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Own-Fiction Micro-Reading

May 30, 2026
12:51:21 – 14:50:40 Matthew: 209,000 words in 82 chapters
[starting from Chapter 13]
Through this approach, the erection of pockets of control or bridgeheads became natural.
When he finally tested it firsthand, then he could finally observe others and appreciate the power of the [System] in engendering power.
Justification and idealism was necessary for him to proceed, which was as all wars followed. It helped him make his brutal decisions and his kind ones. It helped him change the world for the better and for the worse.
If he didn’t do so, it would fester, basking in an emergent manner when future difficulties struck.
Shifting to the physical level, the trembles of footsteps emerged, sounding an alarm in their heads. From the distance, hundreds of sprinters ran through the forest, utilizing various spells to speed themselves up.
The young man, wearing a purple tunic and a yellow surcoat and foreign trousers, glasses, and strangely shaped sandals. His face was sculpted with an oblong-shaped head that could look round depending on hair and smile; curly hair styled as straight hair; charming, large round downturned eyes; delightfully thick eyebrows; a button nose; and full lips. He looked both adorable and intimidating depending on how he carried himself. [?????, da fuck]
As soon as he reached the bottom, he began creating a building by summoning blocks of construction materials out of thin air, magically placing them down in perfect alignment.
He also had to be careful of fellow people who travelled here from Earth because some of them might be tenacious psychopathic remorseless murderers. Incidentally, psychopaths still felt anger, frustration, and pleasure, but even with that, they were likely bad at socializing and maintaining long-term connections since empathy and trust were crucial facets of that.
This would be a study that drew from full-day focal follows of adult female blue goblins in three study groups for each dungeon steps; phenological data from the goblin group home ranges; and insect abundance data via malaise trap and sweep net methods; among others. To end, these follows would last 4 to 5 months, around 140 days.
The beating of a drum. The sounds of god tearing through his chest. The ethereal becoming present in his mind. He was lovely and thirsty for a drink. Mama. Papa. This now was his reckoning. He was freedom in all its glory and tearable in all its fabric. He could not comprehend his own validity. So he invalidated himself by saying: “Not today, Mama, not today is today. Tomorrow is a different day when it should have been on Earth, not here. Not here. I am not the me that I am. I am a different me, transposed away from myself.”
Matthew’s form was high and glorious. Each step he made declared his new position of power. He was better than Jishu was.
…the 13-year-old boy, Levi, bending down and leaning most of his body weight against a stone corner, his palms fronting the lean….
The [System] stared at him, appearing in a tangible form as a young boy with straight but swirly black hair with brown highlights, wearing a white tuxedo-looking jacket with long, cuffed sleeves over a white suit and black pants. The outfit was full cotton except for the nylon pants.
“I care about the wholesome of this world,” he said.
…It never leaves any rock unopened, especially those deemed to be impossible.”
Matthew stared for a while, holding onto his composure before he let off steam. “Fuck…!”
“I just don’t get it. Isn’t it crazy that that old man was some fucking weirdo who—I don’t know!—build weird shit? He was building a fucking building! I saw it! How did he do it! How…!? Tell me! Am I lying… Am I lying to my own…” He lost his train of thought, having expressed himself too much to his own tastes.
“…You turned me into your fucking swine….”
The rain poured in droves, and he was left to watch the sky again as always.
“As a reward for your efforts and struggle, let me explain how you came here from Earth. You came from Earth through a pod, which is not a flying space boat but more like a force.”
After pondering for a while, Matthew slowly said: “I did so much, and I made my own slice of pie in this world, having gone through a lot. It’s not perfect, but I’m not leaving it. Where else can I go? [System], you’re helping me a little, but right now, I would appreciate it if you gave me some space. I need to be alone right now.”
He returned to analysis and incorporated his past strategic terrain assessment of the city with respect to a particular front, among other previous events. The quests were instrumental in casting a numerous highlights across a map where he had strong memory. On the map, he traced several overall lines that exposed the distribution of importance between isolated prior experiences, tying them all up in a strong ribbon.
However, even with knowledge, the only way it would be useful was by spreading the various roles needed to undertake any operation requiring it. But the issue was costs and profitability.
A group of ducks and one bigger swan gathered on the vegetation. They all took turns eating the fallen leaf of a banana tree, and it took a good thirty minutes before Matthew wanted to leave.
Matthew remembered that an upside-down, unfinished canoe was here some time ago. He could still see the remnants of the wood used.
“My mother used to cook it when I was little, but several years ago, she passed… I now live in this ancestral home of hers, and I have no one else to help me take care of it. Care to listen?”
“…It’s just that I’m worried that this cottage will go unattended to for too long. It has magical properties you see that require a constant supply of mana to prevent it from termite damage.”
She leaned backward, her eyes shifting around the inside of the cottage. She stood up suddenly and turned around. “Oh.” She opened cabinets, chests, and containers, looking for a specific paper. “This was hard to get, so I’m really hoping that I don’t lose it.”
Before signing, they exchanged personal details, and she said her full name was “Drakekiller Rollingthunder.”
His previous job on Earth was that of a coder, but now, he was a state-sanctioned murderer. Indeed, the government treated the removal of goblins similar to how they treated animals, farmland, and pests.
Forgetting that reminded him of the [System], which reminded him of the older man and the disgusting man. They were just a series of ugly memories.
After the discussion, Abyssalfurnace and Herblord left, pulling along the goblin still struggling against the ropes.
When he went to the forest, he was quickly apprehended by the wind, striking him forward and bolstering him. It turned him into a determined freak on the loose.
He came upon a goblin that spotted him, but he was faster at long distances, catching him by the neck.
For some reason, the wildness tucked in his heart burst out, zooming through and all around the goblins’ body. A finger explored every inch of the goblin’s neck, as a blade reached out from his side, frightening the goblin.
“The kind that allows me to see if you’re capable of doing simple tasks.” Along with his mention of “tasks,” he revealed a dangling bag of coins. “I need to see hands.”
The spider was strung along and beaten around, being pulled and pushing in various directions. Eventually, it collapsed with part of its head missing.
This led to numerous scratches and instances of bleeding that required the healers’ quick attention.
The beastman used a screaming spell to distort several enemies’ vision.
She himself stayed a short distance behind to slash any flank attacks within their small formation.
She also was the one who stunned scorpions during their attack movement.
The archer finished off stunned scorpions since that was the most accurate time to shoot. That was her sole objective.
The eleven spearman kept watch at smaller spiders trying to attack near the rear, striking them down with precise thrusts. 
His movement was limited since the smaller monsters commanded a wider arc of attack due to their size.
The red dwarf stomped the eggs that the spiders summoned during the fight.
Since the smaller monsters died after a short amount of time after spawning, the eggs had to be spawned during the fight.
A group of monsters made an effective formation, charging via a flank far from the center of ranged fire. Consequently, the rest of the melee adventurers zoned them out, frustrating them.
However, the adventurers had hired several enchanters to block their path immediately with short-range disruptive spells.
Witchman, when he saw it, didn’t know how to respond, having spent so much time already delving deep in this world and growing tired emotionally from all the pressure and suffering. Even if he killed others with a smile on his face, he did it because he felt that nothing else could be done. He had to detach himself from the old world.
First, he said impetuously: “What’s this all about? First, you don’t answer my questions. Now, you reveal yourself to me like nothing happened. If there is a reason, do tell.” Even if he might consider himself an intellectual, he had an intellectual blind spot when it came to the [System], blaming it for bringing him here in the first place. It was the sole reason why he was now dead in his old world. It killed him and turned him into something he didn’t want to be. How could he ever forgive it? Even if he was rational, some things just looked for a beating.
He created three new threads in the category “General”. Their titles were the following.
[Found diamond at 65 y.]
[Survive the disasters ist still the best spell.]
[Ninja tabis!]
The inn was composed of two floors with a lobby room and a kitchen-dining room attached to a bathroom and a yard outside for clothes and washing dishes. The second floor was where the three rooms were located. These rooms ranged from medium-sized with a window and a bathroom to small with little wind to a little under medium-sized with a window and a balcony.
