Noa stood in the eerie silence of the cavern, his chest still rising and falling from the shock of everything he'd just heard. The old coffin sat chained in the center of the room like a sleeping beast, and from it, the voice of Vaelkran still echoed—a powerful yet calm presence, like a storm waiting to be unchained.
"Well, I can say I'll do it," Noa said slowly, gripping his side as a dull ache lingered. "But I'm just a normal human. I'm weak as hell. That's exactly why I was betrayed. They left me because I couldn't keep up."
For a moment, silence hung in the air, almost as if the darkness itself was listening. Then the voice returned, low and thoughtful.
"…I see. No need to worry."
Noa blinked. A strange warmth crept from beneath his feet.
Suddenly, something stirred in the shadows around him. A ripple passed through the black mist clinging to the stone floor—and then, rising slowly from his own shadow, came a dark blade. It shimmered with a faint, unnatural glow, a one-handed sword forged in a style he couldn't place. Elegant, sleek, and vicious-looking all at once. Black with hints of red, like veins of magma frozen in steel.
The hilt brushed against his hand, and instinctively, he reached out. The moment his fingers closed around it, the air shifted.
A cold, dense mist erupted around him—dark as night, wrapping him in tendrils of shadow. For a heartbeat, he couldn't breathe. Then the pain in his body melted away. His muscles felt less strained, his stance steadier. A rush of clarity surged through him, as if his own senses had sharpened.
"What... is this?" he whispered.
"That," the voice said with pride, "is a blade I once wielded myself. Forged from Drakarite—one of the strongest metals in this world. It is bound to your soul now."
Noa looked down at the weapon. It pulsed faintly in his hand, as if alive.
"I've also strengthened your body," Vaelkran continued. "Increased your physical capabilities so you can wield it without tearing yourself apart. The sword will grow as you do—it is tied to your level, and your journey."
Noa swallowed, still trying to process it all. The weight of the sword felt… right. Natural. Like it had always belonged there.
"You'll also find your odds of acquiring skills from battle have been… enhanced," the voice added with a touch of amusement. "Call it an investment."
Noa reached into his pocket and pulled out his status plate, the dull metal surface faintly glowing in the cavern's gloom.
Name: Noa Itsuki
Level: 10
Class: —
Strength: 15
Speed: 22
Agility: 18
Elemental Affinity: —
Holy crap... it really pushed me to level ten. I went through hell just trying to survive in this world, always chasing after that bitch like a fool. I couldn't even reach level two before. But now...
"What is that thing?" the voice asked, curiosity creeping into its tone.
"It's my status plate," Noa replied. "Shows me my stats."
"...Primitive," the voice muttered.
Suddenly, a strange pulse tickled the back of Noa's mind. He flinched instinctively.
"Now say: status."
"...Status," he said.
A crimson screen flashed into existence before his eyes, hovering in the air with a low hum:
Name: Noa Itsuki
Level: 10
Class: —
Strength: 15
Speed: 22
Agility: 18
Stamina: 12
Endurance: 20
Active Skills: —
Passive Skills: [Devour] — Increased chance of acquiring skills from defeated enemies.
Elemental Affinity: —
"Damn... that's one hell of a boost," Noa muttered, staring at the crimson screen. "But why are my stats still so low? Some of the others had numbers like this when they were level one. I'm already at level ten... Not that I'm complaining."
"Remember," Vaelkran's voice replied smoothly, "you were just a normal human. Your starting stats were low, even at level one. That's why they look like this now."
There was a pause, followed by a chuckle laced with a hint of mockery.
"Your so-called 'friends' were summoned as heroes. They received blessings the moment they arrived in this world. You didn't. That's the simple truth."
"Heroes, huh?" Noa muttered, his eyes trailing up to a jagged break in the cave wall where a faint sliver of light beckoned him forward. He took a slow breath, tightened his grip on the sword, and whispered to himself, "Let's see what the world throws at me next."
He stepped toward the stone wall, placing a hand against its rough surface, gauging his path upward.
