Chapter 5 – First Blood
The forest was not peaceful.
Chris realized this within minutes of walking. What had seemed serene from the ground now felt oppressive. Every rustle of leaves made him flinch. Every snapping twig sent his heart racing. The trees loomed overhead like silent judges, their shadows stretching across the forest floor in ways that felt almost... alive.
They kind of are alive. To me, at least.
He gripped the iron sword tighter, knuckles white. The weapon felt foreign in his hands—too heavy, poorly balanced, completely unlike the elegant blades heroes wielded in novels.
Or the foils I used back in college.
The thought surfaced unbidden, bringing with it a wave of memories he'd buried long ago.
---
Four years ago.
The college gymnasium smelled like sweat and metal. Chris stood in his fencing gear, foil raised, facing his opponent across the piste.
"En garde!"
The clash of blades. The dance of footwork. Advance, retreat, lunge, parry. His body moved on instinct, years of training guiding every motion.
He'd loved it once. The precision. The strategy. The thrill of a perfectly timed riposte.
But then came graduation. Then came the job. Then came the endless cycle of spreadsheets and meetings and soul-crushing monotony.
The foil gathered dust in his closet. The passion faded into memory.
Just another thing he'd given up.
---
Chris shook off the memory, focusing on the present. That was then. This was now. And right now, he was holding an iron sword in a fantasy forest, not a foil in a gymnasium.
Still... the basics should be the same, right? Footwork, timing, distance management...
"Master, your heart rate is elevated. Are you frightened?"
"I'm not frightened," Chris muttered. "I'm... cautiously alert."
"Ah. So frightened, but with dignity."
"Do you ever shut up?"
"I can enable Silent Mode if you prefer, Master. Though you would miss my invaluable guidance."
Chris sighed. "Just... warn me if something's coming."
"Certainly, Master."
He continued forward, picking his way through the undergrowth. The forest seemed endless—trees in every direction, no paths, no landmarks. He had no idea where he was going.
Find civilization. That's the goal. There has to be a road somewhere.
A sound.
Chris froze.
It was faint—a rustling, different from the wind. Deliberate. Rhythmic.
Footsteps.
"Master. Movement detected. Thirty meters northeast."
Chris's blood ran cold. He ducked behind a thick oak, pressing his back against the rough bark. His breath came in shallow gasps.
Calm down. Calm down. You've read hundreds of novels. You know how this works.
He peeked around the tree.
And saw it.
A goblin.
It was smaller than he'd imagined—barely four feet tall, with sickly green skin covered in dirt and grime. Its head was too large for its body, dominated by pointed ears and a face that looked like someone had smashed it with a shovel. Yellow eyes darted around, scanning the forest. In its clawed hand, it clutched a crude wooden club studded with rusty nails.
Okay. Goblin. Low-level monster. Weak individually.
I can do this.
Probably.
The goblin sniffed the air, nostrils flaring. Its eyes narrowed.
Oh no.
It turned directly toward Chris's hiding spot.
Oh no no no.
"GRRAAAK!"
The goblin screeched and charged, club raised high. It moved faster than Chris expected, closing the distance in seconds.
Instinct took over.
But not the instinct of a scared office worker.
The instinct of someone who'd trained with a blade before.
Chris sidestepped, pivoting on his back foot. The goblin's club whistled past his face, missing by inches. The creature stumbled, momentum carrying it forward.
Opening.
Chris lunged, extending his arm just like he'd done a thousand times in practice. The iron sword wasn't a foil—it was heavier, clumsier—but his body remembered the motion.
The blade caught the goblin's shoulder, slicing a shallow gash.
"Observation, Master: Your fencing footwork translates reasonably well to sword combat. However, your grip is too tight—a habit from lighter weapons. Relax your fingers. Let the sword become an extension of your arm."
Thanks for the tip, Chris thought sarcastically. Really helpful mid-fight.
The goblin shrieked in pain and fury, spinning around. Its yellow eyes burned with hatred.
Chris raised his sword, falling into a defensive stance. Feet shoulder-width apart. Weight balanced. Blade positioned to parry.
Okay. Think. What do I know about goblins?
His mind raced through countless novels, games, and fantasy lore.
Weak individually. Dangerous in groups. Stupid but cunning. Go for vital spots—throat, eyes, heart.
The goblin lunged again, swinging its club in a wild horizontal arc.
Chris parried instinctively, deflecting the blow with the flat of his blade. The impact jarred his arm—this wasn't like deflecting a light foil thrust. The goblin was stronger than it looked.
"Master, your parry was effective but inefficient. Angle your blade to redirect force rather than absorbing it directly. This is not sport fencing—economy of motion is essential for survival."
Noted.
The goblin pressed its attack, swinging again and again. Chris retreated, parrying desperately, trying to find an opening.
This thing is relentless!