He was currently sitting at the lobby, laying his back against a bamboo seat. The windows were made of metal with strange patterns. Whenever someone tried to touch it or play around with the window frames, the inn keeper told them off.
He noticed that around 7,000 people were online in the whole forum, but the members were even greater at around 10 million.
Witchman asked why the city didn’t just create thousands of villages to maximize producing spell manuscripts and such.
After all his attempts to distance himself, he pulled the pin and contacted certain six adventurers he knew, agreeing to meet at the city.
“Finish this quote,” he said, his voice dark and crispy like loaves of bread crushed upon one another. “It’s supposed to be the longest.”
Mortimer Quixote was a man looking forward to a good show, having donned several different small tomahawks behind his back.
His self-perception was false and built on a dream. All this time, the trauma from getting tortured from the goblins contributed to his desire to cope by perceiving his circumstances as exceedingly in his favor. But he was wrong.
He saw the sun, a symbol of power. He deserved it. He wanted it.
An inn pressed against the foot of a hill, reaching out with its bamboo-fabricated frame and stilts and thatched roofing, its overhangs stretching widely, the floor made of breathable, rain-proof slats. When it came to its regulars, their feet had acclimated to the heat absorbed by the pebble steps leading inside. The sun spread heat throughout the outdoor area, warming many pebbles but ultimately concluding with a visual diagonal cut, missing the other pebbles under the overhangs within the shade. The use of pebbles as steps was the customary method of constructing paths.
Presumably, pebble steps were standard even if they accrued heat because they were more breathable, cooler, and cheaper than cobblestone paths and better than direct mud. For baby-sensitive shoe-loving feet like Witchman’s though, pebbles were still unbearably hot that he insisted on wearing sandals. Going barefoot, with its better traction and adaptability, was more normal since the land expected much more naked interaction with the most diverse flora and fauna that rainforests hosted, the mountainous terrain, and the moving of huts, among others.
Anyway, in addition to the inn, instead of towers, trees and plants loomed, overshadowing hundreds of adventurers on their way to work, each of them thankful for the cool air. Meanwhile, two separating children played around off the tower’s influence out in the sun before they were beckoned back.
Indeed, towers were discouraged: they were highly vulnerable to tropical heat and the regular flooding and typhoons without some technological or magical form of air conditioning. One-floor stilted bamboo huts with large windows and air-holes distributed throughout the bamboo slats were much more sustainable for the everyday person. Moreover, these huts could easily be moved by a group of hands and dismantled if needed, and that was done relatively frequently, sometimes three times in 20 years. Alternatively, from time to time, multi-floor bamboo structures were built and lasted, but they rarely reached the size and bulk of medieval towers, often looking like skeletons or frames instead of monoliths.
The trees, the huts, the pebble steps, and the inn only represented a few features of his Byzantine environment.
The nearby adventurer guild itself, in combination with the bridges, the graveyards, and long swathes of land, provided a sense of stability. At the scene, hundreds of wagons trolled along toward dungeon excursions, holding large containers of fresh food, water, and expendable adventurer items like potions, breaking orbs, and one-use spell manuscripts. As for weapons, armor, and shields, those equipment were handled and maintained by the accompanying blacksmiths, who were coincidentally switching places with those who were now leaving from the dungeon. The purpose of the convoy was to do their part in keeping the resources flowing and the activities supplied with lifeblood.
After spending enough time observing the landscape, he began traversing the road that led through a network of roads and paths, soon arriving at a small house: “Michel?” he said.
The wild card role could be attributed to Michel because she challenged Witchman on several fronts, particularly her necromancy with her necrotic arm and her admitted enjoyment of killing goblins. However, the fact that he knew her anchors—the city border and her house—cast doubt on her status as one.
…giving her the benefit of the doubt, considering their lengthy relationship and her recent, self-isolating behavior and struggles with her necrotic arm.
Michel began speaking, her lips as soft as a fairy dove, the light bouncing off her cheeks like heavenly gates tearing through the weakness in the air, her brows like thunderous burn marks that revealed her gracious perseverance, her hair like dazzling rays of light, her limbs like soft pillows, her mouth like a song: “What are you doing?” She sounded like a wet pillow.
He was staring at her too much, his cheeks red. It didn’t make sense, but Michel struck him as someone he couldn’t control. That made him feel something—a draw toward her as an uncontrollable and unpredictable force. And that made her all the more alluring.
“Sure.” Her voice was weak and fragile, but it sounded like something that no one could ever miss. It sounded like a safe brutalist bastion standing thousands of kilometers tall that would hold him safe and keep him secure.
He was tired of winning.
He teleported away, using a skill that broke through the teleportation limiters cast by the humans.
Returning to Matthew, hours after the celebration, around 3 AM, he returned home after eating outside with Michel and a few others. At an inn, he looked outside the window, finding several figures levitating. He covered his face, hiding a wide grin. He knew that he had to do it.
He had to become perfection.
“I deserve this—give it to me!” He reached for an orb, struggling with the figures for it, vying for its overwhelming power.
He couldn’t bear it anymore. He had to become everything he ever wanted to be.
He had to become the epitome of grace and beauty.
The terrifying faces of the various figures he had encountered haunted him, and he would not sit still while his nightmares haunted him day and night. This exacerbated his severe sensations of loss and grief from losing his family, friends, and old life and his greatly hidden guilt from killing goblins. Even more so, the closure and resolution from Michel and the others paradoxically boosted his resolve, confirming his biases.
He would become irrepressible.
The witch orb fell into his hands, and he cackled like a maniac. “Mine! Mine! Mine!” Each proclamation was a cavernous death growl.
As for the orb’s origin, it was delivered here with the help of a several people at the [Forums]. The [Forums] had many powerful people willing to patronize and extend their influence across the world, so they hoped to contract others willing to increase their power.
“But it’s not my first time anyway. I came here seeing my Dad come… there.” The owner of the voice pointed at a dungeon entrance with its rough bumps and messy floor, wood splinters, dirt, and glass fragments piled up on one side all the way to the dungeon. Hints of red trails made way to the first stretch inside the dungeon.
He left to grab more bags a distance away where he and his fellows dropped earlier from a public transport wagon.
Once there, he grabbed two containers at a time, sometimes a crate, often a large bag with various banana fiber ropes keeping it from opening up on its own.
When he returned, he was quickly greeted coincidentally by the wandering look of Witchman, who was now operating with a mask.
It was black, wedge-shaped, clean, and chiseled like a dog. 
They were here to sell at a stall stationed in the area since the bazaar where Deathbringer and Sophia’s friends sold was also here.
After finishing his assessment, he continued onward to the adventurer guild where he SAW stacks of paper being thrown away on one side. They were cutting down on older and outdated documents about adventurer activities.
After arriving at the place and defeating the weaker monsters standing around, they finally got the camp up and going, having a linear path to the city and many routes of escape. 
Moreover, they kept an eye on the path via the various vantage points nearby, using wards and sentries who were also duelists well equipped in prolonged one-on-one fights. They helped keep the enemy at bay and divert coming enemies’ attention by creating pressure on arriving enemy’s resources after they set up camp.
This specific healer guild required couples because at the event of marriage, both gained a buff that increased all healing received by 30 percent permanently.
Desmond was hasty to smile after he saw Sophia running up behind Witchman. “I didn’t know Rank 660 was with you,” he said.
“You know my current rank?” Sophia said, her expression growing meek and her stride slowing as she approached the two.
“I love watching the numbers. I’m currently Rank 760, so I’m not that far off.”
In the end, it was good to have outsource aid in order to streamline toward what was truly their forte.
As he was walking, he heard a group of adventurers walking by, their feet particularly silent. After he encountered them eye-to-eye, one of them said something strongly, and then he could suddenly hear their footsteps normally again.
The same person who had spoken strongly, a woman wearing crocodile green clothes that blended somewhat with the rainforest environment, said: “Good day, Sir. I haven’t seen anybody like you around here.” She was referring to his weird get-up of purple and yellow.
Witchman didn’t know what to say since he thought his attire was normal. “I… don’t usually travel around here.”
The woman cringed, and it was clear that she didn’t want to tell him the name of the foot-quieting spell she had used…. She began sniffing around, wrinkling her nose.
