At the first hint of dawn, Kyle left the cabin.
The stench of blood rising from the wooden floor, soaked through with goblin blood overnight, mingled with the cold morning air and stung his nose. Kyle didn't care. There was something more important to do first.
He searched the goblin corpses scattered around the cabin one by one.
He retrieved the throwing dagger he'd driven into the spine of the goblin that fled the previous night, then pulled out the dagger he'd jammed into its mouth inside the cabin. Deep tooth marks gouged the blade. It was still usable, but its durability had dropped. After checking the dagger's condition, Kyle slid it into his belt.
The eleven ears he'd cut from eleven corpses were already packed inside a leather pouch.
The conditions of the request had been met. But Kyle's footsteps were heading toward the forest, not the village.
The Black Forest.
It was a forest so dark that its dense canopy blocked out the sunlight even at midday. As soon as he entered the forest, the quality of the air changed. Unlike the dry, cold morning air outside, the air within was damp and heavy. The smells of rotting leaves, moss, and animal feces buried beneath them mingled together and stabbed at his nose. The trees twisted their branches into one another, blocking out the sky, and the sunlight barely filtering through was swallowed by the darkness before it could reach the ground.
Kyle began memorizing the terrain as he walked clockwise along the forest's perimeter.
The first thing that caught his eye was a trap.
About two hundred paces from the forest entrance, a patch where the fallen leaves had been piled unnaturally high. Kyle stopped and picked up a few branches from the ground, prodding the spot lightly. A pit trap was revealed beneath the leaves, packed with sharpened wooden stakes. The tips were coated in a dark reddish substance. A mixture of animal feces and poisonous herbs. If someone were impaled, infection and poison would be a bigger problem than the wound itself.
They've imitated human trap designs.
It was exactly as he'd read about in the library. Evolved goblins dug traps by mimicking human tactics. But there were limits to imitation. The traps' positions were too regular. They had been placed at set intervals along the route from the forest entrance to the main camp. As if they had dug a moat before a castle wall, they had established a defensive line along the approach to their base.
Kyle walked on, imprinting the traps' spacing and direction in his mind as though recording them.
The second trap. The third. The fourth.
The higher the trap density became, the closer he was to the main camp. By tracing the traps' placement pattern backward, Kyle narrowed down the approximate direction of the base. The northeastern part of the forest, in a hilly area where the terrain rose.
There was more than just the traps.
Alarm lines had also been set up between the trees, thin vines pulled taut. If the vines were touched, bones and stones hanging from the trees would strike one another and make a noise—a primitive but effective alarm system. Kyle checked the vines' height and position, lowered his body, and passed beneath them.
When he passed the fifth trap, Kyle noticed something strange at the base of a tree beside it.
There were marks on the bark as if someone had scratched it with fingernails. They weren't goblin claw marks. They were human fingernails. Thin, weak scratches. A child's fingernails. The marks began at the base of the tree, continued toward the depths of the forest, and then stopped. They had been left by someone being dragged away.
Kyle looked down at the marks without expression.
His emotions didn't stir. Ironman's trait blocked emotional fluctuations such as pity and rage. But Kyle's reason recorded the marks as information. The direction in which the hostages had been dragged. Another clue that helped pinpoint the location of the main camp.
After circling halfway around the forest's perimeter, Kyle found traces of a goblin patrol.
A narrow path where the grass had been trampled. Judging by the size and spacing of the footprints, three to five goblins patrolled together as a unit. Their patrol route formed a circle around the main camp. Kyle checked how fresh the footprints were. They were clear, undampened by dew. The patrol had passed through at dawn.
The patrol cycle is roughly two hours.
Kyle marked the intersections of the patrol routes in his mind. There were two blind spots where the patrols didn't overlap. One was in the western part of the forest, a rocky area where a steep slope began. The other was to the north, a marshland crossed by a stream. The rocky area was difficult to approach, but easy to conceal oneself in. The marshland was easier to approach, but it would be difficult to completely erase the sound of footsteps.
Kyle chose the rocky area.
Even with Light Footsteps, he couldn't erase the sound of stepping into puddles. With an orc's strength, he could climb the steep slope in the rocky area without difficulty.
