Snow wind whipped across the field, but Yggy felt none of it.
He broke into a run, boots hammering the ice-packed ground.
BAM!
His fist smashed into the face of the waiting goblin. The impact sent it flying, cleaver spinning loose from its grip. Not dead—maybe the level gap—but airborne and weaponless.
The others charged.
Yggy was already moving—snatching the cleaver mid-step, his body spinning in a full 360° slash. The blade tore through the bellies of two goblins, hot breath fogging from their gasps. A few managed to leap clear, but Yggy's eyes never left his first target.
Before it could hit the snow, he dashed in and swung—clean, fast.
The head dropped, rolling to a stop.
A panel flashed.
Congratulations — Level 2
Luck +2
"Level up just for luck?" Yggy whispered.
More goblins closed in. He spotted the corpse—tagged, like loot. Can I…?
He dashed forward instead of retreating.
"Looter Domain!"
Blue shimmer.
"Loot!"
A warning flickered—You cannot loot living objects. But the Book of Greed flipped, and on a fresh page, the sketch of the dead goblin formed in perfect lines.
[Update]
Str: 20 → 22
Dex: 12 → 15
VIT: 25 → 26
Int: 10 → 10.5
Yggy grinned in the middle of the chaos.
A goblin slash came low—he stepped in, maimed the legs, then took the head clean off. Loot. Stats rose again.
Yggy moved like a beast possessed.
One by one, the goblins fell and his stats grew higher for each looted dead body.
When they lunged, he slipped past with the smallest sidestep—steel flashing low at legs, then high at arms. A cleaver spun from his grip, burying itself in a chest; his hand was already reaching for another from the ground.
Even he couldn't believe it—his body was moving before thought, as if instinct itself had taken the reins. Years of tower runs had honed his evasion; as a looter, survival meant dodging death while others fought. Monsters had chased him before, sometimes even bypassing stronger adventurers just to maul the weakest target—him.
That experience now surged back with a razor edge. The boost in DEX made him more agile, more flexible—but the adeptness in combat went deeper than numbers. His mind was reading everything, feeding his body the perfect answer for every strike. Each movement felt weightless, as if his body was floating through the attacks, the rhythm of killing already etched into him.
It had always been there—buried beneath his function as a looter, never given the chance to shine—until now.
By the time the last one dropped, only scattered goblin blood and loot lay on the snow.
He muttered "Loot" like a spell being enchanted everything vanish on trace their was a battle here as the book of greed pages sketch the obtained loot
Loot Obtained:
20 Goblin Cleavers100 Gold CoinsGoblin LoinclothsFrosted Snots12 Human Fingers50 Bones10 Skull Necklaces10 Stones40 Frosted Leaves
Even the smallest thing had a tag. Frosted Snots read: Str +0.0001.
Yggy laughed. "Loot is loot."
He brushed it aside.
"Greed, update me."
Name: Yggy Medas
Aether Rank: (F)
Aether Proficiency: Level 5
Class: Criteria not met
Str: 55
Dex: 68
VIT: 45
Int: 20
Luck: 5
A new blue panel opened below the stats:
Floor Quest:
Defeat Enemies — (20/1000)Defeat the Boss of the Floor — (0/1)
He turned toward the path where he'd first seen the goblins.
"Let's go kill some more."
Then suddenly Yggy clenched his heart, fingers digging into his chest as if to hold it together before it burst.
The pressure was crushing, stabbing, spreading down his arm — a raw reminder of his body's weakness.
Did I push myself too much again? Never breathing…
"Fuck… I know, I got excited," he muttered through clenched teeth, knees threatening to give way.
Takotsubo cardiomyopathy… the word played on his mind, — broken heart syndrome. Not the poetic kind. The real kind, where stress twisted the heart's muscle until it swelled and warped like a balloon about to pop. Blood flow slowed, the rhythm faltered, and strength bled away. In a normal person, recovery could take days.
For someone like him — whose heart was the very engine that drove his Aether — even one attack could choke his power in half… or kill him outright.
Since he was little, it had been the hidden chain around his neck. Every time he amped things up, the heart would answer back, crushing his ribs from the inside.
He remembered Grandpa Junji's voice: You were born with a weak heart, Yggy. Don't let it stop you from what you want to do.
They had gone through countless doctors, each saying nothing in particular was wrong.
But Yggy knew better. In school they'd taught that the human heart is the engine that drives the Aether. Damaging it was like choking the brain that shaped it. No clean rhythm meant no clean manifestation. No wonder his ability felt bound by invisible chains.
He forced himself to breathe the way Grandpa had taught — slow in, slow out. The stabbing eased just enough for the haze to clear.
I have no time for this, his mind shouted. I need to go home.
His thoughts jumped to his siblings… and to sick Grandma Ysa.
He gazed forward — and smiled faintly.
"I guess no need to look," he said under his breath, "as they came for me."
A hundred goblins surged in front of him.
[Starting Stats — STR 55 | DEX 68 | VIT 45 | INT 20 | LUCK 5]
The first goblin lunged.
Yggy slipped inside its swing, cleaver slashing across its neck. His free hand ripped a frost-pendant from its corpse.
A faint pulse ran through his arms — sharper grip, quicker step.
