The goblin never got the scream out.
The moment its chest expanded, Osric moved.
Iron flashed.
There was no hesitation—no conscious decision to draw, no time to think about angle or force. His body simply acted. The sword came up and down in a single, smooth arc, cutting cleanly through green flesh and bone.
The goblin's head left its shoulders.
The body folded where it stood, dagger slipping from limp fingers as it collapsed soundlessly into the leaves.
Osric stood frozen, sword still extended, breath caught halfway in his chest.
His heart slammed hard enough to hurt.
'…I did that.'
The realization hit a heartbeat later than the action itself. His hands trembled faintly around the hilt, adrenaline surging hot through his veins. He forced himself to turn.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
The hobgoblin was no longer playing.
It still stood in the clearing—but now its head was raised, eyes locked directly onto him. Those eyes weren't wild or confused.
They were focused.
Aware.
The shortsword in its hand tilted just slightly, grip tightening as its lips pulled back to reveal teeth stained dark with blood.
Osric felt cold spread through his chest.
'It saw.'
There was no time to think. No time to weigh options.
Combat Instinct screamed.
Run.
Osric turned and bolted the instant the thought formed, legs driving him forward with everything he had. Branches lashed at his face as he tore through undergrowth, breath tearing in and out of his lungs. Pain flared in his ribs, sharp and immediate, but he ignored it.
Behind him, something heavy crashed through the forest.
Fast.
Too fast.
The ground shook with each pounding step as the hobgoblin gave chase, its movements brutal and efficient, branches snapping instead of slowing it. Osric didn't look back. He couldn't afford the fraction of a second it would take.
As he ran, a familiar pressure surged at the edge of his vision.
Blue light flared.
A voice echoed in his mind—clear, emotionless, absolute.
[ Challenge Activated ]
Osric didn't slow.
Didn't read.
Didn't dare.
Whatever the system wanted, it would have to wait.
Right now, there was only one objective that mattered.
Survive.
He dug deeper, forcing more speed from legs already screaming in protest, lungs burning as the forest blurred around him. Roots threatened to trip him. His injured leg sent a spike of pain up his side.
And still the pounding behind him didn't fade.
The hobgoblin was coming.
And Osric was running out of forest.
Osric ran until the world narrowed to breath and pain.
Branches clawed at his face and arms as he tore through the undergrowth, boots slipping on damp leaves and loose soil. His injured leg screamed every time it struck the ground wrong, sending sharp flashes up his side, but he didn't slow. He couldn't.
Behind him, the forest shattered.
The hobgoblin didn't move like a beast scrambling blindly through trees. It barreled forward with brutal efficiency, smashing through brush that should have slowed it, its heavy footfalls hammering closer no matter how wildly Osric twisted his path.
He vaulted a fallen log without thinking—his body moving before his mind caught up—and landed badly on the other side, pain flaring white-hot up his leg. He nearly went down.
Nearly.
Combat Instinct dragged him upright and shoved him forward again, choosing direction when panic would have frozen him. Left. Down. Then sharply right, where the ground dipped and roots broke the pattern of his steps.
The pounding didn't fade.
If anything, it grew louder.
Osric's lungs burned. His vision blurred at the edges. He tasted blood.
Then stone loomed ahead.
The watchtower.
He didn't stop to question it.
Osric veered toward the ruined structure and reached it with legs shaking violently, hands slapping against cold, moss-slick stone as he scrambled up the collapsed outer wall. His fingers slipped once—twice—before he found purchase, hauling himself higher while his ribs screamed in protest.
Below, something roared.
The sound was furious.
Frustrated.
Osric climbed until his arms trembled uncontrollably, then pressed himself flat against the broken upper section of the tower, mud and stone biting into his skin. He didn't breathe. He didn't move.
Seconds stretched.
Then minutes.
The crashing below slowed… then stopped.
Osric risked a glance down.
The clearing was empty.
His heart didn't slow. Not yet.
He waited longer than felt safe. Longer than felt possible.
Only when his legs began to cramp did he lower himself carefully, descending on shaking limbs. The moment his boots touched the ground, he turned and ran again—forcing speed back into exhausted muscles.
For nearly a minute, there was nothing.
Hope flickered.
Then the forest exploded behind him again.
The hobgoblin burst from the trees with a snarl, having circled wide instead of giving up. It hadn't lost him.
It had learned.
Osric's stomach dropped.
But this time, there was distance.
Not much—but enough.
Enough for one last gamble.
He veered sharply downhill, following a faint slope until his foot plunged into cold sludge. Mud sucked at his boot, nearly stealing it, but Osric forced himself forward and then deliberately sank.
The puddle was huge—stagnant water mixed with rotting leaves and thick, black mud.
He didn't hesitate.
Osric submerged himself fully, smearing mud across his face, hair, clothes, pressing down until only his nose remained above the surface. He took one final breath—
And slipped under.
The mud closed over him.
Darkness. Silence. Cold.
His lungs burned almost immediately. His heart thudded painfully as seconds stretched thin and terrifying. He fought the urge to gasp, to thrash, to flee—
Then the ground trembled.
Heavy steps circled the puddle.
Something sniffed.
Osric stayed still.
Pain screamed through his ribs. His injured leg twitched involuntarily. Panic clawed at his chest—but Combat Instinct held him down, firm and absolute.
Not yet.
The steps moved away… then returned.
Closer.
Osric's vision sparkled as his lungs screamed for air.
Wait.
Then—nothing.
The steps faded.
Silence returned.
Only when the pressure eased—only when that internal certainty loosened its grip—did Osric slowly rise from the mud, lifting his face just enough to breathe.
He didn't stand.
He crawled.
Inch by inch, Osric dragged himself through dense underbrush, choosing only the thickest bushes, the deepest shadows. Mud coated him completely now—masking scent, dulling sound. Every movement was deliberate. Every breath controlled.
This wasn't escape.
It was disappearance.
Time lost meaning.
He crawled until his arms shook, until his leg felt like dead weight, until his thoughts slowed to sensation alone. Only when light shifted differently through the trees—when the forest thinned and the ground hardened beneath his palms—did he stop.
The forest edge.
Osric lay there, face pressed into dirt, breathing like he'd been drowning.
He didn't move for a long time.
Only when he was certain—truly certain—that nothing followed did he allow himself to roll onto his back.
The sky looked impossibly wide.
Blue light flickered into view.
This time, he read it.
[Challenge Completed]
[Reward Granted]
Combat Instinct (E) — Minor Progress
+1 Stamina
New Skill Acquired: Heightened Senses (F)
Osric let out a broken laugh that turned into something dangerously close to a sob.
"…That's it?" he whispered hoarsely.
Then his body started shaking.
Mud dripped from him as he sat up, revealing torn cloth beneath—his tunic shredded, skin scraped raw in dozens of places. Thin lines of blood traced down his arms and legs. His injured leg throbbed fiercely now, every pulse a reminder of how close it had come to failing him.
But the worst wasn't physical.
Osric pressed a shaking hand to his chest.
Fear lingered there—cold, heavy, suffocating.
He had never been that scared before.
Not when he'd been beaten half to death.
Not when he'd thought he would bleed out in the dirt.
This was different.
This was being hunted.
It took a long time before he could stand.
When he finally did, he was still rattled—but beneath the fear, something else had settled in deeper.
Resolve.
He had survived a D-rank monster.
Not by strength.
Not by luck.
By knowing when to run—and how.
Osric wiped mud from his eyes and turned toward the distant road.
"…I'll get stronger," he murmured.
Not loudly.
But with certainty.