Witchman accepted the goblin, leading it to his cottage, but before that, he signed a magical contract with it.
The Agreement, effective January 1, 11000, was between Witchman (“Employer”) and Finesse (“Employee”). Finesse would serve as a General Assistant during adventures, doing tasks like carrying supplies and cooking. Payment was 10 Damian gold coins weekly, plus room and board. Finesse was on-call and joined adventures as needed. Work hours varied and would be communicated beforehand. The agreement lasted until terminated by either party with one day’s notice. Termination had to be in writing.
His inauguration of goblin relations, especially as a former employee relations manager, was a step onward into firsthand experience.
His plan in mind involved targeted training and nutrition, so he was hoping to include more vegetable dishes and fruits in his diet to start, since he was mainly relying on the adventurer diet, which focused on meats, hardtack-like bread, and root vegetables and excluded lighter vegetables, grains, and fruits due to reasons of calory density and longer shelf life. These reasons extended to availability. Naturally, there were exceptions to the diet, one of which being bananas.
Thorne said: “For one, you can try pouring your levels into armor. That was safer since you’ll use it for longer. What I mean to say is that you will want to use it for longer given how much more expensive it is. And I’m not talking about gambisons or banana fiber armor. I’m talking about metal armor. Don’t use it yet. Save up for armor first. That’s probably cost you three months’ wage, and you’ve been here for three months. So you should have about enough, right?”
Witchman asked whether goblins could use magic as well as humans could and whether they could use magic that impacted their rate of spawning.
Lumi added to Elara’s explanation: “We have seen many artifacts. We can show you, but you have to realize that it’s not that crazy or important. It’s aged artifacts that have grown weaker overtime. Their original purpose and quality is now gone. But if you want, you can take a look. I have one right not that I use for my hair. It used to be used to heavily increase a person’s magical power by 35% of the total, but now, that effect is dead or dormant I hope. One of our long goals is seeing whether certain dungeons are hiding some form of magical artifact that could influence other artifacts to activate. Even the King stated once that if we find an artifact capable of destroying cities, he would not hesitate to use it against the monsters.”
Later, Witchman made his way down a cellar, finding several different fences used as railings all around the flight of stairs. The ground was quadrangle outlines of stone bricks, and the ceiling had this dusty look, as if this place had lain untouched for 30 years. As soon as they reached the bottom floor, Lumi, with her firm gambison and gorgeous smile, showed him various lamps floating in the room. 
His entangling presence, like webs scavenging succulently around the room, seeking out the flesh and souls of every inhabit and the regions they inhabit, occupied the room.
The room sounded soft like whispers in the dark tearing through the air and highlighting each flaw in cadence.
“So, do you want to try this?” Lumi repeated, showing him a small artifact weighing as much as a woman when its openings were closed tight. “This decreases movement slowing effects by 25%.” The artifact was shaped like an almond, and it looked like a giant nut. When Lumi handed it to Witchman, she covered its openings. It fell from their hands immediately, but at the same time, since the holes were not covered, it became light again, surprising Witchman.
“What’s this for?” he said, huffing briefly, his voice squeaky like a dolphin catching its breath. “I haven’t seen anything like this.”
He ran, bursting in a dash, remembering the dream-like dash he made when he was escaping the first goblins he saw in this world.
Pain didn’t make him stronger. It only made him more sensitive.
He fell to the earth and slammed his fists against the earth, reddening, growling inwardly, huffing like he was drowning inside his throat. He gurgled, slipping to the earth, his eyes reddening with the liquid form of his hurt.
He stabbed them ragefully, sorrowfully, and angrily again. He skewered them to stillness.
There, he felt validated.
He was the instrument. He followed orders. He did the right thing. He made others happy.
So much encouragement from his fellow adventurers just to do something so simple.
He smiled.
He trembled and had a panic attack, screaming at a high pitch and growling as if he was being tortured physically.
“No! No! No!”
The [System] appeared, disgusted. “You should be better than this. You’re not satisfying the expectations of the gods.” He beat Witchman again and again until he became terrified like a little boy.
“You have to become…”
Witchman began screaming again and backing away, covering his head.
The [System] cringed. “Seriously. What’s this?” He cast a spell that numbed Witchman’s emotions with a drug-like effect.
For the remainder of the time the [System] watched, Witchman stared in silence, sitting up, his gaze unfocused.
The [System] retched. “Here’s what I’ll do. You’re too ugly to look at. You make me sick. I’m going to…”
When he saw the lack of response from Witchman, he hesitated. “Like I was saying… you will receive a blessing from the Overlord. He’s hoping you can get out of this little tantrum of yours and just move…” He tilted his head, checking for any movement from Witchman. “…on.”
15 minutes after the [System] left, he received a status notification.
[You have the Overlord's blessing. Your health stat will cost 300% less for each stat point, decreasing to 0.89 per stat point from 2.67 per stat point!]
Witchman began to laugh again similar to how he was manically laughing earlier out of madness. But this time, a sense of confidence swelled up. He was back in control.
Even if he was mentally unstable, he knew an opportunity when he saw it. He realized that he now viewed his mental breakdown as a way to rope in support from the Overlord and the [System]. With this new vision in mind, he stood and pressed onward, looking at his two titles again and his new third one.
Seeing his first goblin, he hesitated, seeing his future in front of him—a mass murderer, a grave-maker, a taunter of his friends who wished only for him to be that shy, innocent, and kind child again.
He smiled with disdain.
With the goblin prepared, as Witchman ran, he adjusted his aim and gutted it on the neck, moving his breathing with precision.
He looked for another one and immediately pierced it on the same spot. He was becoming more adamant. He was charging them one by one and catching them off guard with how fast he angled and shifted the starting point of his spear thrusts. His arm muscles progressively gloated.
He lacerated a single armored goblin three times consecutively, breaking its restarting momentum the same number of times.
Several goblins appeared, trying to slow him down with their arrows.
But he was too quick, impaling them with the same spear.
He didn’t even switch his tactics.
The goblins were solo-killed one by one, not ever being able to relay the reinforcements the need to be more careful than normal: Witchman’s damage was deceptively high.
7 more goblins came his way, but his confidence had grown: he skewered, transfixed, slaughtered, eviscerated, and ravaged them.
10 goblins in total were dispatched, and his [Whirlwind Waltz] was used.
He celebrated the win.
Anyway, Rodney’s team tried to explain the concept of golems, but he didn’t understand much. He realized that mind was not connecting the dots, so he said that he was probably a little tired.
He went to bed and fell asleep, his heart still beating tangibly. His high levels of stress were partly due to a lack of sleep.
Later, he woke up, still lacking sleep.
Meanwhile, at his most frequented guild, many adventurers were making noise, as various news circulated.
“The quest [Hobgoblin Menace] is confirmed by thousands of soldiers! Even if it took three months, he’s finally dead! Stability was now returning to the region!”
Moreover, smaller but important news also came to their notice: “Tulips and Barkada Forces are beginning to dwindle. It is probably time for some dungeon clean-up. We’ve already contacted a coalition of adventurer parties making their way down to the Fourth Ring. Hardly anyone has forgotten potions this time, considering the strengthening Smog in the place. We can safely say that the region around that area is safe. But please don’t forget that with dwindling, we are continuing the monitor the area for goblin activity. If you or anyone has seen a goblin, please activate your red cards.”
“Tulips and Barkada Forces” were a particular band of outlaws that had begun to cover various fishing ponds and other beginner areas, preventing beginners from diving into fights with spawning goblins there due to the band’s efficient pathing within a beginner division area. They were the ones Witchman dispatched earlier.
The “Fourth Ring” was a particular monster spawning hot spot unique to the one of the major dungeons in the area, and it was notorious for carrying the highest death rate among a particular rank of adventurers. As for the reason of this, its terrain was deceptively deadly with many adventurers falling prey to blind spots and check points even with light sources. The monsters were also active in destroying any form of light since that prevented spawning, so that emphasized the territorial struggle. As for the rank of the most victimized adventurers there, they were “Silver”. To explain, the adventurers were ranked from Iron, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Emerald, Diamond, Masters, Grandmaster, and Challenger.
