The "Goblin Plains" outside the starter town were pure chaos.
Dozens of fresh players were running around screaming, swinging swords wildly at cackling green runts that barely reached their knees. It was embarrassing.
Elian stood at the edge of the tall grass, observing.
A warrior in shiny starter mail was trying to bash a goblin's head in. The goblin simply rolled between the warrior's legs and stabbed him in the ankle with a bone shiv.
"Argh! Help! It bites!" the warrior screamed, flailing.
Elian shook his head. No economy of motion. Too much wind-up. He's dead on Floor 10.
Elian drew his rusty dagger. The +20 Agility from the ring hummed in his veins.
He didn't run toward the solitary goblins near the front. He jogged past them, deeper into the field, towards a small campfire where three goblins were arguing over a charred rat.
Three against one at Level 1 was suicide.
Everyone knew that.
The goblins saw him approach. They shrieked, dropping the rat and grabbing crude wooden clubs.
Target A (Left): Aggressive. Will swing first.
Target B (Middle): Cautious. Hanging back.
Target C (Right): The Archer. The real threat.
Fifty years of combat data flooded Elian's mind. He didn't need to think; he just needed to execute.
Target A lunged, swinging the club in a wide, clumsy arc aimed at Elian's head.
In his first life, Elian would have panicked and raised his dagger to block. The club would have shattered his defense and stunned him.
This time, Elian just leaned two inches to the left.
Whoosh.
The club whistled harmlessly past his ear. The goblin overbalanced, stumbling forward.
Elian didn't stab it. Stabbing got the blade stuck in bone. Instead, he stepped inside the goblin's guard and drove the heavy brass pommel of his dagger into its temple.
THWACK.
[Critical Hit!]
The goblin's eyes rolled back, and it dropped without a sound.
One.
Target C, the archer, fumbled with a short bow. Elian was already moving. Thanks to the Ring of Swiftness, he covered the ten feet in two seconds flat.
The goblin barely got the arrow nocked before Elian's boot connected with its jaw.
CRACK.
The goblin spun in the air and hit the dirt, dissolving into light.
Two.
The middle goblin paused. It looked at its dead friends, then at the human who hadn't even broken a sweat. It snarled, trying to intimidate the small human with a thrust of its spear.
Elian didn't wait. He closed the distance.
He swatted the spear tip aside with his left hand and thrust with his right. The rusty dagger sank into the goblin's throat with a wet tearing sound.
[You have slain Goblin Runt (Level 2) x3!]
[Experience gained: 60]
[Ding!]
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 2!]
[All Stats +1. You have 5 unassigned Stat Points.]
Elian stood over the fading pixels, breathing hard. Not from exertion, but from the rush. The adrenaline of a body unused to violence.
He looked at his dagger. The rust was streaked with green blood. A hairline fracture had appeared near the hilt.
"Garbage," he muttered. "Durability is already at 3. It won't last another fight."
He needed a real weapon. And he knew exactly who was selling the best beginner sword in town—a smith who was secretly a retired master from the capital, hiding out in the starter zone.
Another hidden piece.
Elian sheathed the cracked dagger and turned back toward town.
As he walked past the entrance to the square, he saw her again.
The girl with the thick glasses and the mousy brown hair. Luna.
She was still sitting on her small wooden stool behind a meager display of red potions. She looked dejected. Other players walked right past her, buying from the loud, boisterous NPC merchants instead.
Elian stopped.
In his last life, he had walked past her too. He was too focused on his own climb, too obsessed with getting strong fast. He didn't meet her again until Floor 30, by which time she had hardened into a cold, cynical mercenary who trusted no one.
She died on Floor 75 shielding him from a fire demon's curse. Her last words to him were, "At least one of us should make it."
Elian clutched his chest. The phantom pain of a fifty-year-old wound throbbed.
Not this time, Luna.
He changed course. He wasn't going to the blacksmith yet.
Elian walked straight up to the small, sad potion stall.
Luna looked up, startled that someone had actually stopped. Her eyes behind the thick lenses were wide and timid.
"U-um, hello," she stammered, adjusting her glasses nervously. "Would... would you like a minor healing potion? They're... they're 5 copper each. It's a fair price, I swear."
Elian stared at her for a long moment. He didn't see the nervous girl. He saw the Archmage wrapped in flames, standing back-to-back with him against an army of undead.
He smiled. It was the first genuine smile he'd had since waking up.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin pouch he had looted from the goblins.
"I'll take them all," Elian said. "And... I have a job for you, if you're interested."