The world froze. The hobgolem's dying roar hung in the air, a silent echo of its fury. The blood on Blain's skin and the shattered bones within his body became suspended in a single, impossible moment. Then, a voice—neither sound nor thought, but something in between—resounded in his mind.
```
CONGRATULATIONS PLAYER, THE QUEST YOU HAVE BEEN BESTOWED UPON IS CLEARED!
YOU HAVE EARNED THE TITLE OF GOBLIN SLAYER!
REWARD:
ALL YOUR PHYSICAL AND MAGICAL STATS HAVE BEEN UPGRADED.
YOU HAVE TRANSCENDED TO A LEVEL OF LESSER DEMON!
YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED DEMON COINS.
```
Before he could process the words, a wave of pure, white-hot energy washed over him. It was not gentle; it was a violent, cleansing fire that seared through every fiber of his being. The shattered ribs in his chest snapped back together with an audible crack. The compound fracture in his arm mended itself, the bone knitting as if an invisible surgeon's hands were at work. The deep gashes on his skin sealed, leaving behind smooth, unblemished flesh. The exhaustion that had been his constant companion for two days was incinerated, replaced by a vitality so potent it felt like a physical force.
The cavern began to dissolve. The stone walls, the floor slick with black blood, the very air itself—it all melted away like wax under a flame, turning into shimmering particles of light that vanished into nothingness. In seconds, the vast, deadly cave was gone. Blain stood on the same lifeless gray ground of the wasteland, under the same oppressive, cloud-choked sky. The only evidence of the carnage was a scattering of rusty weapons and crude tools left behind by the goblins.
"Wha—what kind of magic is this?" Blain stammered, looking at his hands, which were no longer ruined but whole and pulsing with a newfound power. "The whole freaking cave... just disappeared."
A new screen materialized, its glow brighter, more authoritative than before.
```
HOST: BLAIN
TITLE: THE CHOSEN ONE, GOBLIN SLAYER
DEMON LEVEL: 08 (LESSER DEMON)
STRENGTH: 50
SPEED: 40
STAMINA: 45
SKILLS: [SWORD SKILL LV 03]
SLAVES: NONE
SHOP: CAN'T OPEN YET!
DEMON COINS: 50
YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED AN ALL RECOVERY!
THE REWARDS ARE DOUBLED SINCE YOU HAVE KILLED THE BOSS GOBLIN!
```
Blain stared at the numbers, his mind struggling to catch up. "Level 8... a lesser demon?" He clenched his fist, feeling an explosive power coiling in his muscles. "So that's how it works. As your level increases, your form changes. I was a goblin... now I'm a lesser demon." He flexed his fingers, a grin spreading across his face. "Woah! I feel it... a power, a strength bursting inside me. It feels like I could crush a boulder with my bare hands."
The danger, the pain, the sheer impossibility of the last three days—it all faded in the face of this reward. It was worth it. Every wound, every moment of despair, every mouthful of foul meat.
"Hmm, since I'm recovered and healthy, I can finally get out of this wasteland," he mused, his gaze sweeping the desolate horizon.
As if responding to his thoughts, another screen appeared.
```
CHOOSE A SKILL FROM GOBLIN:
[MANA MANIPULATION] OR [SCREECHING SOUND]
```
"Ehh? Mana Manipulation and Screeching Sound? So these are the skills of a goblin," he murmured. "And I can only choose one? That sucks! Is there no information about these?"
He waited, but the screen remained silent, offering no further details.
"Well, I guess I'll take Mana Manipulation," he decided after a moment's thought. "I need to use magic too. I was born with a sword affinity, but my mana handling has always been terrible."
```
CONGRATULATIONS, MANA MANIPULATION IS CHOSEN!
YOU CAN USE LOW LEVEL SPELLS!
ALERT: IF THE USER RUNS OUT OF MANA, HIS LIFE FORCE WILL BE COMPROMISED. SO BE CAREFUL!
```
"Ehhhhh?! What is this? So much risk!" Blain protested, but it was too late. A faint blue aura enveloped him, warm and tingling, before dissipating into a small vortex that vanished.
"Hmm, so that's it? Now I can use magic?" He extended his arm, pointing his index finger at a nearby rock, focusing his intent. "Alright... let's see... fire... or... a little spark... something!"
Nothing happened. He stood there, arm outstretched, looking like a fool.
```
YOUR MANA MANIPULATION SKILL IS LEVEL ONE ONLY!
SINCE LEVEL 1 SKILL WORKS ON LUCK!
```
The screen flashed the message with what Blain could have sworn was a mocking tone.
"Luck?!" he shouted at the empty air. "You're telling me my new magic skill runs on LUCK? After everything I've been through?" He lowered his arm, a scowl on his face. "Unbelievable."
He took a deep breath, forcing down his frustration. He was alive. He was powerful. He had a path forward. A bit of luck-based magic was a small price to pay for his new reality.
"Alright, Goblin Slayer," he said to himself, the title feeling strange yet right on his tongue. "Let's see what this wasteland has to throw at you now."
The silence of the vanished cave was replaced by the eternal, oppressive quiet of the wasteland. After a moment of simply breathing, of feeling the raw power thrumming through his newly enhanced body, Blain's stomach reminded him of its basic needs. He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation, and trudged over to the scattered remains of the goblin camp.
He gathered a few pieces of the leftover meat, building a small fire with some dry, brittle fungus he'd found. As the meat cooked, releasing its now-familiar stench of rot and sulfur, his face twisted in disgust.
"Eww, what trash am I eating?" he muttered, poking the blackening slab with a stick. "Whatever I do, this doesn't taste good." He closed his eyes, trying to imagine something else. "If I could just get a little wine and some deer's flesh..." The thought was so vivid, so real, that his mouth watered, a cruel trick played by his desperate mind. He forced himself to take a bite, chewing mechanically, his throat working to suppress the gag reflex.
Suddenly, the system's familiar blue text flashed before his eyes.
```
CONGRATULATION! YOU ARE NOW IMMUNE TO C-GRADE POISON!
```
Blain froze, the half-chewed meat suddenly feeling like lead in his mouth. "What? What just happened?" He stared down at the greasy chunk in his hand, a dawning horror creeping over him.
With a little tear welling in the corner of his eye, he looked up at the invisible sky. "I'm eating poison! Thank Lord Demon I didn't die!" A wave of relief washed over him, so potent it almost made him feel giddy. "So this means I'm immune to poison now. Is it something I could have done earlier, or is it because of this system?" The question hung in the air for a second before he dismissed it with a shrug. Whatever the reason, he was happy. Eating the goblin food had finally granted him a real benefit.
"Well, looks like I'm all rested up!" he declared, tossing the last of the poisonous meal into the fire. "Now I need to move forward!"
With his newfound speed and stamina, the wasteland became a blur. The ground that had taken him hours to traverse before now flew beneath his feet. His legs, once weary and strained, felt like coiled springs, propelling him forward with an effortless grace. Arthur—he mentally corrected himself, Blain—had walked over twenty kilometers, but the landscape remained monotonously hostile. Weird, chitinous monsters with too many legs would occasionally lunge from the shadows, drawn by his presence, but they were nothing compared to the hobgolem. He dispatched them with casual ease, his sword moving with a fluid, deadly grace that felt as natural as breathing now.
But as his expedition continued, he noticed a subtle change. The air, while still heavy, was less acrid, less poisonous. The roiling clouds above seemed to thin just enough to allow a diffuse, gray light to filter through. And then he saw it: a small, defiant patch of vibrant green grass clinging to the cracked earth near the base of a dormant volcano. It was the first real color he had seen in this entire blighted realm.
He continued his scout, a renewed sense of purpose driving him. He was heading toward the edge of this hell. The monsters grew sparser as he moved, as if even they were unwilling to approach the border. Finally, he crested a ridge of jagged black rock, and the sight before him stole his breath.
He was standing on the outskirt of the wasteland. Before him stretched a world reborn. Green grass carpeted the rolling hills, spreading out like a vast, living ocean. Trees, their leaves a rich, verdant green, dotted the landscape, their branches swaying in a gentle breeze he could actually feel. The air was clean, crisp, and filled with the scent of soil and life. It was a totally different scene, a paradise compared to the desolate hellscape he had just survived.
Wondering what his next move should be?
QUEST: Share Intimacy with the Orce Queen!
Failure to complete the task, your manhood will become useless
Time: 3 Days!
What the actual fuck? not again!!!