Soren stood atop the Goblin King's corpse, his chest heaving and Labrys dripping with the foul green blood of the creature he had just slain.
The smell was thick, clinging to him despite the cool breeze drifting from outside the boss chamber.
Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging slightly, and he wiped it away with the back of his sleeve.
He withdrew Labrys from the creature's skull with a grunt.
A small chime of confirmation appeared in the corner of his vision.
[+30P]
The notification window blinked briefly, confirming what he already knew: the Goblin King was dead.
Hopping down from the massive body, his boots thudded softly against the cold stone, and he sank to his knees for a brief moment.
Leaning against the still-warm corpse, he inhaled deeply.
The stench of death, sweat, and damp mingled together, and for a moment, he almost gagged, but only almost.
He was starting to get used to it all.
Despite the Goblin King being a relatively weak boss by his standards, Soren's stamina had been severely taxed.
His fighting style demanded constant close-quarters engagement: dodges, parries and continuous swings of his handaxe, interspersed with bursts of magic to control the flow of battle.
It wasn't a question of skill; he had barely been challenged, but his body reminded him that even the easiest of fights left a mark.
Exhaustion gnawed at him like a silent predator, but there were no wounds to treat, no blood to patch.
Only the ache of muscles and the tension of nerves lingered.
Slowly, he rose, stretching methodically, rolling his shoulders and bending at the waist to release tension from his back.
He took a deep breath and felt the familiar surge of recovery as his stamina returned.
The room was silent, the roars of the Goblin King long gone; now all that remained were the occasional soft drip of water from the ceiling.
Soren's gaze settled on the throne, which loomed like a silent sentinel amidst the broken stones and debris.
He approached casually and slammed Labrys into the structure, shattering it.
Dust and splinters rose in the clouds around him, but the reward revealed itself immediately: a small stone box hidden beneath the seat.
Inside lay modest spoils: a couple of low-grade health potions, a mana stone, and a single glove.
He tossed the potions and mana stone into his inventory with a flick of his wrist, then studied the glove carefully.
Unfortunately, lacking the [Appraisal] skill, he couldn't read the item's information, its exact power remaining a mystery, but instinct told him it would be useful.
'Might as well equip it.'
He slid the glove onto his left hand and flexed his fingers experimentally.
Next, he turned his attention back toward the corpse of the Goblin King.
He retrieved the massive greataxe and severed the left ear, placing both items into his inventory.
Finally, he began the leisurely walk out of the boss chamber, taking stock of the day.
The pocket watch in his hand read late afternoon.
Barely an hour had passed since the fight began.
'Barely an hour, and I'm already this tired…'
Exiting the dungeon, Soren no longer staggered from the nauseating motion; he had grown accustomed to the sensation, enough to continue moving comfortably.
The sun greeted him like an old friend.
Carefully, he shed his remaining combat gear, leaving only his uniform, the glove and Labrys.
His body felt surprisingly light despite the prolonged exertion.
He stretched, took a sip from his canteen, and glanced at the sky.
The sun was still high, and plenty of time remained in the day.
'The Guild can wait. I can go back tomorrow…'
His thoughts drifted toward [Chimera], the unique skill that had fully awakened during the final exam.
With the Goblin King defeated, his left eye had returned to normal, but the twitching persisted whenever he focused his vision on mana.
The stronger the focus, the more the eye transformed, giving him a near-perfect perception of mana flow in his surroundings.
'What am I… really?'
The words lingered, unspoken, but the weight of them pressed against him like stone.
He remembered how his status window had a question mark next to 'human'.
Soren still wasn't sure what the identity of the transformations was, but with a skill name like [Chimera], he could easily determine that the identity was likely that of another race.
And with his knowledge, only one race fit the bill.
Spirits, beings composed entirely of mana, were able to manipulate it effortlessly.
They were transparent, ethereal, and completely integrated with the world.
His skill seemed to have the power to transform him partially into a spirit, not entirely, yet the potential was still staggering.
He shook his head softly, suppressing a chuckle.
'Soren, just what are you?'
Two unique skills, when most people didn't even have one.
And beyond that, both were strong.
It was strange.
The memories of the original Soren floated through his mind.
He had seen glimpses, from childhood to part of his adolescence, but nowhere did they hint at these powers.
Not once.
He sighed and settled his camp, unrolled the sleeping bag, and pitched his small tent.
The fire crackled as he prepared a simple meal: a slab of preserved meat and some bread, washed down with water from his canteen.
Thoughts flitted between the fight, the strange potential of his abilities, and the endless possibilities that awaited him outside the dungeon.
He let himself relax for a brief moment, closing his eyes and listening to the soft crackle and pop of the fire.
Then the sound came.
Faint at first.
A rhythm of footsteps that didn't belong to the wind or the trees.
Soren's eyes snapped open.
Not one. Not two. Many.
His mind sharpened instantly, his nerves tensing like coiled springs.
He snuffed out the fire, the smoke curling faintly into the air as he rolled up his sleeping bag and collapsed the tent into his inventory.
Labrys was already gripped firmly in his right hand.
His left palm formed a magic circle as it sat in his cloak pocket, careful to keep the glow concealed.
He crouched slightly, his ears straining to pick up the approaching rhythm, his eyes scanning the ridge line where the sound originated.
'Seven… or is it eight? They're moving together…'
Figures appeared over the ridge, stepping into the faint light of the late afternoon.
Eight men, their strides confident and their eyes fixed on him.
Recognition struck immediately: they were the same adventurers who had harassed him during his weeks at the Guild.
He adjusted his stance slightly, letting his left eye twitch as he began observing the faint flows of mana around them.
'Let's just watch for now,' he thought to himself.
He watched each step, each breath, each movement their muscles made.
Then, as the wind blew down his hood, the adventurers' eyes changed.
Their grins widened as they approached, their eyes sticky and full of greed.
Soren's stomach twisted, and his lips curved into a grimace, his hand tightening around the shaft of Labrys.
He had a bad feeling.
————「❤︎」————