Rebecca held her sickle at the ready, knuckles white around the handle, eyes fixed on the rustling bushes. The forest had gone unnaturally quiet—no birds, no insects, just the low, guttural chatter growing louder. Ora's presence in her mind tensed, a sharp pulse of alertness.
To both her and Ora's surprise, two dozen goblins stepped out into the small clearing. They emerged in a ragged line—scrawny scouts, brutish warriors with notched clubs, a single archer clutching a crude bow. Their green eyes gleamed with hunger and malice.
But the figure at the center made Ora pause.
A different goblin stood among them, taller, leaner, its skin a mottled gray-green rather than the usual sickly hue. It wore tattered robes stitched with bones and feathers, a crooked staff topped with a glowing crystal clutched in one clawed hand. The air around it shimmered faintly with mana. A goblin shaman.
[Goblin Shaman – Level 14]
Race: Goblin
Variant: Shaman
HP: 94 / 94
Strength: 20
Agility: 15
Vitality: 22
Intelligence: 45
Wisdom: 32
Dexterity: 16
Mana Pool: 78 / 78
[Active Skills]
- Mana Bolt (Lv.5)
- Scorching Wave (Lv.3)
- Protective Field (Lv.6)
- Curse of Weakness (Lv.4)
[Passive Skills]
- Tribal Instinct (Lv.10)
- Mana Surge (Lv.6)
- Shaman's Sight (Lv.3)
- Curse Bolt (Lv.4)
- Goblin Frenzy (Lv.5)
Ora wasted no time.
*Control… now.*
Rebecca's body moved before she could think. Her legs pumped beneath her, bolting deeper into the woods. Branches whipped at her face and arms. The goblins screeched behind her, giving chase in a chaotic wave of snarls and pounding feet.
She ran until her lungs burned, Ora guiding her path with silent nudges through the link. Finally, he steered her toward a massive ancient oak. Tentacles sprouted from her back and legs, coiling around the trunk, hauling her upward in swift, powerful pulls until she crouched high in the canopy, hidden among thick leaves.
*Remain… hidden,* Ora warned, voice low and urgent. *I handle this. Stat sharing… ends when I detach. Risk… high.*
A thick tentacle separated from her lower back, detaching with a wet, painless pop. It grew rapidly as it descended—thickening, lengthening, darkening until it matched the tree bark perfectly. It crawled down the trunk like a living shadow, unseen, silent.
One by one, the goblins below began to fall.
The tentacle struck with precision—hardening its tip into a spear-like point, lancing through throats and hearts from behind. A scout dropped mid-step. An archer crumpled with a gurgle. Another fell face-first into the dirt, skull pierced clean through. The kills were quick, quiet, surgical.
But the goblins noticed their losses.
The pack tightened, clustering protectively around the shaman. Low growls turned to alarmed snarls. The shaman raised its staff, crystal flaring with sickly green light. It chanted in a guttural tongue. An area-effect spell erupted—a wave of burning mana that swept outward like a ripple of fire.
The flames licked across his surface, charring flesh and drawing thin trails of smoke. Ora was exposed.
The goblins roared triumph. Some stayed back, scooping rocks and hurling them with unnatural force. Each impact cracked against the tentacle, drawing dark ichor. Ora noted the damage—*Likely possess throwing skill*—but he was too focused on dodging the shaman's next spell.
He dodged the next volley—green fire bolts exploding against the ground where he had stood a heartbeat earlier. His tentacle lashed out in retaliation, impaling one rock-thrower through the chest, but the shaman raised its staff again, preparing another area spell.
The horde closed in, emboldened. Clubs swung. Spears jabbed. Ora weaved between them, striking where he could, but the numbers pressed him—too many angles, too much incoming damage.
Then the sky opened.