As for the red cards, they were an magical innovation produced by a particular department residing in the adventurer guild building. Simply, triggering it alerted the guild operations.
14:59:58 – 16:31:53 Matthew
However, when it came to the golems in this town, they were very much alive and breathing due to magical “imprints” that had been laid down for this particular town at its establishment, giving these golems boosts that made their presence valuable in the community in the form of town-wide buffs to mana regeneration and more.
In the end, Witchman already had many things needed to start a city-wide presence. All he had to do was persist in his solo adventuring. Then, he could incorporate other various activities such as enchantment testing, stat experimentation, and the remodeling of his pattern of attack with respect to his overall arsenal with skills, spells, and all, for well-roundedness.
They already knew about Witchman’s strategic failure the last time, but they were sure that whatever he had prepared was likely going to be very rewarding. Desmond Leroy was crucial in convincing them to stop their mild heckling, since he was the third party most disadvantaged in that strategic failure.
Witchman smiled with a sense of superiority, but acccompanied by a childish guffaw.
In another place, far outside the city, a community of goblins were in the middle of attaching several houses together. “Guys, we’re in a hurry, but please commit to schedule. There hasn’t been a single mishap thus far, so be prepared. Human energies are upon us, and any gap in attention will be rewarded with death!”
Their voices reflected their cursory and prodding nature, childish yet almost lacking in that cadence usually reminiscent of humankind. But it was smooth like berries jumbled up in a space.
The community was situated on a coastal area, as hundreds of trees were being targeted for felling. They needed space, because adventurers would be passing by here.
They built various foxtrots all around and attached several inconspicuous hooks on the ladders to make it easier to climb the palm trees where they could hide.
Moreover, they moved further up to a vantage point observing a lagoon adjacent to the wide coastal path. 
Here, they laid down a variety of stones and other resources tucked under leaves, bushes, and roped together and hung inside the leaves of a palm tree.
These were their many strategies for coherence across a wide network of goblin traffic, having lived here for centuries but displaced due to human activity—the age-old story.
In the end, these areas were strategically valuable because they projected into the sea, serving as a *bridgehead loosening up land and sea routes with one that basically surrounded the entire island group.
The spear was laced with venomous, frustrating Deathbringer’s burst of energy.
As for the others, they were quick to dismantle the attacker into dozens of pieces, shining a highlight upon their event of death.
Chuckles and bursts of nervousness-tinted guffaws danced along the ley lines of this environment.
The sky became heat with reddish marks, as a skill from one of the goblins summoned a spectral dragon that burned the area in a long line, leaving behind a wall of flame.
The humans fled, Witchman following them, as the wall of flame fell, marking the introduction of an armored hobgoblin wielding hundreds of bats at his command. He raised the right hand in an ominous gesture, flying with the helpful wings of the bats.
He shot down arrows clumsily.
Meanwhile, the rest of the goblins ran away, watching the humans spitting flames of fire, casting magical zooming attacks, and preparing to slash the nearest goblins. They were in a state of frenzy, moving progressively faster.
The goblins made a shield formation, casting magical shields along a line.
They were assaulted from various sides, flying men turning their feeble shadow-accompanied forms to dust.
Magical bursts of light emerged, symbolizing the end of the fight.
Tanks roamed around, archers took their position, and various melee warriors looked at the canopies of the rainforest. 
Anyway, an outpost group from the goblin community immediately reconnected and reinhabited the coastal areas, miffed that the humans did war for sport rather than practicality.
Later, back at the city cafe, Witchman laughed at the idea that he had forgotten to** bring food for himself, being the only way without extra food**. Everyone brought personal food along with group food since they didn’t want to monopolize the shares. It was part of their culture to do this. But Witchman, coming from a different culture, didn’t really care. He just laughed at the idea that even with all his experience, he could still be considered an ignoramus to this place—the goblins, the murder, the murder, the murder.
He returned to his inn, staring at the orb that he used earlier in the fight. “Without this, I would have died.” He let out a guffaw, relief swelling in his veins, his heart pulsating, and his head beginning to grow light. He was not here to have a mental breakdown. He just wanted a time to think.
He looked again at the various instances of progression throughout the street, seeing the several new golem constructs in the area. The road was also cleaner, as more buildings were being renovated for goblin slave selling.
He went to the dungeons, as he spent his 88.31 unspent points in health, gaining 99 health and leaving behind 0.2 unspent points. Overall, he had 906 health now. He didn’t spend the points earlier in the fight out of impulsivity, thanks to how much support he got recently, which gave him little time to manage his emotions.
At the dungeons, watching several goblins compiling lists in order to make it easier for the living core of the dungeon to understand what was next in the priority list. These goblins functioned independently from the rest of the goblins, having developed a personal connection to this core in a mutual relationship.
But Witchman did not discriminate, his taut smirk emerging and exiting like a maniac.
Far away, at a higher place, where the wind met the plains flanked by hillsides, which hinted at mountains further in the distance, figures of goblins walked in a line, interspaced by long spans of distance, 
which were far enough to express a collective sense of control over the environment, but short enough to be only a dash away.
The air was wild and flourishing, taking poise among the goblin figures where street lamps lit the path. These lamps were expensive, but with the help of the goblins’ energy, they were powered. This was not actually effective, but it served as a symbol of human cultural superiority. It was pragmatic to keep humans in the lane of glory while goblins outside the order of life into the stait of darkness.
Here, the goblins took strides, their voices calm and wavy like sea far off the horizon in the astral planes beyond the flat plains. This was where the sea fell to the depths of space. Behind these goblins, a group of adventurers, whom Witchman knew, bickered like little daisies awaiting a presidential order. About the coming storm, It was going to make things difficult later on, but this could be pleasant if given the magical energies they prepared—skills that could mitigate its negative effects for them to see the beauty beyond the shade in the limelight of wet droplets of life.
Within the goblins’ sights, the human Witchman stared, his voice like a croak, his eyes like those who had seen God, his lips growing weary and chapped, his stomach aching, his mind breaking under the thunderous roars of guilt. He saw that he was capable of violence, and he detested it, despising power for all its evil.
He slashed through them, his weapon like a pie prepared for storm. He bladed (turned them to slice parts) them to river ale that was red and beating and pulsating like fiery chasms within the taste of spicy milk. He burned their faces with his glorious power, slicing off the tulip—the spine—that made up their body. It burned under a radiant light. He felled them apart, falling through with his actions until daylight spread its last breath where the night with its gloomy core memories budded like leaves in the shed holding a coming feast.
His weapons were swift, separating each facet from each other, as hundreds of slices of bread-like flesh dissipated like dust in the swallow’s breeze. The rendering of their forms as formless became its cherry on top.
He reddened them, lighting atop their head a candle of death, breezily swallowing the stray paint that detached from their canvas body as an offering to entrenched waters that represented his inherent right to power. This was his bountiful fresh river rain.
Truncating their faces in a rivery slash, he moved farther beyond their shadow, claiming the land upon their bodies filled with hair and green shades. He rode the wave of the blade, his hands moving like fresh springs juicy to the throat. He punched, creating impacts that reminded him of death.
“Gah!” he bawled; the bodies dropping to the ground, all goblins.
The smell of fresh water distracted him. The red amid a river of blood. The red here was the succinct theme of the [System], as he descended in levitation toward the new man Witchman.
“Witchman,” said the voice of the [System]. It was different, one filled with awe, one filled with wonder. The glory of Witchman’s reign started here in this massacre.
Witchman thought he heard wrong, but he was sure it was all right. “Thank you. I don’t see myself doing this very often.” He wiped his tears, experiencing euphoria of violence, one rooted in mental deterioration and confusion regarding the definition of love. He was problematic.
He was glorious!
On the [System]’s prompting—he shouted to the heavens, “The Heavens have bestowed to me a power, and I will use it.”
He and the [System] laughed, their voices like apple swathed in feathery cotton, one pressed yet subtly refined in its puff (pastry case).
The night graded from purplish red to reddish green due to certain magical whispers in the atmosphere.
Witchman smiled. He knew he was finally home.
