Night wind howled across the cliffside, sharp enough to sting the cuts on my arms. My knees trembled—not from fear, but from the number of times I had already hit the ground and forced myself back up. Blood trickled along my jawline, warm and persistent. My breathing came in ragged bursts, each one scraping my throat.
And surrounding me—from front, back, left, right—were goblins.
Dozens of them.
Pairs of red eyes gleamed in the darkness like scattered embers. Their snarling grew louder, rising and falling like an ugly chorus. Crude blades, chipped axes, and splintered spears pointed straight at me. For a moment, their bodies shifted, parting like a curtain.
From the center lumbered the biggest one. A deep forest-green hide, swollen muscles, and a towering frame that made the others look like children. Bones clicked against his armored chest with every step. Atop his head sat an oversized skull helm, cracked but imposing. Trinkets made of sinew, feathers, and talismans clattered around his neck—each one a symbol of status.
The shaman.
Their leader.
My current problem.
He grinned with jagged, yellow teeth, eyes dripping with smug triumph.
I stared back at him, bloodied, battered, sword trembling in my hand.
"Despite all my ramblings," I muttered dryly, "here I am… face-to-face with my death bringer."
My throat tightened, but not from fear—mostly from the absolute absurdity of the situation.
You might be wondering:
How did I end up like this?
Why was a horde of violent, hygiene-challenged goblins frothing at the mouth to tear me apart?
Simple.
"Well," I said, raising a finger as if giving a lecture, "I may have… sort of… borrowed something."
The shaman let out a guttural roar, shaking his bone ornaments as the horde around him screeched.
I sighed.
And so—
***
Five hours earlier
Silence pressed down on me like a wet blanket.
I wasn't sure how long I sat there—knees hugged loosely, staring at nothing, letting the weight of reality settle on my shoulders. Time in this world had a strange way of stretching out, as if the forest itself wanted me to marinate in my own misery.
Finally, I let out a breath.
The kind that feels scraped out of your lungs.
"…There's nothing I can do about it anyway."
The words came out flat, but honest.
Cruelly honest.
The system had made its decision.
This body, this trait, this starting point—they were all locked in place.
There was no divine reset button, no GM ticket to appeal with, no save file to reload.
Empty Vessel.
A trait that practically screamed, "Good luck, idiot."
I leaned back, staring through the canopy where thin slivers of light trickled between branches. They looked like threads—threads of fate, if I wanted to be poetic.
Ironically, my thread felt like it had already frayed.
Still… wallowing wasn't going to get me anywhere.
"So let's… just do our best to survive."
I pushed myself upright. My legs protested with loud cracks—like old furniture complaining after years of neglect. An appropriate soundtrack for someone who was mentally eighty years old inside a young body.
I wiped dirt off my palms and exhaled again.
Alright. Inventory. Priorities.
With a gesture, the system panel unfolded. Its faint blue glow washed over the clearing, illuminating the harsh truth of my situation.
Light beginner armor:
Thin. Cheap. The kind of gear that belonged on tutorial NPCs designed to die for dramatic effect.
Crude sword:
A chunk of metal shaped by someone who hated craftsmanship. Probably called itself a "weapon" only because it didn't want to admit the truth.
Thirty silver coins:
The universe's way of saying, "Buy yourself something nice… like a loaf of bread."
I sifted the coins through my fingers. The silver felt cold, almost mocking.
"Thirty silvers… Honestly, I'm practically penniless."
In E.F.O, thirty silvers couldn't buy a healing potion, much less a future.
If I walked into a city now, I'd look like a runaway NPC who picked the wrong day to spawn. Surviving a week would be optimistic. A month? Impossible.
And I didn't have time to live on scraps.
I didn't come to this world just to drift.
I had a goal far more important than personal comfort.
"No… I need to get stronger. Quickly."
Because the story would move sooner or later.
And when it did—
when the lines of fate aligned, when the routes opened, when the characters stepped into their roles—
I had someone I needed to meet.
Someone who had filled years of my life.
Someone whose pixelated existence mattered more to me than anything real ever had.
"Since I'm stuck in this situation because of her," I said quietly, "I should at least… take responsibility."
The wind rustled the branches above, as though the forest was whispering some cryptic encouragement.
I sheathed the crude sword at my waist, ignoring how unbalanced it felt.
"To be honest… getting a monster core might not even be that hard."
Even I blinked at my own optimism.
But the thought wasn't baseless.
Not entirely.
I took a slow, measured look around—scanning the moss patterns, the terrain dip, the faint concentration of ether that lingered in the air. My memory pieced each element together like a map overlay.
"There's a goblin settlement nearby."
The air seemed to chill at the words.
Not a harmless camp.
Not a tiny pocket dungeon.
No—that settlement.
A beginner trap notorious across the E.F.O community.
A dungeon with a mortality rate so high that players joked the entrance should come with a gravestone.
It was high risk, high reward—accessible only to those who reached it immediately after spawn.
And deep within it lay a special core. A core players fought tooth and nail for.
A core that could give me the momentum I desperately needed.
