Ping… calculating levels based on EXP gained.
Synchronization in progress (97–98–99%)
EXP Gain:
Goblins (x7) — (300 × 10) = 21,000
Hobgoblin (x1) — (1,500 × 10) = 15,000
Total EXP Gained = 36,000
[Name: Sai]
Species: Human
Age: 17
Level: 19 [950/3700]
Mana: [1250/1250]
Skills:
Weapon Mastery (* → two-star)*
Passive:
Instinctive knowledge of any weapon wielded. Affinity and combat instincts are supplied directly to the user.
Weapon handling efficiency increased.
Weapon deterioration reduced; durability enhanced by 20%.
"Level nineteen already? From goblins?" I muttered, eyes glued to the floating interface. "No… not just goblins—seven of them, and a hobgoblin too. Still… this is broken."
The rush of power was intoxicating. I could feel it—the difference in my muscles, the sharper clarity in my perception, the subtle hum of mana resonating within my veins. This world wasn't just numbers on a screen. Leveling changed you, rewrote your body on a fundamental level.
And my skill—Weapon Mastery—had risen, too. I could tell just by holding my hand out, flexing my fingers. It wasn't conscious knowledge; it was something deeper, primal. Like my body remembered the weight of weapons I'd never even touched. Swords, spears, axes—they were already etched into me. My detection range had grown as well, a new twelve-meter radius where I could feel movement, almost like ripples in still water.
For a brief moment, I let the thrill drown me. My gaze danced across numbers, skill stars, possibilities. Then—
Rustle.
My eyes snapped open.
Footsteps. Faint, cautious, approaching steadily. They weren't heavy like a soldier's march, nor frantic like prey scurrying from a predator. No, these steps were deliberate. Sneaky, even.
My heartbeat spiked.
I forced my breathing to slow and listened, ears straining. The sound grew louder, closer. Someone—something—was creeping toward me.
"…Straw hut?" My voice cracked in sudden realization.
Only now did I take in my surroundings. Walls woven crudely from straw. A sagging roof that filtered in thin shafts of light. A lumpy bed made of bundled straw and stretched beast-hide.
Then the smell hit me. Gods. Sour, pungent, almost rancid. A mix of animal urine and something wilder, muskier. My stomach turned, bile rising in my throat. This wasn't a home. This was a den. A monster's den.
And I'm inside it.
The fabric curtain at the doorway stirred. Instinct surged. My body lowered, weight balanced on the balls of my feet, fists tightening. Ready to strike. Ready to kill.
The curtain drew back.
And what entered… wasn't what I expected.
A figure stepped through, carrying a straw basket brimming with herbs. Her hair, a soft caramel-brown, flowed past narrow shoulders. Her frame was slender, her waist trim, her form undeniably feminine. For a split second, my brain screamed human.
But then I saw it. The green skin. The fangs pressing against her upper lip. The inhuman warmth of her brown eyes, too deep and too wild to belong to a person.
A goblin…?
I didn't think. My fist shot forward, aimed to crush her skull before she could react.
Thud!
The basket tumbled to the ground, herbs scattering across the dirt floor. She dropped to her knees—not from my punch, but by her own will. Her body folded forward, forehead pressed to the earth.
A perfect dogeza.
My fist hovered in the air, trembling.
What the hell? A goblin… kneeling? Submitting?
Every story, every lecture back in the city was clear: goblins were pests, savage beasts that bred like vermin and murdered like demons. Humanity's natural enemy. And yet… here she was. Not snarling. Not lunging. Bowing.
Was it fear? A ploy? Some instinct to survive?
I should've ended it right there. I should've crushed her skull while I had the chance. But something in me… faltered.
"Shi—!"
Agony flared in my shoulder, cutting off my thoughts. I dropped to one knee with a strangled gasp. The old wound—where I'd been stabbed in that last fight—was tearing open again. Blood seeping hot down my arm.
And then—gentle hands. Trembling, but careful.
The goblin—no, she—peeled back the leaf that had been covering my injury. Beneath it, a green herbal paste clung to the wound, numbing the pain. Cooling it. My jaw unclenched as the throbbing dulled, my muscles loosening despite myself.
She… wasn't attacking. She was healing me.
Confusion clawed at my chest. Monsters weren't supposed to do this. Monsters weren't supposed to care.
"Appraisal," I whispered.
The world shimmered, information spilling into my vision.
[Name: Sheena]
Species: Goblina {NAMED}
Age: 19
Level: 21 [100/4100]
Job: Priestess lvl 12 [21/100]
Status: Servitude — sees you as her savior
Skills:
Class:
Goblin's Cry: Inflicts fear on weaker foes, summons nearby goblins.
Strong Right: Strengthens blows struck with the right hand.
Monster's Vow: Consuming flesh of enemies strengthens body; drinking blood enhances vigor and skill growth.
Job (Priestess):
Heal 10 {sealed}
Wall of the Priestess 10 {sealed}
Precognition 2
Aura Barrier 17
Intelligence 33
Speech 7
Reading (Passive) 2
Writing (Passive) 1
Loyalty: [77/100]
—Monsters bound by Servitude gain the Loyalty trait. The higher the value, the less likely they are to flee or betray.
0–20: Distrustful
21–40: Obedient
41–60: Loyal (wavering)
61–80: Servant
81–100: Slave
I sucked in a sharp breath.
So monsters weren't like us. Humans grew through skills and stars, while monsters advanced through their class and job. Their powers weren't refined techniques but primal abilities, shaped by their roles in the world. And yet… this one had something far more unusual.
Intelligence. Speech. Reading. Writing. All rare, unheard of for goblins. But she had them. Because she was named.
In every fantasy world I'd ever read about, named monsters were exceptions—unique, powerful, often capable of rising far beyond their kin. And Sheena was one of them.
Her hands continued wrapping my wound, binding it with a broad green leaf. Her touch was clumsy, but her intent was clear. She wanted to help.
Why? Out of gratitude? Out of fear? Because she believed I was her "savior"?
My mind was at war. One half screamed: She's a goblin. She's the enemy. Kill her before she kills you. The other half whispered: She saved you. She healed you. She's kneeling, not fighting. Can something like that really be called an enemy?
If I brought her back to the city, they'd butcher her without hesitation. To them, she'd never be anything but a monster. But here, now, in this foul-smelling hut—she was the only thing keeping me from bleeding out.
I exhaled, shaky. "Uh… thank you?"
Her lips curled into a hesitant smile. "Gru… bra… come."
I blinked. The words were broken, awkward. I only understood the last part—come.
Ding!
Linguistic Skill: ★ → ★★★
My eyes widened. Just by hearing and understanding her speech… my skill leapt two whole grades.
"My name is Sai," I said slowly, carefully. "And yours?"
She paused, as if the act of answering cost her effort. Then softly, clearly—
"Sheena."
The word hung in the air like a fragile thread, binding us together.
And for the first time since I'd arrived in this world, I wondered if "monsters" and "humans" were really so different after all.