Sam continued laying low, his stomach and the feeling of hunger drove him into impatience.
„No!" he whispered, biting himself on the lips a little, „they are going to kill me, before the hunger kills me!"
So he waited till the whole corpse were either eaten or brought into the deep dark forest, and no green-skinned creature were seen.
The sun sank lower, painting the lake and canopy in warm orange. Long shadows stretched across the water. Evening insects began their chorus.
Only then did Sam rise.
He scanned the area one last time then chose the shortest stretch of water between the island and the opposite shore—where reeds grew thick and visibility was worst.
Without hesitation, he jumped headfirst.
Cold swallowed him whole.
He cut into the water cleanly, arms tight, legs kicking only when needed. Pain flared in his thigh, sharp and immediate, but he ignored it. The lake closed over his head, muffling the world into a distant hum.
He swam low, just beneath the surface, using the fading light to mask his movement. Each stroke was controlled, he tried to surpress his fear of the upcoming land and tried not to splash- alarming some monster.
His lungs burned.
When his fingers finally brushed mud and tangled roots, Sam pulled himself into the reeds and lay there, half-submerged, chest heaving silently as the last light fell from the sky.
Above him, the canopy was too dense for he orange light to reach the ground; the forest ahead breathed cold darkness.
Slowly, he pulled himself out of the cool water.
Mud clung to his skin, reeds scraping his arms and ribs as he crawled forward inch by inch.
Sam lay still for a long moment, listening.
The forest spoke in sounds he knew well by now—distant chittering, the soft drag of something heavy moving far away, leaves trembling without wind.
There were No footsteps, from guards keeping the routine. No voices- commanding or laughing. No iron chains rattling around his wrist.
He pushed himself upright, swaying slightly, and pressed his back against the rough bark of a tree. The wood was warm from the day, its texture grounding him. He wiped wet hair from his forehead and inhaled deeply.
Fresh water, Moss, wet earth, Bork reached his nose.
His stomach growled again, vicious this time, and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep the sound from escaping. His body was shaking.
"I'm… out," he whispered, the words barely more than breath.
He flexed his fingers. Closed them into fists.
There wer No walls. No chains. No runes. Just monsters and pure freedom.
Sam bent down and scooped a handful of mud, smearing it over his skin—arms, neck, face—masking scent and shine.
Then he moved slowly, looking carful in the direction of the wyvern corpse. Sam knew the only reliable food, that he didn't need to look for, were these big goblins— and maybe his food would forget something useful?
He slipped under bushes, besides small trees and jumped over creeks, occasionally hiding behind some rock or giant to listen and observe.
After some time he arrived at the corpse, only some broken bones remained on the shore, nothing else. He saw no sword or even a stone knife, and when he was sure nothing was close, he jumped out of his bush and grabbed some broken bones, the size of some thick branch.
He looked for the sharpest tip and after taking another one that looked even more deadly and slipped into a shallow depression between roots and fallen trunks, lowering his body until only his eyes were above ground level.
From here could Sam see, the forest floor were trampled, clearing showing the direction the goblins walked. So he grabbed his two bone spears and sneaked some meters sideways the path towards the food.
Sam smiled faintly.
The monster land didn't care who he was. It was merciless, It didn't know Henry Tarakan. It didn't know revenge.
It only knew hunger and the will to survive.
And tonight—so did he.
Sam vanished into the dark, step by silent step, letting the forest swallow him whole. Owls and other night active monsters moved in the distant, covering his low sounds.
And around midnight, the clear sky were blocked by the canopy's and only some occasional holes showed the sky, as well the moon that stood high up in the sky.
There sat an goblin, it's eyes closed. It's arms crossed and leaning on an tree, it's snores were heard as some saliva dripped out of the corner of it's mouth.
Sam's eyes widened, his stomach growled and the grib around his weapons got tighter.
Its chest rose and fell unevenly. Each breath came with a wet snore, saliva glistening at the corner of its mouth. A crude knife rested loosely in its lap, fingers barely curled around the handle.
Food.
Only this one thought settled in Sam's mind.
He lowered himself even further, belly brushing damp leaves as he crept forward. Each movement was deliberate—slow enough that even the forest seemed to forget him. His bare feet found soil instead of twigs. His breathing synced with the goblin's snores.
Closer.
Ten steps.
Five.
The big goblin shifted slightly, grunted in its sleep, and Sam froze completely. Muscles locked. Heart pounding so hard he was sure the sound alone would give him away.
Seconds stretched.
The goblin settled again.
Sam exhaled—soundless and rose in one smooth motion.
No shout. No hesitation.
Sam lunged forward, clamping one hand over the goblin's mouth as the other drove the bone up beneath its chin. The resistance was soft—too soft—then a sudden jerk as the body spasmed.
The goblin's eyes snapped open, wide and glassy, but no sound escaped. Blood spilled hot over Sam's fingers, metallic and thick. The body shuddered once… twice… then went slack.
Sam held it until it was completely still.
[Killed 1x Hobgoblin: 24 EXP]
Only then did he release it.