After completing a full circuit of the forest's perimeter, Kyle discovered one more thing.
To the south, at the point closest to the village, a goblin corpse lay sprawled on the ground. It had been killed by another goblin. Its neck had been twisted, and a crude spear remained lodged through its chest. Judging by the condition of the corpse, it had been dead for about two days. Insects swarmed over it.
An internal purge.
The leader had executed someone who had violated military discipline. It was proof that the hobgoblin's control wasn't based on simple fear. It was backed by the ability to actually kill anyone who broke discipline. Their organization was far more cohesive than he'd expected.
When the sun reached its zenith, Kyle finished scouting the forest's perimeter.
The map drawn in his mind looked like this: The trap zone was arranged in three layers within a radius of three hundred paces around the main camp. Alarm lines had been densely installed between the layers of traps. Three patrol units rotated every two hours. The main camp was presumed to be a cave in the northeastern hills. Judging by the signs of an internal purge, the hobgoblin's control was firmly established.
Kyle didn't return to the village.
Instead, he hid in the shade of the rocky area along the forest's perimeter and replenished his strength by chewing on dried meat. Pain intermittently surged through his stomach. The meager vitality of eleven goblins was already being exhausted. Greed's curse was urging him toward his next feeding.
As he chewed the dried meat, Kyle checked his condition.
The orc's strength remained intact. The night vision and Light Footsteps he'd absorbed from the goblins were still active as well. But the problem was that the intervals between feedings were growing shorter. After feeding on the orc, he had been able to last more than three days. Now, after feeding on eleven goblins, he hadn't even gone a full day, yet his stomach was already sending him pain signals. Weak prey couldn't satisfy the curse's thirst. He needed stronger prey.
Hobgoblin.
The name surfaced clearly in his mind.
His stomach reacted. It wasn't pain, but hunger. The curse wanted it.
Tonight.
Kyle swallowed the dried meat and closed his eyes.
He would move once the sun went down. He would climb through the rocky area, bypass the trap zone, and approach the main camp. His objectives were to determine the layout of the base and confirm the hostages' location. To measure the hobgoblin's combat power. Tonight was for reconnaissance. The hunt was tomorrow.
The sun set.
The moon was hidden behind the clouds, and the forest sank into perfect darkness. That was actually an advantage for Kyle. Night Vision was sweeping away the darkness. Goblins were nocturnal too, but Kyle's night vision had been absorbed from them. Under equal conditions, Kyle had the upper hand.
Kyle climbed the steep slope through the rocky area.
His fingers, reinforced by an orc's strength, gripped the cracks in the rock and pulled his body upward. Light Footsteps erased the sound of his feet on the stone. Once he crested the slope, the interior of the forest spread out before him. He was on the outer edge of the trap zone.
Kyle climbed into a tree.
He wedged himself between the branches and looked down. Beyond the trap zone, he could see the entrance to a cave halfway up the hill. Two bonfires burned in front of it, and six goblins stood guard around them. They held poison-coated daggers and crude spears in their hands.
The atmosphere was different from the night before.
Their movements were stiff. The guards' eyes swept constantly across the forest's perimeter. The four who had escaped must have reported back. A hunter had come. They were reinforcing their guard, exactly as Kyle had intended.
There was only one entrance to the cave.
It was wide enough for two adult men to enter side by side, and slightly taller than Kyle. Sharpened wooden stakes had been driven into the ground on either side of the entrance like a fence. Kyle couldn't tell whether they were meant to keep something from coming out or to keep intruders from getting in.
Kyle's gaze bored into the darkness beyond the cave entrance.
Even with Night Vision, he couldn't see all the way inside. But he could sense the current of air flowing out from within the cave. Warm, damp air. The body heat and moisture produced when numerous creatures were packed together.
And mingled with that air was a faint smell.
The scent of human bodies. Another smell mixed in with it. Urine and feces, along with the stench of wounds festering. The hostages weren't being treated properly.
They're alive.
The hostages were still alive. If the goblins were stockpiling humans as food, they were likely keeping them alive rather than killing them right away. To keep their food fresh. The fact was recorded coldly by Kyle's reason.
