Chapter 8: King
After a while, I slow my pace, letting the adrenaline settle. Sprinting's great, but if there are goblins lurking around, I don't want to stumble into them half-blind and out of breath. Better to move carefully now, eyes sharp for any surprises hiding in the bushes or, hell, even the treetops.
The forest around me looks... normal. Not the ominous, alien landscape I half-expected. The trees are just trees—sturdy trunks, rough bark, and leaves that glint under the twin suns. No glowing plants, no whispers carried by the breeze, no faces leering at me from the wood grain.
Honestly, it's kind of beautiful. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting golden patches of light across the forest floor. Branches sway gently in the wind, rustling softly.
I start circling the clearing where the half-bar lies, keeping it to my right. No sense wandering too far in—getting lost in this forest might as well be a death sentence. Sure, I could try marking trees to find my way back, but carving symbols into bark with a wooden spear? Not exactly efficient.
If I'm lucky, I might stumble across a stream or something. The group doesn't need water or food yet—the bar had plenty of supplies, even if it got cut in half—but give it three or four days. Without refrigeration, everything's going to spoil fast. After that, it's hunter-gatherer time whether we're ready or not.
I step carefully over a tangle of roots, chuckling under my breath at the absurdity of it all. A nameless guy in pajamas, wearing a dead man's shoes, wandering through a perfectly normal forest with a bloodied wooden spear in hand. It feels ridiculous when I think about it. Then again, how sure am I that any of this is real?
What if the whole "isekai" thing is just a delusion? What if I OD'd on something, got locked up in a padded room, and this is all in my head? The voices in my head tell me that's not the case, but isn't that exactly what a schizo would think?
I snort, shaking my head, but the thought lingers. Madness laughs quietly in the corners of my mind.
And, for some reason, I laugh too. It echoes through the forest, light and raw, bouncing off the trees like some kind of strange declaration. I glance down at the wooden spear in my hand, its tip still stained with dried goblin and human blood.
Nah. This is real.
Just as real as the guttural growl that suddenly echoes through the trees. I stop dead in my tracks, swiveling toward the sound. A wolf steps out of the shadows, its red eyes locked on me with a wild, feral hunger. Its fur is matted and gray, smeared with patches of dirt and blood, and the way it moves—low to the ground, with twitching, jerky movements—screams rabid. The thing is massive, easily two meters long from snout to tail, and it's clearly not here for belly rubs.
Above its head, glowing faintly, I see:
Wolf – Lvl 2.
"Ohhh, who's a good doggy?" I coo, voice dripping with mock sweetness as I tighten my grip on the wooden spear. The wolf growls louder, hackles raised, saliva dripping from its bared fangs.
I crouch slightly, bracing myself. The wolf's eyes flicker with a maddened gleam before it lunges at me, muscles coiled like a spring. It leaps, jaws snapping, claws outstretched, and spittle flying through the air.
With a sharp thrust, I ram the spear forward while anchoring it firmly against the ground. The wooden tip catches the wolf mid-lunge, punching through fur, flesh, and bone with a crunch. Its momentum drives it further onto the spear and its teeth seek to tear my flesh, but I've already thrown myself into motion.
I twist my body and dive beneath its trajectory, slipping diagonally under its flank. Its hind legs rake through the air, claws grazing perilously close to my back, but they miss as I slide past. The movement is clumsy, driven more by instinct than precision, but it saves me from injury.
The wolf collapses to the ground in a heap, skewered by the spear. Blood pours from the wound, pooling beneath its twitching body. A low, wet gurgle escapes its throat as its glowing eyes dim. It tries and fails to stand back up.
"Reach is king in the early game, Doggy," I say under my breath as I praise my shitty goblin spear for being unexpectedly resilient. One of the voices in my head—Madness, probably—laughs in agreement.
Then I hear it. Another growl, low and guttural, coming from behind me.
"Teamwork's king too, Bitch," I imagine the first wolf snarling in its death throes.
I instantly dive sideways, but not fast enough to avoid the swipe of claws grazing my side. Pain flares as I roll across the forest floor, coming up to my feet in a defensive stance.
When I turn, I see them. Three more wolves emerge from the shadows, their movements coordinated, predatory. Two are smaller, scrawnier, their glowing titles marking them as Wolf – Lvl 1. The third is another Lvl 2, bulkier and more vicious-looking, its claws streaked with my blood.
The smaller wolves snap and snarl, their eyes locked on me, while the larger one moves with a deliberate, confident prowl. Their fur is just as matted and filthy as the first one's, their bodies lean but wiry.
They approach with about as much subtlety as an obese man spotting a steak.
I glance down at the fresh tear in my shirt and the shallow bleeding wound on my side. My hand presses against it briefly, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through my fingers.
My grin only widens.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone