With each passing second, Raven forced himself to stay calm, taking deep, steadying breaths. He had come too far to let doubt creep in now. "He could do this. He had to." The growth he'd achieved over the past few days wasn't for nothing—it had strengthened him, built his confidence, and prepared him for this exact moment. This was his first mission, after all. The system wouldn't throw him into something impossible… right?
Soon the preparation ended and Raven barely had time to brace himself before an overwhelming force ripped him out of reality. His surroundings blurred, his stomach twisted, and in the next instant—
**THUD.**
He crashed "hard" onto the cold, damp earth, his lungs struggling to draw in air.
Pain spread through his body, but his mind barely registered it. He was dazed, confused.
Then he remembered—the quest.
**Survive the Hunt Fest.**
His breath hitched as he looked around.
"Where am I?"
The system had given him no details. No explanation of what the "Forest of Death" actually was.
Just the name.
And now?
He was here, alone.
A deep unease crept through him. The air was thick, heavier than it should have been, filled with something foul—something wrong. The ground beneath him was damp, slick with moisture that smelled of rot.
Massive trees loomed over him, their tangled branches twisting unnaturally—almost as if they were alive, watching. Their dark bark had cracks pulsing with a sickly glow, spreading like veins beneath the surface.
A thin layer of mist crawled across the forest floor, swirling eerily with every movement.
Silence hung in the air.
But it wasn't the kind that brought peace.
It was the kind that suffocated.
The kind that warned.
Raven shuddered, his instincts screaming at him to stay alert.
Yet, despite the oppressive atmosphere, there was nothing here.
No monsters.
No sounds—except for his own uneven breathing.
He moved cautiously, his footsteps barely making a noise against the damp earth. His pulse pounded, his senses strained, trying to pick up anything—any movement, any hint of what lurked in this place.
But there was nothing.
And somehow… that made it worse.
A strange weight pressed down on him, an unexplainable dread curling around his thoughts.
Was he truly alone?
Was there someone watching him?
Minutes turned to hours as he cautiously explored, familiarizing himself with the landscape, yet never lowering his guard.
He passed poisonous plants—some with vibrant, deceptive colors, others writhing as if eager to strike. He saw insects, grotesque things with bloated bodies oozing toxins.
Everything screamed danger.
Yet still—no monsters.
Had he been thrown into the wrong place?
Then… he felt it.
A shift in the air.
The silence was **broken**—not with sound, but with a sensation.
The feeling of being **watched**.
A chill crawled down his spine. The hair on his arms stood on end.
But Raven saw nothing.
His heartbeat quickened. He turned, scanning the treetops, the shadows between the branches—yet the forest remained empty.
Then, the whisper of movement.
Not a single creature.
Not a pair of eyes.
But "hundreds".
From the darkness, figures emerged.
Twisted, hunched bodies. Glowing, mad eyes.
**Goblins.**
They had been watching him all along.
Their grins stretched unnaturally wide, jagged teeth exposed as they snickered in delight.
Raven's throat dried.
Not just one goblin.
Not even a dozen.
There were too many to count.
His legs moved before his mind could process it.
**RUN.**
He bolted, his breath ragged, his pulse hammering.
The goblins sprinted after him, shrieking and growling like rabid beasts.
They didn't run normally—they zigzagged, jumped across rocks and twisted through trees, their movements unnatural and erratic.
Arrows whizzed past, narrowly missing his head.
A spear slammed into the ground near his feet, nearly causing him to stumble.
He veered left—only to skid to a stop before a cluster of carnivorous plants, their writhing tendrils twitching eagerly.
He pivoted, dodging another projectile, but his foot slipped on damp moss, nearly sending him into a pit of toxic vines.
His lungs burned.
His legs screamed.
Yet no matter how fast he ran, the goblins never slowed down.
Then—his escape route vanished.
A cliffside loomed before him.
Trapped.
He spun around, his chest heaving, his vision blurred.
The goblins closed in, their weapons raised, their insane laughter echoing through the trees.
Raven's hands shook.
He wasn't a fighter.
He had never experienced this kind of battle before.
But he had no choice.
If he hesitated, he was dead.
His eyes darted to the mission timer—hours still remained.
His stomach twisted in despair. The time wasn't moving fast enough—every second stretched into eternity.
One goblin lunged.
Raven ducked, barely avoiding the dagger aimed for his throat. He swung his arm—wildly, desperately—smashing a sharp rock into the goblin's head.
**CRACK.**
Blood splattered across the forest floor.
But there was no time to process the kill.
Another goblin charged—he twisted, dodged, countered with his elbow, sending it stumbling.
A spear grazed his side, searing pain tearing through him.
Another blade ripped into his shoulder—his own blood mixed with the filth on their weapons.
His vision blurred.
They were overwhelming him.
And then—
[ DING! ]
[ LEVEL UP! ]
The boost in strength hit instantly, sending raw power surging through his limbs.
He moved faster, dodged sharper, struck harder.
The goblins continued their assault, relentless, giving him no moment to rest.
He leveled up again. And again. And again.
Each time, his movements became deadlier.
Each kill barely kept him alive.
He had no time to celebrate—only to fight, to survive.
By the time he reached Level 6, Raven was battered, bleeding, barely breathing—but he was still standing.
Yet the battle was far from over.
Raven's strength had grown immensely.
With each level-up, his muscles hardened, his endurance skyrocketed, and his blows became devastating.
The goblins could no longer overwhelm him easily.
The spears that once pierced through him effortlessly were now barely cutting deep. The daggers, once lethal, now struggled to carve past his strengthened flesh.
Every time a goblin attacked, Raven countered with brutal force—sending them crashing into trees, their bodies shattering from impact.
They had once hunted him with ease.
Now?
They had to fight desperately just to injure him.
But even with all his newfound power, his body was fading.
His movements slowed, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him like chains.
His muscles had been pushed far beyond their limit, and every second drained more of his remaining strength.
Each swing of his fist was slower than the last.
Each dodge was barely fast enough.
The goblins noticed it—felt the shift in the battle.
And they didn't let up.
They adapted, waiting for small openings—exploiting his exhaustion to strike.
A spear tore through his side, not because he was weak—but because he was slowing down.
A dagger slashed across his shoulder, breaking through his defenses—not because he wasn't strong but because he was too tired to react fast enough.
The fight was turning.
Not because Raven had lost his strength, but because his body could no longer handle the battle dragging on this long.
And yet—he kept swinging.
He ducked, barely avoiding an arrow that whizzed past his head, the sharp wind slicing against his cheek.
Another goblin lunged, blade flashing—
Raven twisted—too slow.
The dagger dug into his ribs, pain ripping through him like fire.
He staggered, nearly falling—but caught himself at the last second.
His body was shutting down.
But the goblins weren't stopping.
A spear came for his chest.
His mind screamed at him to move, to dodge—but his legs wouldn't listen.
This was it—
[ DING! ]
The goblins "vanished".
The Forest of Death "was gone".
Raven was "somewhere else".
For a moment, his mind couldn't comprehend it.
The shrieks of goblins—the chaos, the fight—had disappeared.
Only silence remained.
Then, his surroundings registered.
His apartment.
The quest had ended.
He had survived.
Yet his body didn't react.
His muscles had nothing left to give.
His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed, face-first into the floor, blood pooling around him.
His breath was shallow, his wounds severe.
The goblins were gone.
The battle had ended.
But the pain remained.
Raven lay unconscious on the floor of his own room, his body weighed down by exhaustion. His most recent quest—the grueling hunt—had left him battered, his wounds deep, his strength drained. And yet, his body endured. His enhanced physique refused to break, his breathing steady despite the damage he had sustained.
His room bore signs of past destruction but remained largely intact. The most notable damage was a single hole in the wall, accompanied by faint scratches across the floor and surfaces. And, of course, the absent door—the one flaw that left him completely exposed.
When a passing construction crew unknowingly walked by, their conversation was casual. But that changed the moment one of them glanced through the open doorway.
A man—collapsed.
"Hey! Someone's in there—" The worker's voice faltered as he stepped closer, his eyes widening in alarm.
Then, realization struck.
The man wasn't merely resting—he was injured.
A tremor of fear crawled up his spine, and instinct took hold. A scream tore from his throat—sharp, terrified.
His panic set off a chain reaction. Other workers rushed to investigate, their voices overlapping in confusion. Within moments, the commotion spread beyond the construction site. The authorities arrived in force, responding swiftly to the emergency. Without hesitation, they ordered an evacuation and sealed off the building.
It was the third day since the announcement declaring the area safe from monsters. Up until now, things had seemed normal—calm, undisturbed. But suddenly, an injured man had been found, setting off a wave of uncertainty.
People began to question everything.
If a monster was truly responsible, why had it waited until the third day to attack? Wouldn't there have been other incidents leading up to this?
The growing suspicion cast a shadow over the investigation.
The authorities wasted no time. Hunters were called in, their presence ensuring that if a monster lurked nearby, it would be found.
Yet as the search unfolded, no signs of one emerged.
And with that, the nature of the case shifted.
Had this been caused by something—or someone—human?
The inquiry deepened, and authorities found themselves at an impasse. Nothing about the case made sense. There was no sign of an attacker, no evidence of intrusion, no unusual traces left behind.
Then, a crucial piece of information surfaced.
The unconscious man—Raven—wasn't an ordinary human.
He was an awakened.
That revelation sent ripples through the investigation. An ordinary human could not have inflicted such injuries on an awakened—only someone of similar strength could pose a threat.
Authorities turned their attention to the registered hunters within the construction crew. Their movements were scrutinized, their alibis thoroughly checked.
Yet one by one, they were cleared.
Each hunter was accounted for. Their actions witnessed. There was no unknown awakened individual present.
That left only one possibility.
Whoever—or whatever—was responsible was not among those identified.
With no solid leads, the authorities had no choice.
They would have to wait.
---