She recently signed as an entrant into the new adventurer guild. Though, it was often humorously referred to as a “builder barracks” instead, considering how even the adventurers were being made to build and tend to tasks like inspecting the land and features in order to smoothen the relocation process for new residents.
She didn’t think much of it, finding it difficult for her to return to the border to help out. The border was being expected to standardize, and it was growing more contentious as the rewards grew and the quality of adventurer raised with the current war. She couldn’t help out because it was cheaper to have higher-level adventurers stand watch instead. Adventurers didn’t have to worry about their skills getting worse overtime, so for those who were stronger, often times, they only needed to sit down and relax until an attack occurred. Then, they would use their stuck-in-time skills and spells, frustrating any effort at a noticeable dent on the border.
Her rank was much lower than the rest, and her only use was being a border guard.
She smirked, as she went to the nearby dungeon, casting several spells that struck several skeletons. It did was negligible poke damage, but it healed her. She did this every once in a while to avoid spending too much money relying on healers to help her maintain her necrotic arm.
Flanking a heated pot held up by a fence-like frame, she stood next to a chair created with the help of very talented craftsmen.
These craftsmen formed a small group along with workboys, assistants, and apprentices. 
To explain, apprentices were more like assistants, workboys did more menial work, and assistants helped out with more delicate work while not actually being apprentices.
She got some fish head from her banana peel.
their playing reminiscient of the glorious sun.
They lounged, making their way through the corridors of the monolith called the world. Their knowledge lended to ingenious ideas when they climbed, ran, dashed, leapt, and dodged, their all manners of play rendering them unstoppable.
They flew toward the sky briefly before falling down, catching themselves and each other on the feathery ground. Their eyes were closed with contentment, later opening again to guide their feet through the rich quality of the forest haven.
At home, soon, she recalled the necromancy lab she saw as a child. It had a warehouse, an infirmary, clothing shop, alchemy shop, mad alchemist, weapon shop, a graveyard where she could recruit undead, enhancers, and wagons to bring her and the undead to fight.
Brandon was Redspiller Warmaker.
Michel was Doomsinger Mighttaker.
Brackern was Suneater Herculeanridder.
To explain, Brandon’s first name “Redspiller” increased his chance of bleeding by 10% on all instances of damage, and his second name “Warmaker” increased his chances at provoking large conflict if he was the one in charge by 10%.
Michel’s first name “Doomsinger” increased her damage dealt by 12% on enemies below 13% health. Witchman didn’t understand how the name led to that passive ability.
Her second name “Mighttaker” led to her gaining one unused stat point upon killing any higher-level opponent.
Witchman thought that this was too strong and tied well with her necromancy skill of making traps stronger.
The world allowed him to rest softly into the gentle early morning while it was still dark.
His heart spurned thoughts of grief, sorrow, anger, strife, and conflict and accepted a sense of defeat, that which preceded victory.
The next morning, at Witchman’s cottage, the [System] offered Witchman the new skill—[Cattle Decapitation]—along with the new [System] quest.
At the cottage, Witchman smelled the air, and it was humid. He smelled, so he took a shower, freshening up. As soon as he went outside, the sun warmed his body delightfully. Filled with awe, he stared at the trees outside and their rustling leaves.
He sat down and waited.
He remembered something, running all the way to a certain cottage.
He saw a familiar group of ducks and one bigger swan that had gathered on the vegetation.
He saw a particular woman.
“Drakekiller Rollingthunder,” he said. “You killed someone…”
“Yeah… what about it?” she said, laying down an old blade, next to a bowl of sopa. Incidentally, she took a sip from it, sustaining an obvious slurping noise.
Anyway, Witchman never addressed many issues he had encountered in his life here on this world, but he thought that he should address this one. As for why he came here alone, he made a mistake.
“Shit.” He remembered the disgusting man.
As for the reason of this, most of his successes had largely stemmed from him playing the metaphorical merchant selling group tactics and dynamics. Specifically, he organized adventurer parties or teams to work together on quests systematically through the guild board.
This was why he wanted to diversify into the goblin realm. But in the end, his situation.
“Because you didn’t run.” He lowered his voice to a murmur. “What are you a horror show side character?”
“It is so funny. It is the funniest thing, just seeing people being so irrational incompetent like a bunch of loser limp-dicks whose lives are being dicated by their dumbass shitty hole of a brain.”
He pretended to clear his throat as a polite signal to counterbalance his high level of frustration.
He was a champion of a people that couldn’t sit on their knees—always lying down and embracing the earth and all its failures.
He needed to correct their little loser lives. He was the epitome of grace and beauty.
The [System] had been nodding the entire time.
This was a dangerous echo chamber.
“Don’t do this! Don’t!” didn’t exist here.
“I am the epitome of grace and beauty,” Witchman said, quietly at first, before repeating it with a resounding yes.
The [System] acknowledged him. Instead of chuckling and saying how awkward and edgy he was, he groomed him further against being a crybaby loser who exhibited kindness, trust, and empathy so naively: “Why not?”
Solipsistic Slaughter (Level 1)
Witchman used the skill against them even with the 0.75-second cast time, and the goblins succumbed to it quickly. They only had around 500 health, and their attack damage was less than that reduced by the skill debuff. So they dealt 0 damage to him for 3 seconds. One goblin had a skill, but it only stunned Witchman briefly and dealt too little damage to matter. Ultimately, Witchman barely moved and neutralized them with basic attacks since they couldn’t even run due to the slow debuff.
He finally found them—his admirers.
They said that they could form a party with him, but they wanted to see his combat abilities first.
He went out there a little deeper in the forest.
Following, the adventurers stared at him.
The goblins fell apart quickly like dominoes in a porey wind-struck shed.
The adventurers cast their skills, not at the goblins, but at Witchman.
Witchman fell to the ground. “Wait…” His voice was weak.
Despite his meteoric rise, Witchman was in no way powerful.
He was beaten several times before being thrown against a tree.
He was kicked at the same spot many times.
He was dragged to a surface lava pit.
He shouted with all his might: “Please, I’m sorry! I don’t what I did to you! But please! I don’t want to die!” He was so used to being so powerful behind that metaphorical desk of control and superiority where he chatted away and told people what to do. He had forgotten that everyone had a plan until they got punched in the face—the easy defeat of an arrogant human being by people sycophantic and opportunistic enough to do so.
“Please!” He had so much potential.
He was thrown into the lava pit.
Witchman burned, begging the world to feel sorry for him.
“No!” he screamed ferociously.
He was removed from the lava pit and then healed with red potions.
Then he was dumped into the pit again.
“No!” His voice was muffled this time.
He was removed from the laval pit and then healed with red potions.
“Please! Not again, not again!”
Then he was dumped into the pit again.
He gurgled.
He would trust this world and his friends to win in their own lanes and continue to play the game. Getting gang-killed once was fine because he could turn things around with patience. Even if his lane was at a disadvantage, he could rotate outside the lane to the same objectives that all adventurers shared. This was actually what he did when he organized an adventurer quest coalition to attack the monster hideout. Alternatively, he could focus on taking uncontested objectives while his enemy counterparts focused on other objectives. That was also his goal for being here at this side of the city with the less established adventurer guild, but he didn’t respect his enemies and got caught. As for a third alternative, it would involve going to other lanes and gang-killing at objectives, letting off pressure in other lanes before returning to his own station. This was effectively what he did with his fellow adventurers at two past events: the coastal engagement and the monster hideout attack. Overall, he needed to maximize his lane pressure and keep his enemy counterparts with minimal pressure. This was why he wanted to broaden his scope of influence, which he started by meeting Drakekiller.
In conclusion, he followed the adventurers who had group-attacked him with a systematic approach.
As for the group, they had 8 plots against him: a magical contract to prevent him from attacking them, threats of further torture and punishment if he rebelled or didn’t comply, recruiting other prisoners to increase the group’s manpower and leverage against him, conditional rewards, physical restraints, isolation and segregation, constant surveillance, and using him for dangerous tasks or missions on behalf of the group. To clarify, they couldn’t have a magical contract that prevented him from indirectly attacking them through asking for help and such, so isolation was a must. They also couldn’t have a contract that made him follow their orders forever.
