The morning after their secret meeting, Max rose early. He couldn’t sit idle, not with what lay ahead. The beach stretched quiet and gray before him, gulls circling high overhead, the tide rolling in slow waves. He drew his sword, letting the familiar weight settle into his grip, and began a slow series of cuts and thrusts. The steel hissed through the salty air, his movements crisp at first, then faster, sharper.

  Sweat slicked his brow as he swapped the blade for his staff, pulling it from the pocket of his spatial ring with a thought. The simple action never failed to amaze him. One moment his hands were empty; the next, a weapon or tool appeared as if summoned from thin air. The ring wasn’t just convenience—it was survival. Without it, he’d never manage to carry all his weapons, gear, and supplies.

  Max twirled the staff in a broad arc, planting his feet and striking at imaginary opponents. He shifted again, sheathing the staff in the ring and pulling free his sword once more. The seamless exchange made him grin. “Yeah,” he muttered, “definitely worth more than its weight in gems.”

  But the smile didn’t last. The weight of the coming night pressed on him with every passing hour. By sundown, he’d either succeed in striking at the heart of the last goblin camp—or die trying.

  When dusk finally fell, Max was waiting at the treeline near the cave entrance. Torches burned outside, their orange glow spilling across the clearing, casting long, jagged shadows of the guards. The goblins posted there seemed restless, their heads snapping at every sound, weapons clutched a little too tightly.

  Ben slipped out of the dark behind him, crouched low, eyes darting nervously.

  “You’re late,” Max whispered.

  “I had to make sure no one followed me,” Ben muttered. His sharp teeth flashed in a tense grin. “Besides, I had a little errand to run.”

  “What kind of errand?” Max asked.

  Ben’s grin widened, pride in his tone. “This morning, I lifted gear from one clan’s armory and tucked it away in another’s sleeping quarters. The goblin whose gear I borrowed has been on duty all day. When he notices it gone tonight…” Ben shrugged. “Let’s just say fists will fly.”

  Max allowed himself a short nod. It was clever. Risky, but clever. “That’ll do. Let’s move.”

  They hugged the walls, slipping into the shadows as two guards paced by. Max noticed their vigilance immediately—this wasn’t the lazy patrol he’d come to expect. They sniffed the air, eyes scanning into the dark.

  His heart pounded. Had Ben betrayed him?

  The thought burned in his chest until Ben leaned close and whispered, “Don’t panic. The leaders are nervous. They roused the camp earlier, told everyone to be sharp.”

  “Why?”

  Ben grimaced. “Because none of the scouts have seen you in days. Word is, they think you’re planning something. My buddy’s a runner for the scouts—he heard the report being passed up the chain.”

  Max clenched his jaw. Damn. Laying low bought me time, but it made them paranoid. He glanced down the torchlit tunnel, deeper into the earth. “We’ve come too far to turn back.”

  They pressed forward, moving deeper until the air grew damp and heavy, the walls slick with condensation. At one bend, they ducked behind a stack of empty barrels, listening to the shuffle of goblin feet echoing in the passages.

  Minutes crawled by. Then it came—a shout, a crash, the unmistakable sound of a brawl erupting in the tunnels nearby. The fight Ben had orchestrated.

  Max didn’t hesitate.

  “Now’s our chance.”

  Before the guards could fully register the chaos, Max darted from cover, sprinting down the passageway toward the inner chamber. His boots struck stone, his breath tight in his chest. Ben followed close behind, hissing for him to slow down, but Max didn’t dare. This was it.

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  The tunnel opened into a vast space that made Max skid to a halt.

  The inner chamber was nothing like the crude warrens outside. The ceiling arched high above, carved into sweeping vaults that reminded him of cathedrals back on Earth. Crude stone pillars lined the walls, their surfaces etched with tribal symbols, flickering torchlight casting shadows that writhed across the carvings.

  At the center of the chamber stood a massive stone table, surrounded by rough-hewn chairs. Four goblins sat there, each radiating an aura of power that prickled against Max’s skin. Their armor gleamed, weapons laid within easy reach. And at the head of the table, towering over the rest, sat one unlike any Max had ever seen.