Kyle's gaze moved beyond the guards.
About ten paces from the cave entrance, something crouched in the darkness beyond the bonfire's reach. It was twice the size of the other goblins. Its massive frame was broad enough to block the cave entrance by itself. Its skin wasn't the dull green of an ordinary goblin. It had a dark red hue.
A hobgoblin.
Kyle's eyes narrowed.
It appeared to be asleep. It leaned its enormous body against a rock with its eyes closed, not moving an inch. But Kyle's senses caught a faint dissonance around it. A dim energy rose from the surface of its body like heat haze. It wasn't mana, nor was it vitality. It was a heavy, coarse energy that existed somewhere in between.
Battle aura.
Game knowledge flashed rapidly through Kyle's mind.
Battle aura. The power monsters used to convert their species' innate vitality into combat energy and circulate it through their bodies. In the game, it was an ability wielded only by higher-ranking monsters. Even among hobgoblins, those capable of using battle aura were exceedingly rare. This was what the bestiary entry had meant when it said that rare individuals could wield mana. Strictly speaking, it wasn't mana, but battle aura.
A hobgoblin capable of using battle aura.
It wasn't merely a mutant leader. It was an existence perched at the upper limit of the mid-level monsters. For Kyle, who was only at the beginning of the Sword Runner rank, it was a clear threat.
But at the same time, deep within Kyle's stomach, Greed's curse reacted violently.
It wasn't the pain of his stomach being squeezed. Quite the opposite. Like the instinct of a beast that had spotted prey, the curse was pulling fiercely toward the hobgoblin. It craved the creature's battle aura.
If I eat that thing, I'll change.
When he fed on the orc, he gained its strength. When he fed on goblins, he gained night vision and Light Footsteps. If he fed on a hobgoblin that possessed battle aura, he might be able to absorb the seed of battle aura. The very quality of his mana might change.
Kyle burned the hobgoblin's size and the density of its battle aura into his mind as he ran through combat simulations.
A frontal assault was impossible. Fighting the hobgoblin while dealing with six guards would be suicide. A single blow backed by its battle aura would tear through Kyle's leather jerkin like paper. There was only one way. Eliminate the guards first, then lure the hobgoblin out of the cave and draw it into a one-on-one fight.
But would it come out of the cave? A leader personally entering the fray was a last resort. It would send its subordinates first. In that case, Kyle had to wipe out the subordinates. Once the hobgoblin was alone, that would be his chance.
From his perch in the tree, Kyle etched the cave's structure into his mind one final time.
One entrance. Six guards. One hobgoblin. Hostages inside. Three layers of traps. Three patrol units. And if the four who had fled the previous night had rejoined them, their total strength was at least ten.
He had reconnoitered enough.
Tomorrow night, he would strike this cave.
Kyle climbed down from the tree without a sound and exited the forest through the rocky area.
On his way back to the cabin, Kyle stopped as he passed the edge of the village. A faint light leaked from the center of the village. It came from the village chief's house. Through the window, he could see the chief's hunched silhouette. He appeared to be kneeling and praying to something. Perhaps he was praying for his son's safe return. Or perhaps he was asking forgiveness for the sin of offering Kyle as a sacrifice.
Kyle watched the light for a moment, then looked away.
He didn't resent the village chief. He understood. Sacrificing someone else to save your family was the most common and natural choice in this world. Kyle himself was killing beasts and stealing their strength to survive. There was no difference.
He simply had no intention of becoming the sacrifice.
When Kyle returned to the cabin, he sat on the broken bed and laid the black iron shortsword across his knees. His own eyes, reflected in the blade, glinted coldly in the darkness.
The pain in his stomach was growing stronger.
Greed's curse was urging him to feed. He could last until tomorrow. But he couldn't guarantee he would make it through the day after.
Tomorrow night is my last chance.
Kyle closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.
The afterimage of the hobgoblin's battle aura rising like heat haze remained on his retinas in the darkness. When he imagined swallowing that creature's power, the pain in his stomach twisted into a sharp sense of anticipation.
A beast hunts a beast.
The stronger beast wins.
Recalling that simple truth, Kyle drifted into sleep.