He ducked under a high swing, then countered with a slash aimed at the goblin's midsection. The blade connected—barely. It scraped across the creature's arm, drawing a thin line of dark blood.
I hit it. I actually hit it!
His triumph lasted half a second.
The goblin's club caught him in the ribs.
Pain exploded through his side. Chris staggered, gasping, nearly dropping his sword. The impact sent him stumbling backward into a tree.
"Master, you have sustained damage. HP: 78/100."
"Yeah, I noticed!" he wheezed.
"Additional observation: You dropped your guard after landing a hit. In fencing, a touch ends the bout. In real combat, overconfidence kills. Maintain focus until the enemy is neutralized."
Really? You're lecturing me NOW?
The goblin pressed its advantage, swinging wildly. Chris ducked, dodged, retreated—anything to avoid another hit. His training helped with footwork and timing, but the sword felt wrong in his hands.
I can't out-fight this thing. Not with pure swordsmanship. I'm too rusty, and this sword is too heavy.
But I have something else.
Shadows.
Chris's eyes darted to the ground. The afternoon sun cast long shadows from the trees—dark patches scattered everywhere.
Shadow Control.
He reached out with his mind, focusing on the darkness beneath the goblin's feet.
Move.
The shadow responded.
It surged upward like a living thing, wrapping around the goblin's ankles. The creature stumbled, screeching in confusion, clawing at the darkness binding its legs.
It worked!
"Shadow Control activated. MP: 45/50."
Now—finish it with the sword!
Chris lunged forward, remembering his training. Extend the arm first. Let the body follow. Drive forward with the legs.
The goblin twisted at the last second. The blade missed its throat but plunged into its shoulder instead. Dark blood sprayed across Chris's face and hands.
Damn! Not deep enough!
The goblin screamed—a horrible, ear-piercing sound.
It thrashed wildly, breaking free of the shadows. Its club swung in a desperate arc.
Chris tried to parry.
"Master, angle your blade—"
Too late.
The club grazed his leg, sending him crashing to the ground. Pain lanced up his thigh.
"HP: 61/100. Master, I recommend finishing this quickly."
"WORKING ON IT!"
The goblin loomed over him, wounded but enraged. Its yellow eyes burned with hatred. It raised its club for the killing blow.
No.
I didn't come to another world just to die to a goddamn goblin.
Chris grabbed a fistful of dirt and hurled it at the creature's face.
The goblin recoiled, clawing at its eyes.
NOW!
Chris surged upward, remembering every lesson he'd ever learned. Plant your feet. Drive from the legs. Extend through the target.
The blade punched through the goblin's chest.
The creature froze, eyes wide. A gurgling sound escaped its throat. Its club slipped from its claws, thudding softly on the forest floor.
Chris twisted the blade—just like the novels described.
The goblin went limp.
He yanked the sword free, and the creature crumpled, twitching once before going still.
Silence.
Chris stood there, chest heaving, covered in blood and dirt. His hands trembled. His legs felt like jelly.
I killed it.
I actually killed it.
[QUEST COMPLETE: First Blood]
The notification flashed before his eyes, bright and triumphant.
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ !! QUEST COMPLETE !! ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ ║
║ QUEST: First Blood ║
║ ║
║ Objective: Defeat your first monster ✓ ║
║ ║
║ Rewards: ║
║ - 50 XP ║
║ - Skill Point x1 ║
║ ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════╝
Chris let out a shaky laugh.
"I did it."
"Indeed, Master. Your fencing background proved more useful than anticipated, though your swordsmanship requires significant adaptation for real combat. The combination of blade work and shadow magic was effective, if inelegant."
"'Inelegant'? I just killed a monster with a rusty sword and magic I learned five minutes ago!"
"And you sustained unnecessary damage due to poor guard maintenance and overconfidence. Shall I compile a list of errors for your review?"
"Please don't."
"Very well, Master. Congratulations on not dying."
Chris shook his head, a weak smile tugging at his lips. The system was insufferable, but it was right. His swordsmanship was rusty—years of neglect had dulled his skills. If he wanted to survive in this world, he'd need to train. A lot.
Sword publicly. Shadows secretly.
That's the plan.
He looked down at the goblin's corpse, dark blood pooling beneath it.
But first...
Shadow Rise.
The thought came unbidden. He had the ability to raise this creature as a shadow servant. His first minion.
Should I?
He remembered the system's warning. Necromancy was forbidden. Punishable by death in most kingdoms.
But he was alone in the forest. No witnesses. No one to judge.
And he needed every advantage he could get.
"System," he said quietly. "How does Shadow Rise work?"
"Shadow Rise allows you to resurrect a defeated creature as a shadow servant, Master. The servant retains partial abilities of its original form but is composed entirely of shadow. It will obey your commands absolutely."
