The descent from the treetop was slow and steady, made slightly more awkward by Max keeping his ring from getting damaged as he climbed down. Not knowing how durable it was he didn’t want to take any chances. Every branch he passed creaked under his weight, and the occasional rustle of leaves reminded him just how visible—and vulnerable—he really was up here without his staff in hand.

  By the time his boots hit the forest floor, Max already knew which direction he wanted to go. The shimmering barrier was still too close, and there was no point throwing himself against a magical wall meant to keep under-leveled fools out. He gave it one last glance through the trees, then turned toward the sound of the ocean echoing faintly through the foliage.

  Ocean means edges, he reasoned. Edges mean cliffs, caves… maybe even loot.

  The trees thinned slightly as he moved, the scent of brine growing stronger. Then he heard something—low voices, guttural and sharp, like someone chewing gravel while arguing.

  Max slowed his steps, crouching low as he pushed through a curtain of vines.

  Up ahead, just beyond a rocky rise, was a small clearing—and in it, a crude camp.

  Four goblins.

  Two of them snored loudly on ragged bedrolls, curled up like dogs. A third stood beside a pot suspended over a small fire, lazily stirring the bubbling contents. The last one, posted half-heartedly as a sentry, was scratching his backside with an impressive lack of shame.

  Max froze behind a bush, heart thudding.

  Okay. Four enemies. I'm not built for close-quarters brawls. But if I can pull them away one at a time... maybe...

  He scanned the clearing again. The sentry and the cook were the only ones awake. Perfect.

  Crouching low, Max snapped a twig just loud enough to echo through the underbrush.

  The goblin scratching his butt paused. Sniffed the air. Then grunted and began waddling toward the bushes, muttering something in a foul language Max didn’t understand.

  Max pressed himself against a tree, heart hammering as the goblin pushed through the foliage.

  As soon as it stepped close enough, Max lunged forward and slammed his staff into the goblin’s chest, point-first.

  Fireball.

  At point-blank range.

  The spell detonated with a whumpf of heat and pressure, the goblin’s eyes going wide just before its body crumpled, smoke curling from its chest.

  Max let the body drop silently into the undergrowth and ducked back out of sight.

  One down.

  He made another soft noise, hoping the cook would come investigate next.

  Sure enough, the second goblin glanced around, picked up a crude club, and stomped toward the disturbance with a bored grunt.

  Max lay in wait again, counting the seconds. When the goblin stepped around the same bush—

  Another fireball surged from the staff.

  But this one didn’t kill instantly.

  The goblin screamed.

  Max’s eyes widened. “Oh no—shut up—”

  Too late.

  The scream echoed through the trees, and behind it came the furious snarls of two freshly woken goblins.

  Max cursed under his breath and finished the wounded one with a second shot. The fireball left him just under half mana—his bar blinking low now.

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  The two goblins burst into view a moment later, brandishing jagged knives and shrieking in rage. One was missing a boot. The other looked barely awake—but they were fast. And getting closer.

  “Nope, nope, nope—can’t spell-blast my way out of this,” Max muttered, panic rising. He ducked behind a rock and spotted something glinting in the grass.

  A dagger—one of the fallen goblins’ weapons.

  He snatched it up.

  It was rusted. Unbalanced. Ugly.

  Max had never used a knife in a fight in his life.

  But the goblins weren’t exactly trained warriors either. Just fast. And loud. And armed.

  He gripped the knife with both hands, trying to slow his breathing. Okay. Wait. Wait for them to separate. You only need to survive. They're dumb. You're not. Use that.

  One of them lunged.

  Max ducked—just barely—feeling the goblin’s blade whistle past his cheek. He lashed out with the dagger, missing entirely, and stumbled backward into a tree.

  The second one rushed in, and Max turned too slowly. Pain exploded in his thigh as the goblin’s knife sank in deep.

  “Gah—!”

  Blood rushed down his leg, hot and sharp. Max shouted, twisted, and with a surge of panic and fury, drove his dagger up under the goblin’s chin—straight into its throat.

  It gurgled, twitched, and collapsed.

  The final goblin snarled and charged.