Was it stupid to challenge it now?
Absolutely.
Reckless. Insane.
The sort of decision people wrote fanfiction about after the character died tragically.
My only early-game "advantage" was technically a debuff.
No mana.
No spells.
Just a body filled with nature's mana pollution.
"Trying to infiltrate a lethal dungeon with no combat ability…"
I sighed.
"…Yeah. That's definitely on-brand for me."
But here was the twisted logic behind my plan:
"If I get lucky, I might not need to fight at all."
After all, in a game with millions of players, there will always be someone who decides to break the rules.
That someone was Paldo123, a legend in the E.F.O community.
A man whose sanity was questionable, but whose skill was not.
His "Pacifist Route" streams were famous—him gliding through high-level dungeons without killing a single enemy.
Relying purely on timing, stealth, map abuse, and a deep understanding of monster behavior.
I remembered watching him slip past boss monsters like a passing shadow, muttering calculations and probabilities as thousands of viewers spammed emotes.
And because E.F.O had permadeath in many scenarios, his methods became gospel.
Players studied them like scriptures.
I wasn't just one of them.
I was a devout believer.
"I reviewed his runs so many times I could probably recite them in my sleep."
I rubbed my chest lightly.
And then there was my trait.
Empty Vessel.
A curse, yes—but with one hidden blessing:
Undetection.
Because I lacked a mana core—a fundamental signature of life—the ambient mana in the air flooded my body.
Blurring me... Masking me... Turning me into a gap in reality.
Magic detection?
Mana scanning?
Shamanic vision?
All useless.
"On the eyes of a mage I don't exist," I said quietly. "Which means even the shaman can't detect me."
And that mattered.
Because the goblin shaman was the true threat. The eyes of the village. The alarm system.
With him unable to sense me, half the danger evaporated.
"Hobgoblins are another issue," I muttered. "Their sense of smell is strong, but… thankfully, they're unbelievably stupid."
Stupid enough that with a bit of timing and misdirection, I could slip past them.
Perfect conditions for someone desperate…
or foolish enough to gamble with their life.
And unfortunately for me—
I was both.
I drew in a slow breath, grounding myself.
"Alright," I whispered. "Empty Vessel or not… this is where things start."
Behind me, the pond shimmered softly.
Its surface reflected my silhouette—thin, unarmed, uncertain.
A nobody.
A perfect beginning for a story.
I stepped away from the water, into the forest's shadowed embrace.
Toward danger.
Toward opportunity.
Toward the dungeon that would either grant me a future—
—or take everything from me before noon.
Either way, it was still a start.
***
The deeper I walked, the thicker the forest grew. Branches clawed at my sleeves like skeletal fingers, and damp moss swallowed every step. The scent of rot hung heavy in the air—wet leaves, old bark, something half-dead. It felt like the forest itself was warning me to turn around.
But the real warning came when the wind shifted.
Smoke. Ash. Rotten meat.
Goblins.
I sank into a crouch and slipped behind a fallen log. Through the ferns, a faint orange glow pulsed—firelight. Their settlement.
My breathing slowed automatically, a trained rhythm of quiet inhalations. The terrain dipped into a natural basin, trees closing around it like crooked ribs. The goblins had turned the bowl-shaped clearing into a cramped village of scavenged boards and bone-spiked fences. A bonfire crackled in the center, spitting embers into the smoky air.
Dozens—maybe fifty—goblins moved through the chaos. Smaller ones fought over scraps. Larger ones patrolled with rusty blades. And hulking near the bigger huts were hobgoblins—towering brutes with drooling jaws and sharp, predatory gazes.
I scanned the crowd for the real threat.
The shaman.
If he sensed me, the run was over before it began. No second chances.
Luckily… nothing. No mana flare. No chanting. No creepy eye-glow.
Good. My trait's hidden effect was doing all the heavy lifting—rendering me effectively undetectable to magic.
Of course, "undetectable" came with a price.
Empty Vessel wasn't exactly the recommended pick for stealth operations. Sure, it made me magically invisible—but it also meant zero spells of my own. Most players just picked Touched by Shadow or Spatial Adept: same stealth perks, plus spatial awareness and at least a little magic utility.
But I didn't get luxury picks.
So instead, I had to do what I always did.
Make a plan that shouldn't work… and force it to.
Paldo123's old blueprint echoed in my head—a detailed infiltration route based on blinking and micro-teleports. Too bad I couldn't blink. Or teleport. Or even sparkle.
Unless I suddenly became the fastest man alive, moving unseen only by speed was impossible.
If it were just goblins, I'd leap right in. But hobgoblins?
Different story. Enhanced senses, wider detection cones, and a lovely habit of immediately screaming bloody murder to the shaman.
So I needed a gap. A distraction. Anything.
"Okay. Think," I whispered to myself. "No direct confrontation. No heroics. I need one moment—just one—where those brutes look away."
Then I saw it.
A lone goblin squatting outside the tents, happily gnawing on something unidentifiable. Its jaws made wet, disgusting smacks as it tore flesh from the bone.
"…Looks like someone stole dinner," I muttered.
Good. A noisy goblin was a blind goblin.
I crept closer, staying low. Leaves brushed my cheek. Dirt dampened my palms. The creature's crunching and snorting covered my approach well enough—
Until its nose twitched.
It sniffing forward trying to catch a glimpse of a tasty humans scent I who was behind him would be definitely seen if it just look at it's back
I froze. Breath locked. Muscles stone-still.
If it made a single noise…
If it even squeaked…
This entire settlement would collapse on me like a green tidal wave.
The goblin sniffed again.
And, miraculously, shrugged.
Then it went back to chewing.
Thank you, Empty Vessel, I thought dryly.
Two steps.
One more.
Then—
My arm snapped around its jaw, wrenching the head back as my dagger slid cleanly into its neck. A choked sputter tried to escape, but my palm erased the sound.
"Shh," I murmured. "Don't ruin this for both of us."
The body struggled, then slumped. I didn't savor it. Time was bleeding out faster than the corpse.
The hobgoblins would smell this.
They always did.
I dragged the goblin's body away from the village, far enough for the scent to pull them off their posts. Then I stabbed open its chest, scattering its innards across the dirt. Messy, but effective.
I swapped my blood-splattered clothes for fresh beginner gear from my inventory. If any scent lingered, I was done.
Any moment now, the brute should notice—
A deep roar ripped through the air.
Got him.
I slipped back toward the settlement, moving cover to cover as the patrols shifted.
Left. Pause.
Right. Step over the twig.
Slide behind the rotting barricade.
My body moved like I'd practiced this route for years. And I had—thanks to Paldo's video.
"To be stealthy is just to stand where they'd never expect you."
A goblin patrol rounded a hut, far closer than predicted. Three of them. All sniffing.
I froze.
Their eyes drifted past me as if I were part of the dirt.
I let out a silent breath. "Still good."
Deeper I went.
There—the largest hut. Leather reinforced with bones. The shaman's nest. And inside, the stone I needed more than anything:
**The early-game mana amplification core.**
For a normal player, rare loot.
For someone with no mana core of their own?
Life.
I crouched behind the tent and pressed my dagger to the leather. Slow slice. Minimal sound. A slit opened.
Inside, the shaman knelt before an altar, muttering guttural chants. A skull helm hid its face, beads and feathers rattling as it bowed. On the altar:
A small yellow stone, pulsing faintly.
As if calling to me.
"Found you…"
I waited… moments later a loud cry I had been waiting for rang out
"URRAAAAAAAHHH!!"
The hobgoblin's roar shook the entire basin.
Finally noticed the body.
The shaman stormed outside, screaming curses that roughly translated to:
"Which fungus-brained idiot disrupted my ritual?!"
Perfect timing.
With the guards distracted and the shaman busy threatening everyone, the tent stood empty for the first time all night.
I slipped inside.
The air was thick with incense and mana residue—heavy, oily stuff that clung to my lungs. I didn't waste a heartbeat. The altar was right there, the yellow stone pulsing with a soft, almost gentle glow.
Up close, it looked harmless.
Too harmless.
"Alright… no traps, no links, no—"
The moment my fingers brushed it—
The glow spiked.
Not bright nor warm.
Violent.
The stone let out a high-pitched, keening vibration, like metal screaming against metal. The air around it warped, distorting like heat mirage—then snapped outward in a shockwave.
"Wait—shi—!"
The blast hit me like a battering ram.
I flew backward, slammed into bone-plated wall, and felt the breath crushed out of my chest. My ears rang with a ruptured, painful buzz. Sparks danced in my vision.
Worse—
the stone didn't stop.
It pulsed again.
Louder.
A blinding flare shot through the tent, punching a beam of light straight out of the roof like a signal flare announcing:
SOMEONE. TOUCHED. THE. SHAMAN'S. CORE.
Outside, the entire camp went dead-silent for one impossible second.
Then—
URRRRRAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!!!
Goblins shrieked.
Hobgoblins roared.
The forest itself vibrated from the sudden frenzy.
A dozen footsteps thundered toward the tent.
The shaman's voice rose above all of them—raw, furious, and murderous.
"GRRREEEAAK–SHRAAAAK!!"
A curse.
A threat.
And a promise of dismemberment, probably in that order.
Pain throbbed through my ribs as I scrambled up. My hands shook. My legs almost buckled. The blow hadn't just knocked me back—it nearly flattened me.
And yet, despite all that…
The core lay perfectly still now, the glow settling into a soft thrum. It must have been recognizing a new holder—or just malfunctioning.
Either way, I didn't get to question it.
I lunged forward and grabbed it with both hands this time.
No blast.
No pulse.
Just a cold, steady hum.
Outside, multiple shadows closed around the front entrance.
No time.
I spun, found the back seam of the tent where the bones were weakest, planted my foot, and kicked straight through. The leather tore open. Splinters scattered.
I dove out into the night just as the shaman ripped open the front flap, screeching bloody murder.
And just like that, the entire camp exploded into a manhunt for me.
-----
✦ End of Chapter.