  Twice as large as the others, its muscled frame swathed in scarred hides and bone trinkets, it leaned forward on clawed hands, eyes burning like coals. The very air seemed to thrum with its presence.

  Max swallowed hard, his grip tightening on his sword.

  So this is the final leader.

  The chamber wasn’t silent. The scrape of chairs, the guttural rhythm of low voices, and the clang of a gauntlet against stone all echoed within the vast hall. Max crouched low, forcing himself to breathe evenly, his eyes darting across the four goblins gathered at the table.

  The first wore piecemeal armor hammered from scavenged steel, jagged edges sticking out like thorns. His axe rested across his lap, but Max could see the cords of muscle in his arms twitching as though eager for battle.

  Beside him lounged another, leaner but no less dangerous. Dark tattoos spiraled up his arms and across his throat, symbols that seemed to writhe in the torchlight. Twin curved blades gleamed at his sides, and his sharp, calculating eyes never stopped moving, scanning the chamber as if expecting betrayal at any moment.

  The third was draped in stitched hides and a cloak made of black feathers. A staff topped with a cluster of bones leaned against the table beside him, faint green light pulsing from the carvings etched along its length. Even from here, Max could feel the weight of magic pressing against his skin, like pins and needles prickling at his arms.

  The fourth sat hunched, squat and broad, his armor heavier than the others, pocked and scarred from dozens of battles. A massive shield leaned against his chair, its face marked with notches where blades had struck and failed to bite through. His presence was steady, immovable—a wall of flesh and iron.

  And then there was the one at the head of the table.

  Twice as tall as any other goblin Max had ever seen, the chieftain’s bulk made the others look like children by comparison. His skin was a mottled gray-green, his chest and arms crisscrossed with thick scars. Around his neck hung a necklace of cracked gemstones and beast fangs, each one larger than Max’s hand. In his right hand, he leaned casually on a weapon unlike any other: a warhammer carved from a single slab of black stone, veins of faint red light pulsing in its head like a heartbeat.

  When the leader spoke, his voice carried through the chamber like rolling thunder, guttural and commanding. The others fell silent at once.

  Max pressed himself tighter against the stone pillar, his pulse hammering. His instincts screamed at him to run—but there was no turning back now.

  These aren’t just goblins, he realized grimly. These are monsters in every sense of the word.

  Max clung to the shadows put off by the pillar, watching the council of goblin leaders in tense silence. The vast chamber smelled of smoke, blood, and damp stone, and every nerve in his body screamed that he didn’t belong here.

  After a few moments covered in darkness, Max felt a sense of familiarity with his surroundings. It was almost as if the shadows were alive.

  Then, in the corner of his vision, a familiar flicker appeared.

  [New Skill Unlocked!]

  Skill: Shadow Merge

  Type: Active

  Rank: E (Upgradeable)

  Effect: Channel mana to merge with surrounding shadows, blending seamlessly with the environment. While active, visibility to enemies is greatly reduced. Movement causes slight distortion, increasing the chance of detection.

  Mana Cost: Variable — drains steadily while active.

  Max blinked at the glowing prompt, his pulse quickening. Shadow Merge? Now? It was almost too convenient. As if the System had been holding back, waiting until this exact moment—when he was crouched behind a pillar in the most dangerous room he’d stepped into yet—to hand him the perfect tool.

  Tentatively, he pushed a thin stream of mana into the skill. The world seemed to fold around him, his body dissolving into the darkness like ink spreading through water. His outline blurred, swallowed by the shadows until even he could barely see his own hand. When he cut off the mana, reality snapped back and his body felt solid again.

  “Well,” Max whispered under his breath, a grin tugging at his lips despite the tension. “That’s going to be useful, but I need to keep an eye on the Mana Output.”

  Still, a part of him couldn’t ignore the timing. Was the System helping him? Guiding him along like a puppet on strings? Or was this just another test, a subtle push to see if he’d rely too much on its gifts instead of his own instincts?

  Max shook the thought away, but the unease lingered. He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself right now. Whether it was chance, fate, or manipulation didn’t matter—the skill was his, and it might be the only thing keeping him alive in this cavern.