  Max, wild-eyed and limping, forced himself upright. The staff pulsed in his other hand. He poured the last of his mana into one final, desperate fireball—and flung it straight into the charging goblin’s face.

  It shrieked, engulfed in flame, then crumpled beside its comrades.

  Smoke hung low over the clearing.

  Max dropped to one knee, breathing hard. Blood soaked through his pant leg, and the dagger fell from his trembling hand.

  But he was alive.

  “Three fireballs. One stabbing. One stab wound. Not... ideal,” he muttered, staring up at the trees above.

  Then the system chimed.

  [Goblin Camp Cleared – Bonus Experience Awarded]

  [Items Nearby: Crude Goblin Knife ×2, Rusted Buckle, 1 crude club, 1 mana potion]

  [20 Credits awarded]

  He grinned faintly.

  “Still alive. And loot” Max said as he tried to ignore the pain from the hole in his thigh.

  Max sat in the clearing, back against a mossy boulder, trying not to focus on the sharp ache radiating from the stab wound in his thigh. His hands were still trembling, but the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind pain, exhaustion, and the uncomfortable realization that he’d almost died to a goblin with a chipped butter knife.

  “Okay,” he muttered. “Lesson learned. Groups are dangerous. Goblins scream. And I am not a rogue.”

  He reached into his cloak and pulled out the low-grade health potion, the vial cool and smooth in his hand. With a grunt, he uncorked it and drank the thick red liquid in two large gulps.

  Warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading outward. The pain in his leg began to dull almost immediately, the bleeding slowing as flesh knit itself back together beneath his ruined pants. It wasn’t a full recovery, but enough to move without limping.

  Magic drinks that fix stab wounds… still wild.

  As the potion settled in his stomach, he pulled out the mana potion next—a smaller bottle filled with deep blue liquid that shimmered faintly even in the shade.

  “Alright, might as well,” he said, uncorking it.

  He took a long swig—then hesitated mid-drink.

  Wait… is it safe to stack potions? The thought hit him like a cold slap. What if there’s a limit? Or they react badly together? What if I just melt from the inside out?

  He froze, potion halfway to his lips, eyes wide.

  But… he’d already taken a good swig.

  “...Guess we’re committed now.”

  He finished the rest with a grimace and leaned back to wait.

  A minute passed.

  Then two.

  No stomach cramps. No vomiting. No violent magical explosions. Just a quiet hum in the air and a faint cooling sensation in his core.

  He opened his HUD and watched his mana bar begin to tick upward—slow and steady over the course of the next hour, refilling with a gentle rhythm like water flowing into a cracked cup.

  “Okay. Good to know. No potion overdose... yet.”

  Refreshed and now both healed and recharged, Max stood up and collected what was left of the goblin loot before setting off toward the sound of the ocean again.

  The wind picked up as he neared the cliffs, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea. Trees thinned into rocky terrain, and the sound of crashing waves grew louder with every step. Eventually, the forest gave way entirely to a stone ledge overlooking the vast, endless ocean.

  To his left, nestled between two jagged outcroppings, was the entrance to a cave.

  It didn’t look natural.

  The cave itself was shaped like a gaping wound in the cliffside—but at its center, shimmering like heat on asphalt, was a vertical rift in reality. The air around it bent unnaturally, flickering between translucent and vibrant shades of blue and violet. It looked less like a passage and more like a tear in the world itself.

  Max approached cautiously, eyes wide. The closer he got, the more surreal it became. The forest behind him felt distant now, like he was already on the edge of something other.

  Then the system chimed.

  [Dungeon Discovered: Tutorial Island - Beginner Instance]

  Would you like to enter the dungeon?

  Recommended Level: 2–5

  Rewards scale based on performance.

  ? Enter Dungeon

  ? Decline

  Max stared at the prompt, chewing the inside of his cheek.

  “Beginner dungeon, huh?” he said aloud. “Could be great gear, experience, maybe even new spells… or I could get ambushed in the first hallway.”

  He hovered his finger over Decline, then hesitated.

  No. The system wouldn’t offer this if I wasn’t supposed to try. I need the rewards. I need to get stronger.

  He tapped Enter Dungeon.

  The rift expanded, swallowing his vision in light and sound—and then everything changed.