Goblinor and Goblar trudged back to the camp under a starless sky, their clothes caked in blood and dirt, the faint glow of two newly acquired Magic Crystals in Goblinor's pouch. The hunt had been brutal but fruitful: a venomous snake and a scrawny boar, both taken down with calculated strikes—Goblinor's Critical Strike LV.5 proving deadly even against creatures twice their size.
"Think the others noticed we're gone?" Goblar mumbled, picking at a clump of boar fur stuck to his spear.
"Doubt it." Goblinor scanned the shadowed caves. Most goblins were either passed out in food comas or squabbling over scraps by the communal fire, their grunts and snarls blending into the night. "They're too busy staying alive to care about us."
He paused at the entrance to their tiny alcove, nose wrinkling at the stale stench of goblin sweat. Beside him, Goblar's stomach rumbled loudly—a reminder that even after devouring half the boar, his appetite remained bottomless. Useful, Goblinor thought. A gluttonous ally is a motivated one.
Sitting cross-legged on the cold stone, Goblinor closed his eyes to review his stats:
Name: Goblinor
Level: 5 (4% toward 6)
Strength: 11 ( +4 from simulation rewards )
Critical Strike: LV.5 (Deadly precision, 20% chance to double damage)
Talents: Devour (Active—consume corpses for EXP), Monster Tongue (Basic communication with non-humanoid beasts)
The numbers thrilled him. In just a day, his experience bar had ticked up to 1.3%, thanks to the high-magic snake meat. Smaller monsters, higher concentration, he realized. A boar might fill your belly, but a venomous snake? Its compact body packed enough magical energy to rival twice its weight in regular meat.
"Goblinor?" Goblar prodded his arm, holding out a ragged chunk of boar meat. "You eat. I'll keep watch."
"Smart." Goblinor took the meat, impressed by the younger goblin's growing awareness. Fear makes good teachers. He tore into the flesh, ignoring the gristle—his body craved the raw power, muscles absorbing the energy like a sponge.
By dawn, the camp buzzed with activity. Goblins milled about, sharpening wooden spears and arguing over who'd lead the day's hunt. Goblinor ignored them, instead focusing on a new recruit: Goblir, a scrawny female goblin he'd "recruited" by threatening to bash her with a rock if she didn't stop whining. Now, she trailed behind him like a lost pup, eyes wide at the sight of his muscular frame.
"Plan for today?" Goblir asked, voice trembling.
"We hunt small," Goblinor said, tapping his temple. "Snakes, rabbits—anything with scales or fangs. They're faster, but their magic is denser." He demonstrated by jabbing his spear into the air, mimicking a strike. "We hit fast, hit vital spots. No glory, just survival."
Goblar nodded, already shouldering his spear. "And if we see a boar?"
"Leave it to the fools." Goblinor smirked. "Let the Troll's pets fight over the big kills. We'll feast on the magic they ignore."
The trio slipped into the forest at first light, moving like shadows through the underbrush. Goblinor's new talent, Keen Eye (a passive from the first simulation), let him spot motion in the grass—a flicker of scales, the rustle of fur. Within hours, they'd bagged three venomous snakes and a pair of crystal-eyed rabbits, each yielding a faint glow of Magic Crystals.
But as they feasted on roasted snake meat (Goblinor had insisted on a fire, despite the risk—cooked meat absorbed faster), Goblir spoke up, voicing the question Goblar had been too scared to ask.
"W-why do we hoard these crystals?" She held up a black shard, turning it in the sunlight. "They're cold. They hurt to touch."
Goblinor paused, weighing how much to reveal. Trust was fragile, especially with goblins raised to obey first, think never. "These," he said, tapping the crystal, "are keys. Keys to becoming stronger than the Troll. Stronger than any human. One day, we'll use them to… change. To become more."
Goblar's eyes lit up. "More than goblins?"
"More than anything." Goblinor's voice dropped to a growl. "But first, we need ten. Then twenty. And we need to do it before the Troll notices we're not just another pair of meat sacks."
The group fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Goblir shivered, but Goblar grinned, sharp teeth flashing—a rare sign of defiance in a creature born to cower.
By nightfall, their pouch held seven crystals. Three more, and Goblinor could trigger another simulation—this time, with a plan. He'd seen the Troll's hoard in its cave: a mountain of crystals, untouched, waiting. But raiding it now would be suicide.
No, he needed to grow stronger first. Smarter. And that meant mastering the art of efficiency: eating the least meat for the most magic, training his allies to hunt not just for food, but for power.
As they curled up in their alcove, Goblinor stared at the ceiling, listening to Goblar's snoring and Goblir's nervous shuffling. The camp was a mess of chaos, but in the quiet of his mind, a strategy took shape—one that would turn the Troll's own laziness against it.
Let the brute think we're weak. Goblinor smiled, sharp and hungry. Let him hoard his crystals like a dragon hoards gold. By the time he realizes what we are, it'll be too late.
And in the darkness, the Magic Crystals hummed, as if agreeing with his plan.