Another charged from the side — low crouch, upward slash through its jaw. The body vanished mid-air, leaving behind a jagged dagger.
Another pulse. His vision felt wider — though the right side still swam faintly in blur, forcing his head to tilt just slightly to keep the threat in sharp view.
The third came screaming from his right — too fast for the bad eye to catch clearly — but his body had already moved.
Instinct took over, the cleaver hooking into its ribs before the thought even formed. The goblin vanished, an armguard landing in his free hand.
By the tenth kill, his footwork was snapping like a whip. Clang! Shlk! Shhh-crk! echoed in rapid succession, the vanish sound embedding itself into the goblins' fear.
Fifteenth kill — cleaver burying into a goblin's spine — the pulse that followed was heavier, deeper, pushing into his chest and core.
He sidestepped the next attacker before it even finished its step.
Twentieth kill — an icy warhorn stripped from cold hands — pulse again, sharper, faster.
Some goblins exchanged wary glances. They knew he wasn't slowing.
By the thirtieth kill, his attacks were flowing like water.
Every dodge slid into a counter, every counter into a loot snatch, every loot into another pulse.
The goblins at the front had started hesitating before closing in.
By the fortieth kill, the goblins at the front weren't snarling anymore — they were shuffling, eyes darting between the corpses and the man cutting through them.
From somewhere in the line, one frost-blooded goblin saw it clearer than the rest.
It had fought humans before — seen them get tired, seen their swings slow, seen their knees buckle.
But this one…
He's… faster than when he started.
The goblin's breath hitched as the silver-haired human carved through two more with a single spinning step — both bodies dissolving into nothing, their gear snatched mid-motion, only blood and spoils left to rain onto the ground. The air shimmered around him, and for a moment, the goblin swore his eyes glowed sharper.
Another one died — the man's arms flexed heavier, his steps landed sharper.
It was like each death fed him, and every heartbeat made him heavier to look at.
No… not fed. The goblin's stomach churned. We're building him.
It stumbled back, clutching its weapon tight, watching its kin fall and give the human more speed, more weight, more killing force.
Somewhere deep in its chest, instinct screamed the truth — they weren't just losing the fight.
They were manufacturing their own slaughter.
By fifty, the ground was slick with melted frost and blood.
Yggy's movements were almost unfair now — like the goblins were in slow motion.
They had started to swing wildly, panic replacing form.
Sixtieth kill — pulse again, stronger than the last. His breathing was steady; theirs was ragged.
Seventieth kill — goblins were openly backing away now, some stumbling over loots as his shadow fell over them.
Eightieth — they weren't even trying to surround him anymore. Clusters broke and ran, but he chased and cut them down mid-flight, looting in the same motion.
By the ninetieth kill, the field was unrecognizable — a slick graveyard of frost, steel, and blood.
Only a handful of goblins remained, clustered together like cornered prey.
One of them — its breath clouding in panicked bursts — could barely keep its grip on its sword.
The human wasn't even moving like prey or predator anymore.
He was moving like the storm itself — fast, cold, inevitable.
The goblin's mind scrambled for some kind of plan, some gap to exploit.
But every time he took one of theirs, they saw it — his arms flex heavier, his steps land sharper, his eyes cut colder.
The man was no longer fighting despite the corpses on the ground.
He was fighting because of them.
Another fell, and the sound that followed wasn't the thud of a body — it was the dull, soul-crushing pulse that made every survivor's knees weaken.
The goblin's throat tightened. It wanted to scream, but the air caught in its chest like ice.
When their weapons finally hit the ground, it wasn't a choice.
It was the body surrendering before the mind did.
The human didn't slow.
He stepped forward — cleaver low, eyes fixed — and the goblin knew in that instant that nothing they did could stop the thing they had helped create.
Hundredth kill — the last goblin tried to beg. The cleaver ended the sound, loot torn free before its body hit the ground.
[Final Stats — STR 205 | DEX 318 | VIT 145 | INT 70 | LUCK 7]
The battlefield went still except for his breathing.
The Looter System's final pulse didn't just fill his body — it made the air around him feel heavier, sharper, hungrier.
The goblins' mistake hadn't been charging him.
It had been staying long enough to feed him.
Yggy glanced at the blood-slick cleaver, spoils scattered across the white snow.
The field was no longer a frozen plain — it was a Looter's Domain, painted in the aftermath of slaughter, every weapon, charm, and shard a mark of his claim.
"Loot," he muttered.
The Book of Greed answered, pages flipping in a blur before a single sheet pressed itself open — the entire battlefield printed onto it exactly as his eyes saw, every item in its place, every drop of blood captured in ink.
The snow lay bare once more.
Name: Yggy Medas
Aether Rank: (F)
Aether Proficiency: Level 7
Class: Criteria not met
STR: 215
DEX: 325
VIT: 145
INT: 70
LUCK: 7
Book of Greed: 126/150 pages
Others
Warm Felt Inside a House
Immune to environmental effect as long as the Book of Greed holds 5 or more looted structures.
Yggy's eyes lingered on the line: Book of Greed: 126/150 pages.
"So there's a limit," he murmured, a slow smile curling at the edge of his lips.
"Twenty-four more to loot."
His gaze shifted forward.
Without hesitation, his feet began to move — as if something deeper in the floor was calling him.