Rebecca dropped from above like a vengeful storm, sickle gripped in both hands, body twisting mid-fall. She landed directly on the shaman's shoulders, driving the blade downward through the top of its skull in a single, brutal stroke. The crystal staff clattered to the dirt. The shaman's body jerked once, eyes rolling back, then went limp.
The throwers froze in shock.
Ora seized the instant. The tentacle surged forward, splitting into whipping appendages that tore through the stunned goblins—throats ripped, limbs severed, bodies crushed in rapid succession. Rebecca rolled to her feet and joined the slaughter, sickle slashing in deadly arcs, cutting down any who tried to flee or fight back.
Within moments, the clearing was silent again, littered with goblin dead.
Rebecca collapsed onto her butt, legs splayed, breathing ragged. Parts of her skin were burned—red, blistered patches along her arms and side from the shaman's protective field. Cuts from branches and the fall wept blood. Her tunic hung in tatters, sweat and goblin blood mixing on her skin.
Ora's clone tendril surged forward across the clearing, beak snapping open with mechanical precision. It engulfed the nearest goblin corpse first—pyramid tips shearing through green flesh in wet, crunching bites. The body dissolved rapidly, biomass flowing inward in thick, pulsing waves. Warriors, scouts, throwers—all followed in sequence. Limbs folded inward, skin sloughed away, bones crumbled into slurry. The air filled with the sharp, coppery reek of goblin blood and the low hiss of dissolving tissue.
The shaman came last. The tendril clamped down, beak tearing through tattered robes and gray-green hide. The staff clattered free as the body melted into nutrient paste. A thin feeler extended, coiling around the wooden shaft and the low-grade magic crystal embedded in it. The crystal pulsed once, weakly, before the beak crushed it whole. Power surged through the tendril—pure, if minor.
[Intelligence +10]
Biomass: +89 units (Total: 274.6%).
The clone tendril, task complete, began to contract. Flesh shrank inward, collapsing to a dark speck before crumbling into fine dust on the wind. No trace remained.
Notifications flickered in Ora's awareness.
Camouflage (Lv.1)
Blend with surrounding terrain, altering texture and coloration to reduce visual detection. Effectiveness increases when stationary. Movement weakens the effect.
Minor Mana Resistance (Lv.1)
Slightly reduces damage taken from magical attacks.
Crude Throwing (Lv.1)
Improves accuracy and force when hurling objects or projectiles.
Surprise Assault (Lv.1)
Increases damage on the first attack from concealment.
Flesh Mending (Lv.1)
Triggers rapid tissue regeneration using enhanced biological control. Gradually restores lost flesh, closes lacerations, and stabilizes severe injuries. Does not replenish HP, but prevents further physical degradation.
Title acquired.
Ambush Predator
Obtained after eliminating multiple enemies through stealth ambush. Increases damage dealt to unaware targets and improves concealment while stationary.
Rebecca watched the dust scatter, sickle still gripped in her hand. Her voice came low, edged with something between exhaustion and awe.
"You took everything."
*Necessary.* Ora's response was flat. *Strength. Knowledge. We continue.*
She pushed herself up, wiping green ichor from her cheek with the back of her hand. The forest around them felt smaller now—prey thinned, paths opening.
Ora's voice snapped in her mind.
*Reckless.*
She laughed—hoarse, breathless, almost giddy despite the pain.
"Yeah… maybe. But it worked out, didn't it?"
Ora did not reply immediately. Instead, a warm pulse spread from the link. Thin tendrils emerged from her skin—delicate, almost gentle—mending flesh. Burned cells sloughed away, replaced by fresh tissue accelerated by his own cells. Cuts sealed, redness faded. The pain dulled to a faint ache, then to nothing.
Rebecca tilted her head, sensing the shift in his focus.
"Ora? What is it?"
He answered slowly, voice still fragmented but carrying a note of quiet satisfaction.
*Status… increase. We grow… stronger.*
She leaned back against the tree, a tired but genuine smile spreading across her face.
"Good. Then let's keep going."