Before he could climb, the voice called out again, quieter this time. "One more thing… Are you planning to get revenge?"
Noa paused, shadows dancing across his face from the flickering light. He didn't answer right away. Then, without turning around, he said in a low, dark tone, "Revenge? Who knows. My goal now is to grow stronger. But if they stand in my way…"
He smiled—not out of joy, but something colder, deeper. A twisted smirk pulled at his lips.
"…They won't get the mercy of a quick death."
Noa climbed the jagged cave wall, his fingers scraping against rough stone as he pulled himself toward the narrow opening—the same place he had fallen through what felt like an eternity ago.
Behind him, the voice murmured from the depths of the sealed coffin, too quiet for Noa to hear:
"Let's see what kind of chaos you bring to this world... my successor."
It took Noa a while to climb out of the cave. His fingers ached and his arms trembled by the time he finally pulled himself into the dim daylight. He lay on his back for a moment, catching his breath, the damp forest air brushing against his skin.
"Wow," he muttered, staring up at the sky. "That was... easier than I thought."
He got to his feet and looked around, trying to orient himself. The river was nearby, its current rushing softly—but the cliff he'd leapt from while escaping the goblins was nowhere in sight.
"Guess I'm deeper in the labyrinth than I realized," he murmured.
Carefully, he made his way uphill toward the riverbank, his eyes scanning the woods for movement. After a few minutes, something shifted ahead. A creature emerged from the underbrush—a goblin, but not like the ones he'd seen before. This one towered over him, at least four to five meters tall. Its skin was a sickly gray-green, and it carried a thick wooden club as long as Noa was tall.
Noa tensed. A hobgoblin?
Instead of fear, a grin tugged at the edge of his lips. Without hesitation, he drew his sword. The metal whispered as it left the sheath, dark mist curling around it.
In one smooth motion, he sprinted forward, leaping onto a nearby tree. Using the momentum, he launched himself into the air, blade flashing as he slashed down across the hobgoblin's back. The steel sliced through its thick hide like it was paper.
Noa landed lightly on his feet, the creature collapsing behind him with a heavy thud.
He stared down at the blade, eyes wide with disbelief.
"I think... I'm in love."
...
It had been a few hours since Noa had climbed out of the cave, and in that time, he'd slain at least eight hobgoblins—maybe more. Regular goblins? He'd lost count. But one thing became clear as he pressed deeper into the forest, the density of enemies wasn't random. The further he walked, the more goblins appeared, almost like a defense perimeter.
That's when he realized—there might be a village nearby.
Staying cautious, Noa moved with quiet purpose until he stumbled upon what looked like a primitive settlement. A ragged wooden wall, thrown together with logs and vines, surrounded a small clearing. It looked more like a barricade than a proper defense.
He climbed the tallest tree he could find, positioning himself to get a better view. What he saw made his breath catch.
Dozens of goblins milled about inside the crude village, barely clothed, malnourished, and fearful. But what caught his eye were the orcs—five of them. Massive, hulking creatures lounging atop crude thrones made of bones, scrap metal, and discarded gear. They tore into large chunks of meat, laughing and barking orders at the goblins.
Noa's hands tightened around the tree branch. The goblins weren't just subjects—they were slaves.
And those orcs? They weren't going to be easy prey.
Noa checked his stats. "Status."
Name: Noa Itsuki
Level: 16
Class: —
Strength: 21
Speed: 30
Agility: 25
Stamina: 19
Endurance: 23
Active Skills: —
Passive Skills: [Devour] — Increased chance of acquiring skills from defeated enemies.
Elemental Affinity: —
goblins barely give any experience. He glanced at the orcs below. But those orcs... can I take them on? His eyes locked onto the largest one in the center. specially that one.
Noa narrowed his eyes, watching their movements, gauging their power.
Let's observe a little longer...
***
Night had fallen.
Noa remained perched silently in the upper branches of the tree, his body still, his breath steady. The moonlight slipped through the leaves in narrow silver shafts, casting ghostly shadows across the crude goblin village below.
He'd been watching them for hours.