Witchman glanced before realizing that the cave was very vast, and it had lush vegatation hanging from the ceiling. “What is that?”
“Lush caves!”
The adventurer grabbed Witchman and kicked him, beating him again and again, growling in rage. “Shut the fuck up!”
As time passed, he began to smile inwardly because justification was necessary for a slaughter. The love inherent in slaughter was imminent, because if he could get rid of the evil within their souls, he would free them to Heaven.
He beat them to death.
He crushed their spines and dislocated their bones, wishing upon them joy and beauty, because he was inevitably their loving father.
He loved them unto death.
His skills manifested as the hurricanes of love.
Because of his mental instability, the magical contract didn’t register as him attacking them, because he did it out of love.
After his emotions stabilized, he pondered about this event.
When a systematic approach lapsed and failed, it was usually not because agents (people) were completely rational. It was because they double-downed to instances reflecting irrational behavior with a combination of reasons such as emotions, duty, loyalty, beliefs, and morals.
Witchman knew too many people like Arthur back on Earth, so no matter what happened, his Earthly experiences would make him a dynamic creature, morphing to eat up the souls of others, with their diverse stakes and situations.
He met different kinds of people. He met a priest named “Johun”, who prepared a table for him in the direction of the rainforest, annointed his head with oil, and poured into his cup until it overflowed.
So he decided to leave on short notice, meeting a familiar woman, Tamer Languiosse, whose smirk put butterflies in his stomach. It was a polite species of butterfly.
With that said, she scooped an assortment of fruits into her mouth, remarking with admiration, “What a splendid food we have today!”
This was the iron string that kept their faces sponged in front of one another—a smile tying up the ribbons of their hearts in camaraderie.
Matthew adopted some of her vividly spread buttery language.
her mirth abounded in bed flowers
take a hold of the center of goblin abode!”
a woman as fickle as a deciduous tree.
Alongside the buttery flavors of the food bracing for flight in a variety of directions within their sweet, voluminous mouths, in a crispy manner, her smile was clarified. To emphasize it further, it was similar to a flower pot of gold.
With the rising sun, Matthew’s admiral-like face looked more defined, and his eyes were more clearly sharp and amorous like a sadistic fox. “There’s been news of Tulips and Barkada Forces making rounds in the area, motivating the goblins to gather themselves just a little.”
The hints of huskiness in his voice and those quippy expressions were a good match.
He also recognized Tamer’s abilities as a tamer, especially viewing that she brought five glowing goblins this time. She had grown, even without his administrative input. He recognized that and only wished that she never caved in to self-disrespect, especially as one that formed allegiances with goblins.
Quasi-legioned forces tore through the openings throughout the dungeon. These monsters made their down the rough terrain leading to Matthew and Tamer spirally.
This was where they reigned supreme—at uncontested objectives where they held a significant advantage over the enemy in terms of bringing them out of their folds. As soon as that happened, with the help of her goblins, it was easy for Tamer to use her holy water–filled barrels toward a congested enemy army, hitting the numbers individually and with equal distribution of damage and debuffs. Moreover, his use of [Solipsistic Slaughter] was indiscrimate, slicing those who came close enough in a crowd, turning them to piles of meat with the high area-of-effect damage.
With the help of the friendly, positive, supportive adventurers, they were able to bulk-transport via a convoy of vehicles toward the city.
At the city, it was the truth that no one could come there alive without at least a pay check. That was why Matthew, being one brought into the city via an adventurer group, was compassionate to see people sitting on their haunches a large distance outside in front of the city gate. He didn’t want to help them without obeying the rules of business, which he thought was to extract money wherever applicable. So he was sorry he wanted to help and helped them anyway.
He showed the guards of the city gate that they were with him, paying the required fee per head and impressing Tamer on the way.
In a society marked by an appreciation toward magic and the elegance thereof, it was not strange that philosophical questions—with regard to the purpose of magic, and, by extension, everything else such as fairness, rights, and justice—became a standing phenomenon. In other words, the same way a standing army accrued costs, so did the elements of magic mediate curiosity by the thinking mind. Furthermore, with time and with a desire to promote power, knowledge was inherent. Following the celebrated turnover of that study, the scholars gravitated toward the seats of change. As for this consolidation of power, patronage, diligence, and talent were emphasized in this pursuit, but overall, the idea that women were lower was not something that people certified. [??????????????????????????????????????????????, was on something when I wrote this whole section, this paragraph not even the only one of this… whatever this is]
In the end, the secret practice of mammalism, or in a more bitter term, monsterism, could be viewed through her lens. This rested upon the hominid (human)-affiliated “Fight for Equality” in association with the goblin species.
Speaking of which, she hid her goblins under a cloak while Desmond and Matthew discussed the earnings of the recent “New Adventurers Division” formalized during a meeting between the adventurer guilds. Desmond—who played a tangential role in a contingent developing adventurer equipment for several notable semi-permanent coalitions regionally assigned to various monster hotspots—heard of it and shared this information first with his party and then with Matthew. It was a complex story, but it was unspoken between Desmond and his “Know-whos”, given that name because of their connection to Rodney and his information-swelling conspirators, that Matthew was a prodigy.
Witchman knew that his and Tamer’s feat at the Fourth Ring was a sign, considering that they hadn’t claimed the lesser “tributaries”, or quasi-hotspots, surrounding it. Simply, it looked targeted.
But people were not things he could control. Even if he wanted a slower pace, he was forced to inject bountiful clumps of information and responsibilities, causing metaphorical clots.
In the end, he took a deep breath.
He got this.
16:31:56 – 16:44:00 Matthew
Back on Earth, a young woman, Emma, got up and tied her shoes, tearing apart some of the laces that had loose threads, as she walked up to convenience store.
“Op!” Emma gestured toward the wrinkle with her lips, brows, and eyes.
On her first quest since reuniting with Witchman, Sophia ran around, healing in the form of electric surges of light that beamed toward her targets. She kept an eye on them, as goblins spread from a nearby hole.
“Scree!” their voices clamored like fairy dust, as the bloom of their new spell arrived with feathery wings.
Sophia yelped and screamed, as her form was discarded bunch by bunch, finger by finger. Her form became naught.
Witchman and Michel joined Tamer’s waiting group at the guild before they headed via several routes, commuting via wagons and giant crocodiles. They were excited to see the thunderous heights the mountains reached, the reptile legs of their rides making marks across the rainforest floor.
the driver who had lost his giant crocodile was compensated with some money from Witchman and Tamer.
They mentioned various events: the coincidence between a rise in monster activity in the overall region with the newfound strength of the goblins, the King’s decision to make coffee a luxury good, and the removal of the second adventurer guild where Witchman made his name “Witchman.”
Time only made things better for him back on Earth, but today, he was a castrated, dewinged, naked angel sitting unevenly against the rocks by a wide, echoing river running along a green mountain.
He was not the late Sophia’s slave any longer.
Soon, at the entry of the second week of the third month, an assemblage of adventurers entered the city of Power, their expressions and demeanors steel like the symbol of two burning hammers angled diagonally across each other, forming an X.
The droplets formed puddles, and it got muddy… The hills were very wet, and the fog was clear.
The quiet moments in the mountain were served alongside plates full of fried food, hot soup drinks, and hints of wood in the flavoring due to the wooden bowls used. The nightly shirts men wore were dark violent in color; reflecting their abiding by the street laws of the city, which prioritized maintaining a color theme amid complaints of poverty and other more important concerns. All in all, along with the comforts of this modern life, magic did invite more creative minds that tended toward aesthetic and culture-building to the administration, at least in this instance.
Soon enough, precious spilled droplets of the ground were consumed magically, being converted to mana for the workers. This was a feature of sustainability supported by an agency within the city administration, one that culturally and economically tied this polity to other sustainability-directed cities. Overall, there existed a network of polities that were all connected via initiatives represented by various individual sustainability installations.
16:48:19 – 18:53:56 Matthew
As soon as they caught up, Thorne’s group dragged Witchman’s group to a mountain cave where adventurers were busy preparing for a siege underground where hundreds upon hundreds of dungeons and thousands of structures extended over a large expanse of caverns, chambers, passages forming cave systems—a labyrinthine opportunity.
