trousers before sliding it back into the quiver. The goblins still stabbed and tore at the beast's flesh, snarling like wild dogs, drunk on the kill.
Then it hit.
A sudden rush, like fire spilling through his veins, surging up his chest and into his skull. His breath caught—half gasp, half groan—as the world around him sharpened. The trees looked clearer, edges outlined in cruel precision; every sound in the forest, from the rustle of a beetle's wing to the labored panting of the goblins, rang out as if whispered directly into his ear.
Arthur's fingers flexed unconsciously, strength humming through the tendons. His heartbeat quickened, not from exertion but from something else—something purer.
+25 XP (boar kill credit)
The whisper faded, but the sensation lingered, settling in his body like embers glowing under ash. For a moment he stood utterly still, letting it sink in. Then he exhaled slowly, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
"Seventy-five…" he murmured, voice low. "One hundred twenty-five more."
He glanced at his calloused hands, closing them into fists. He knew the system too well: sometimes the path to the next level would be open in days, other times locked for years. Pure chance. The cruel rhythm of this world.
But this time—he had something different. He had feeders.
His eyes slid to the goblins, now tugging and tearing strips of flesh from the boar with their jagged teeth. They looked up at him, blood streaking their jaws, eyes burning with feral hunger. To Arthur, it was almost comical—these beasts were his, leashed by instinct and fear. Tools, weapons, numbers to be exploited.
He crouched by the carcass, ran his hand over the cooling flank, and spoke softly, almost to himself:
"If the cooldown is months, maybe years, then so be it… I'll have more of you by then. Enough to grind without end. Enough to break this curse of waiting."
One of the goblins yipped, snapping its teeth at him like a pup demanding praise. Arthur chuckled under his breath, dark amusement curling in his chest.
"Patience, little monsters. You'll have your turn. Every one of you."
And in the back of his mind, another thought stirred—darker, sharper. If monsters gave him XP… what about his own brood? Would their deaths count double, triple, because they were his?
Arthur rose, tightening the bow over his shoulder. The hunger to test it gnawed at him, sharp and insistent. But not yet. He'd need to be sure. He'd need to watch them grow, grow strong enough that their deaths meant something.
He turned back to the treeline, eyes narrowing. "Come on," he ordered, his voice flat but commanding. "We've only just started the grind."
The goblins shrieked in chorus and fell in step behind him, obedient little shadows trailing their master deeper into the wild.
The dawn broke gray and cold, a mist dragging itself lazily over the damp fields as Arthur slung his bow across his back. The goblins trailed after him, thinner now, hungrier, but sharper too—their movements no longer clumsy, their ears twitching at every stir of the forest.
He had bled them dry yesterday, forcing them through kill after kill until the sun collapsed into darkness. Today, he wanted more. He needed it.
The first strike came quick—two wolves that lunged from the undergrowth. Arthur's arrow dropped one mid-leap; the goblins swarmed the other, their crude spears and jagged teeth tearing fur and flesh until only a mangled carcass remained.
+30 XP
Arthur exhaled through his teeth, the whisper vibrating in his chest like a promise.
They pressed deeper. Snares he had set the night before yielded fat rabbits, each death punctuated by another whisper.
+5 XP+5 XP+5 XP
The goblins squabbled over scraps of meat until Arthur silenced them with a sharp kick. "Feed after the grind," he spat. "Not before."
By noon, the hunt had grown bloodier. A stag thundered through the brush, antlers sharp as lances. Arthur loosed two arrows—one struck deep in the chest, the other clipped its throat. The goblins leapt, shrieking, stabbing until the beast toppled.
+40 XP
Arthur wiped his brow, sweat and forest grit streaking his skin. He could feel it—the tally building, the weight in his chest tightening toward something inevitable.
Afternoon fell to dusk. The goblins moved like predators now, eyes bright, bodies trembling with frenzy. Together they dragged down a bear cub that had strayed from its den, then the mother that came crashing after, rage blinding her to the rain of spears and arrows that riddled her hide.
+60 XP
Arthur stood over the steaming bodies, chest rising and falling as the final whisper came—not a trickle this time, but a rush.
+200 XP[LEVEL UP]
His knees almost buckled. Heat seared through his body, a violent pulse that rattled his bones and sharpened his senses until every breath tasted of iron and life. His vision stretched, colors too vivid, sound too sharp. The system had branded him anew.
The goblins stared at him wide-eyed, shivering, as though they could sense the shift. One whimpered, ears flat, and knelt in the blood-soaked dirt. The others followed, pressing their foreheads low before their master.
Arthur's crooked smile returned. His fists clenched and unclenched, power thrumming in his veins. "Two hundred… and the lock broken. At last."
He looked down at the goblins, their green skin streaked with gore, their eyes glowing with mindless devotion.
"Good little monsters," he murmured, voice low and sharp. "You've served your purpose. Now… let's see how far this new strength carries me."
The night swallowed his words as he turned back toward the forest, three shadows crawling faithfully behind.