The goblins scurried about like insects—nervous, frantic, and tireless. Their hunched bodies darted in and out of the surrounding woods, dragging back anything they could hunt: boars, giant rats, even half-rotten carcasses. Whatever they found, they brought straight to the orcs.
The orcs… didn't move. Not once.
They sat sprawled on makeshift thrones built from bones and rusted armor, gorging themselves on meat while barking at the goblins. Noa noticed something strange in how they communicated—grunts, short commands, and gestures. Simple, but clearly understood.
They're intelligent enough to command, Noa noted silently, his eyes narrowed. But not smart. Just lazy gluttons who've figured out they can use fear to rule.
The goblins didn't speak. Not like the orcs. They responded with clicks, shrieks, and snarls, never forming words. Still, they obeyed without hesitation.
Noa leaned forward slightly, the branch creaking beneath him.
They're not just monsters... It's a hierarchy. The goblins are basically slaves. And the orcs? They're parasites living off them.
He watched as a smaller goblin staggered into the camp dragging a limp wolf carcass. One of the orcs roared something guttural and hurled a bone at the creature, knocking it over. The others laughed. The goblin scrambled to its feet and ran off without protest.
Noa's eyes narrowed further.
They're not just enemies. They're tyrants.
He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, the dark steel pulsing faintly beneath his fingers. The mist around it stirred quietly, as if sensing his thoughts.
Noa waited in the treetop, his breath shallow, muscles tense. The soft rhythm of crickets chirping blended with the occasional grunt or snore from the goblin camp below. Slowly, one by one, the orcs slumped over into sleep, their bloated bellies rising and falling with heavy breaths.
Only when the last orc let out a thunderous snore did Noa move.
Silently, he slipped down the tree, boots landing softly on the damp forest floor. He crouched low, sticking to the shadows as he crept toward the crude wall of logs and vines. It wasn't much of a barrier—more decoration than defense. He found a gap wide enough to squeeze through and slid into the village like a wraith.
The camp was quieter than before. Most of the goblins had collapsed into ragged piles of limbs and breath, sleeping like animals. But a few were still awake—hobgoblins and regular ones, lurking in corners, chewing on scraps the orcs had discarded.
Noa's eyes scanned them quickly.
"Five… six… seven," he whispered under his breath. "Seven still awake."
He moved toward the first goblin, low and silent. With one swift motion, he reached around its neck, twisted hard, and felt the crunch of bone. The creature dropped without a sound.
Noa didn't pause.
He flowed through the camp like water. One after another, he found the next goblin, then the next. Neck snaps, silent takedowns—until only one remained, positioned near the sleeping orcs.
The last goblin gnawed on a bone just meters from the hulking beasts.
Risky, Noa thought, but moved anyway.
He crept behind the creature and, with surgical precision, drew his blade and slashed. The goblin's head fell before it could make a noise.
Now came the real challenge.
The orcs.
Noa turned toward the nearest one. Its breathing was deep and steady. He crept closer, heart pounding in his ears.
If I go for the big one first, I'll wake the others…
He gritted his teeth and crouched beside the closest orc. In one motion, he slashed his sword across its throat. Blood sprayed in a dark arc. The orc's eyes fluttered open, but it only managed a soft grunt before going limp.
Noa froze, waiting. No movement. No sounds.
He exhaled silently and moved to the next one. Then another. Each time, it was the same—one clean strike, quick and quiet. The sword pulsed faintly in his hands, drinking in the blood like it was hungering.
Finally, only one remained.
The leader.
Even asleep, the orc was monstrous—easily twice Noa's size, muscles thick like tree trunks, tusks protruding from its slack mouth. It lay sprawled on the ground, its chest rising slowly with each thunderous breath.
Noa inched closer, tightening his grip around the hilt.
This one's not like the others, he thought. I felt resistance with the last few… this guy's going to be tougher.
He raised the blade, took a deep breath, and brought it down with everything he had—straight for the orc's throat.
The steel sank in… but stopped halfway through.
Noa's eyes widened.
The orc's eyes snapped open.
A guttural roar tore through the night.