…the people in the shelter gave him an applause… he brushed it off for now as a trinket of their culture.
Later, he returned to the inn, remeeting his two original companions. “Elena, what happened with the ‘compartmenters’? Liam, what’s the case with the soldiers at the north border? Did they really do it?”
They used to be part of a secret society that offered ways to regenerate limbs through magic, and they were able to do so, having lost their memories as a result.
Their night was quiet, leaving only the sounds of mice roaming through the streets, cats chasing them, and dogs marking their territory. It was an urban animal hotspot.
It was a humble abode for lost boys and girls.
On one occasion, he greeted a man wearing a saddleback tunic, his smile like that of a man receiving sexual pleasure. It was only when Scrappy saw the way he walked that he realized that the man was emphatically humorous, having been birthed from a cross between a theatre jester and a man inhaling copious amounts of energy-boosting stimulants. He even would ran around as if he was tearing through the air, seeking out food from various day jobs. In the end, to the dismay of some, to the delight of many—along with his more comprehensive traits—he embodied the role of a high-functioning weirdo.
souls on the same grassy field.
He realized one pursuit—that of baring the shelter’s individuals.
He memorized them by name—listing 15 individuals among the men, 20 individuals among the women, and 13 individuals among the children, which varied by boy and girl. He thought they were hard to forget—this was logical estimate.
the leaves tickling his person
Maybe, he was depressed, struggling against thoughts that convinced him he was wrong in the realm of inherence. He was stupid in the realm of nature. He was broken in the realm of infinity.
“Everything around him” was a sufficient enough description, but it never detailed the factors and the everything.
His goals and purpose here and his reason for leaving were all arbitrary according to himself. He set the tone and the things that happened next, and then everything fell apart anyway. In the shambles and the rubble, he arose a second time, a third, and a fourth up to infinity. He would become the epitome of grace. He would become the epitome of beauty.
He was the Great I Am.
His life had been rinse-and-repeat torture! 
Was he just a man waiting to die before the looming shadow of death? 
He cried: “Abba. Please save me. I am just a frail man!”
But he was not! He denied.
He was a vengeful soul reaping the joys of his beloved and turning their memories into a fiery flame gushing out in an ever-consuming fire.
He didn’t have a soul yet. Maybe…
He did now.
He smirked, readying himself for physical massacring.
But all in all, he was completely in self-control, determining his path to victory. 
But time was a bitter female dog, always mocking his actions and his attitude, telling him nothing made sense.
But he would cast the lot. He would turn the tides. He would remove whatever barrier was in his way. He was not naught. He was something. 
“Damn it!” he said, his voice whispered, enough that no one would ever be able to tell that he was a controlling freak.
He grabbed the way of the world, and he twisted it with his own hands.
He slashed the goblin devil.
He rendered the goblins formless, turning their flesh askew.
Leveling up only symbolized his retreat to glory—a restful retreat, a savagely pleasant glade, a nicely put, prancing lot where his mind was at ease.
He cut down the goblin enforcer of control and authority, slashing his angelic outline and reverbrating into his soul. He caused it to dissipate.
He walked aside.
Another goblin moved, the shadowy figure adjusting its posture, readying to fight. It wanted to see the farthest light slashed in half, because Scrappy was that light, 
his armor reflecting the shining, blue flowers of the cave deeper within.
A sword sank to the bottom of the sea that made up the goblin’s organs and being.
The man Scrappy was too elated to hate. He was just functional and purposeful in his actions.
The night showed no mercy to monsters, especially when Scrappy was divinely inspired. Even if it was not actual divinity, the god-like being [System] inspired him.
With a squealing blade, the goblin expressed itself, his sword then bouncing off. But it was a “he,” and he was an “it.” It didn’t matter.
His sword fell to the side, revealing his awkward smile.
His smile was ripped apart. That smile was a mockery of functionality.
Scrappy needed more reclamation.
To that end, he slashed repeatedly on a musical count.
The timing was off, and the pitch was the sword twanging all over the place. In the end, it represented his rhythm of warfare, that which cast aside all unnecessary elements—emotion, faces of disgust, puking upon the earth. A sense that everything was lost lay in that ravenous hunt.
The showers of praise upon his being became apparent.
Great job on defeating that solo goblin! Your expertise nets you a solid 7+ XP! 🎉
Well done on taking down that armored goblin! Your victory earns you a hefty 42+ XP! 🎉
Slashing right and left, up and down, the movements were solid, rock-heavily banging the temples to the off position, the cracks simulating a web.
A combo-driven expanse of attacks thrust from his being, even when his sword looked uninvolved.
The goblins pitiably drifted apart, reacting to the hits and adjusting their feet. The grabbing of the ground by the toes immediately repelled any sense of imbalance and got them working together again. This was their finale.
The sword drifted, shuffling, sounding the swift winds of fjords, breaking the fast for blood.
Goblins spun, running around; their bodies flew in the air; the soul exploded; their eyes lolled around, their imaginations still; and their bodies expired.
The master of swords was driven not by hate, but by the need to cast aside any other thought except redemption. To repeat, he had finally redeemed himself, but he was wrong about being a master. He was just an amateur; it was only here that he appeared to be one of the greatest, not because of his sword skills, but because of his form of heart, basically the way he expressed himself.
Self-discovery was a key reason for his time spent here. It was a good thing he actually made something out of himself. Though, he did wonder if he could do something else to pass the time, something more worth his head space. Goblins were great, but not the only thing around here. He thought to look for skeletons. Maybe, they were better.
He made an operatic sound of celebration.
Liam smiled with a smirking face. “We just hit their toes, and they die.”
Elena popped in like a cherry, sniping a yeah toward the periphery. Simply, she said yeah.
Elena rotated her head to the side until it was almost horizontal. It sounded weird, but it was an act-cute gesture. “You’re coming?”
Reverting to the main point, he followed them inside like a bat in daylight.
This was why even if many stoic, hard-fisted adventurers had the capacity to advance to the upper ranks, their desire to deal with lower-level concerns, those more attached to the modern day and the everyday—wherein the bottom pyramid stretched across millions of lives instead of being castrated, limited, and embittered by the loneliness at the top—precluded this.
Dividing this discussion into an even more explicitly philosophical portion, “The Collective taketh Place over the Simple,” was a popular quote passed around by philosophizing policymakers. This was especially underpinning, in view of the knowledge that the actions of persons resolutely commanded the after-and-before of human peoples alike. Furthermore, these persons would have happened to be in the crucible of high places and the power to change the pendulum of societal maturation. In closing, 
the will to ascend conserved by the “high elves” (“the Simple”) among adventurers lay orthogonal to the decisions (“the Place”) made by policymakers; indeed, the lowly (“the Collective”) had their decisional piece of the pie.
To stamp this on a more practical floor, this theory-work provided a basis for magical and combat endeavors, owning to their allegiance to the more cerebral-adjacent factors starkly integral to their effectiveness.
To prove the practicality of this feat, Scrappy was already begining to sense his first mana whispers, having correlated a high density of theoretical concepts together with the aim of improving his cognitive abilities. This refined cognition, since his time back in college on Earth up to his many reflections in this world, had yet to reap the rewards it brought to the table.
When he was alone and out of anyone’s earshot and view, he raised his hand and first made a wrinkly expression before sniffling, then huffing for a few seconds, before sniffing, his jaw trembling, then raising his head, looking up with a clearing face. He smiled with a worried look. He grinned before snickering and then bursting into a series of guffaw-like sounds. He exploded into hysterical laughter, heroically cavernous in sound. “I can’t believe it! I did it!” His hands were so excited, having slain goblins again. It made him so nervous, yet it was so good.
He raised a weapon, taking the deepest breath with wide eyes and a subtle smile. And his face contorted, wearing his emotions—volatile frustration and mania-resembling freneticism—like deep creases on a mountain.
The [System] opened his cloak and showed Matthew a floating holographic screen that featured a carnival-colored wheel that one spun to receive a random prize.
He grabbed a squeling juvenile goblin. “Please, please,” it screamed.