"And the cost?"
"30 MP per summon. The servant persists until destroyed. You may currently maintain one servant at a time."
One servant. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Chris took a deep breath, focusing on the goblin's corpse.
Shadow Rise.
Darkness gathered.
It seeped from the ground, from the trees, from every shadow nearby. Tendrils of pure blackness coiled around the goblin's body, wrapping it like a cocoon.
Chris watched, mesmerized and horrified.
The corpse began to dissolve, flesh and bone melting into the darkness. The shadows consumed everything—blood, muscle, even the crude club—until nothing remained but a pool of writhing blackness.
Then it rose.
The shadow took shape, reforming into a vaguely goblin-like figure. But this was no ordinary goblin. Its body was pure darkness, semi-transparent, edges flickering like smoke. Where its eyes should have been, two points of pale purple light glowed with eerie intensity.
It stood motionless, waiting.
"Shadow Rise successful. MP: 15/50."
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ SHADOW SERVANT OBTAINED ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ ║
║ Name: Shadow Goblin ║
║ Rank: F ║
║ ║
║ Abilities: ║
║ - Basic Combat ║
║ - Enhanced Stealth (Shadow Form) ║
║ ║
║ Loyalty: Absolute ║
║ ║
║ Note: Servant will follow all commands ║
║ without question. ║
║ ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════╝
Chris stared at his creation.
It was creepy. Unsettling. Wrong, in a way that made his skin crawl.
And it was his.
"Can you understand me?" he asked.
The shadow goblin tilted its head, purple eyes flickering. It made no sound, but Chris felt something—a faint acknowledgment, like a whisper at the edge of his mind.
Yes.
"Holy crap," he breathed. "It actually works."
"Did you doubt me, Master?"
"Little bit, yeah."
"Your lack of faith is noted and ignored."
Chris laughed—a genuine, relieved laugh. He was alive. He'd won his first fight. He had a shadow servant.
This is insane.
This is amazing.
His legs wobbled, but he forced himself to remain standing.
Not yet. I need to practice first.
Chris looked at the iron sword in his hand, still stained with dark blood. His grip was wrong—too tight, just like the system said. His stance had been sloppy. His movements predictable.
I got lucky. The shadows saved me. But I can't rely on them all the time—not in public.
If I want to survive as a swordsman, I need to actually BE a swordsman.
He found a small clearing nearby and planted his feet.
Okay. Back to basics.
Chris raised the sword, falling into a basic guard stance. Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent. Blade held at chest level, point aimed forward.
"Master, your stance reflects your fencing training. While effective for thrusting attacks, it leaves you vulnerable to wide slashes common in this world's combat style. I recommend widening your base and lowering your center of gravity."
Chris adjusted, following the instruction. It felt strange—different from what he'd learned—but the system knew this world better than he did.
"Better. Now, your grip. Fencing foils are light, designed for precision. This sword requires more force. Loosen your last two fingers and let the blade's weight work for you."
He adjusted again, feeling the difference immediately. The sword felt less like a foreign object and more like a tool.
Okay. Now practice.
He began to move, practicing basic cuts and thrusts. The sword was heavy, clumsy, but with each repetition, it felt slightly more natural.
Slash. Return to guard.
Thrust. Return to guard.
Parry left. Parry right. Counter.
"Your muscle memory from fencing is adapting well, Master. However, remember: This is not sport. There are no rules, no points, no protective gear. Every strike should be lethal. Every defense should create an opening for counterattack."
Kill or be killed.
Chris nodded grimly, continuing his practice.
Fifteen minutes later, his arms burned and sweat dripped down his face. But he felt better—more confident. The sword was starting to feel like an extension of his arm rather than a foreign object.
It's not enough. Not nearly enough. But it's a start.
He looked at the shadow goblin, still standing motionless nearby.
Swordsman publicly. Shadow powers secretly. That's how I'll survive.
And when I'm strong enough...
I'll combine them.
The thought sent a thrill through him. Imagine it—blade and shadow working together. Distracting enemies with darkness while cutting them down. Teleporting behind foes and striking from the shadows.
Someday.
But not today. Today, he was just a weak F-rank nobody with rusty skills and a creepy minion.
One step at a time.
His legs finally gave out.
Chris collapsed against a tree, sliding down until he sat on the forest floor. Every muscle ached. His wounds throbbed. Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave.
"Master, your HP is at 61/100. I recommend rest and recovery."
"Yeah," Chris mumbled, eyes growing heavy. "Good idea."
The shadow goblin stood nearby, silent and watchful. It made no move to approach, simply waiting for orders that wouldn't come.
Chris looked up at the canopy, sunlight filtering through the leaves. His first day in Eldoria, and he'd already nearly died.
But I didn't.
I survived.
A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion take him.
Just a short rest...
[End of Chapter 5]