He plunged his hands toward their spine through the blade. “I am the epitome of grace and beauty,” he whispered repeatedly, his voice shaking and with a hint of timidity. But that fear was not of guilt or the potential damage from goblins. It was from the sense that his humanity was breaking away.
He slashed, giving his all, his eyes blinking. When the blades hit, it slowed.
The blade set them free!
The goblins flew, wings guiding their flight to heavenly places. It hit the wall and fell, thudding lifelessly.
Scrappy raised his hand, his outfit bearing its fangs. “I am no man. I am God.”
He closed his eyes, embracing the confirmations.
No criticism would stop him now. He was everything he wanted to be. He stared at the person staring at him now.
The [System] stepped in, clapping, before looking at the person staring at him now.
They smiled, nodding at each other.
Meanwhile, a goblin ran his hands through his fair with frustration. “We lost them, Ma. We lost them!” His voice was hoarse and granular. “I can’t do this anymore, Ma… I can’t do this!”
A wail of pain reached the whole goblin group.
Switching to Scrappy, he saw that he couldn’t hide it anymore. He was too much of himself, so he had to cut it off. He grabbed the blade and wished that he was wrong about everything and stabbed himself. He bled. “I am not good enough, aren’t I?” He smiled with sureness. “I really am not… am I?” He burst into a grieving guffaw.
He knew who he was, and he knew that he had been doing things that he didn’t want to do. But his compartmentalization had gone too far for him to see even. Each time he tried to think, he was already beating a goblin senseless. He burst into gaiety.
“I can only keep going.”
His statement echoed that of the goblins in the fight 30 kilometers away.
Scrappy raised his hand in the air, reaching for the sky. He was limited, even if he was top 1. He lost everything in the process, and no one could see him anymore. He was not there.
He was an empty vessel: his soul had gone away, off back on Earth with his friends and family. He wished that were the case. He believed it. He hoped he would.
He cried.
He apologized for doing such a horrible thing.
It was too late.
He realized that his thoughts had deviated from the norm, because the new norm of this world had set the tones many times over.
He was incapable of expressing himself in a way that didn’t feel like a mirroring of this world’s adventurers. He was utterly them, and they were him. He was inextricable from them.
They were altogether lovely.
He begged for mercy. It was not the world he directed it to. It was not people.
It was himself.
While others couldn’t stop him, he couldn’t stop himself.
“It’s too late. I already tried to die. I can’t stop myself. I can’t… I don’t feel depressed anymore. I only feel this great frustration. I have to become better. I have to become confident because helping others needed confidence. I have to help others—No!” He sustained his scream.
He realized the blood on his hands were real.
He couldn’t stop himself from doing things.
He did it again! He did it again! His addiction to the feeling of hope made him do it!
He couldn’t stop himself.
He couldn’t stop himself.
He couldn’t stop himself.
He smiled and smirked, shaking.
He would become the epitome of grace and beauty.
He stood up and became the hypocritical murderer that the people staring at him called him.
He would fulfill the expectations of others.
He was a people-pleaser after all.
He raged upon the streets of Zaun, crushing the goblin foe. He would render their forms formless and cause their lives to be upturned and upended. He lived the whole life, and he was freedom. He was the epitome of grace and beauty.
He grinned, his head shaking with adrenaline.
He raised his blade, seeing the glory of the light, before smashing down.
He created life from the darkness.
Goblins ran for life, and they spoke life from their fingertips, as they aimed their bows of love toward his angelic person.
He accepted them all and fell to the earth, weakened, bleeding.
He healed himself, but the arrows had struck deep and penetrated through his body with large exit wounds. He realized he was dying.
His skill had been used already in the previous fight.
He cried, longing for Mommy. He missed his brothers.
He wished that he was sorry, because he felt no guilt, only excruciating pain.
He died.
He loved the world, but he couldn’t love himself.
[The System] stared at Matthew's lifeless body. "I know it's unjust, but should we just give him a second chance…" Their conversation continued long.
Afterwards, [The System] grabbed Matthew and raised him, his body dangling like a wheat stalk in the windy rain. “Why…”
[The System] said robotically, "It'll give you special effects that you'll need later. Seriously, you can be so much stronger if you just used your fucking brain. Stop being so naive about 'ethical shit' and do what has to be done. Kill the goblins; get the job done. Don't be a dweeb, you disgusting little loser. Just use your brain and get the job done. I don't give a clicker if you think goblins are worth saving. Just kill them and get stronger. That's all that matters—power. You need power right now to be safe. The world is going to kill you otherwise. You don't want that. Don't trust people and manipulate them to your ends. Make them think you're weak when you're strong. And remember: your enemies are all around you. It's justified to murder them."
“Do you want to live your entire life a fool? You’re not that guy. Seriously. Stop making yourself out to be some moral candidate. You’re not, and you know it. You’re just like the rest of us, you arrogant cuck. Please recognize your fallibility and see that the world needs fixing. You make effort toward that goal, and things improve as a result. You see what I’m saying? This is hard to hear because that’s just how facts work. They don’t care if you’re sad or happy. They only care whether you actually care about listening or not. So listen… Do what I say, and we’ll be good. I know much, much more than you, and I have lived so much longer than you. Traditions upon traditions of history, all of them holding sway in my decision-making. Why? Because they each hold knowledge as to what actually matters. You are my surrogate. You are my source of credibility. You complete me. You define my life and reify what I lived through. Now, in order to validate my life, I have to see it through in you, the kind of person who would never dare to complete a goal when ‘ethics’ were involved. I will control you, not because I hate you or am really controlling you, but because I am utterly responsible for the wellbeing of this world. This is why it is necessary for me to do this. I have to know. What does it mean to be human? Now, that depends on what you mean by ‘human’ and all the other words in the dictionary. See, everyone has a different idea of what basic words mean, so you have to recognize that even basic words don’t suffice for the great vast knowledge I have. I will never be able to explain it to you without inserting that kind of firsthand experience. You see what I mean? This is why you have to put your shoes in order and make it straight. Go.”
In the background, the smell of the rainforest and the heat of the sun upon the mud tickled his nostrils.
information-gathering troupe
clumsy demonstrations of taming a giant furred bat
The crowd dispersed, as men and women found their hair pulled and their necks sliced. The goblins were evil!
Jayce laughed as he grabbed the goblin’s head and stomped it several times in succession.
Second, Thaddeus raised his arms and flew, destroying the winged goblins and obtaining air superiority for their wagons and siege engines to zoom quickly in a line toward a tall triangle-shaped magical provisional structure constructed by goblin mage builders.
Third, Seraphina magically created large clouds of poisonous smoke around the area, limiting the vision of her enemies and starving their resources, as they hastily shot into the smoke. Her fellow adventurers could quickly rotate to collapse on them.
(End of the First Arc “The Trials of a Displaced Soul”)
He was going through a hallway. It was a library-academy where it was wooden and had large gridded windows with the round arch at the top. So people were walking through this area, encountering many items: paintings, couches, various shelves with various items such as potted flowers, papers, books, quills, old manuscripts, small wooden figures, stamps, red ribbons tied to the books to indicate whether they’re to be removed or not, blue marks tied to the books to indicate whether they are to be read for this semester, other miscellaneous items like cartography tools and different types of papers like papyrus, and glass containers with slight marks indicating quill end scratching, among other things. For every item that Matthew interacted with, various RPG system notifications and messages appeared that expressed about the history of each item. XP was gained when he did something meaningful to these items such as combining them to form unique visual arrangements. The goal was that any interaction within these hallways with floors covered by whitish gray grainy stone chalk (calcium sulfate plaster) and ornate red carpets spread out one by one in a regular line resulted in some “check” that looked like the following text.
✔️ Interaction with the ancient manuscript completed.
She showed him a hat shaped like a salakot, but it had a detachable end fastened by drawstrings that poked through holes at the top So she could open it and close it.
“What’s that?” Tamer replied, having a cultural confusion of her own.
“Hey, look at you!” Elena said like a proud mom, having Liam in a sibling-to-sibling–resembling headlock. “Looking handsome, huh!”
With Elena and Liam engaged in a small wrestling fight, a few feet away, Matthew and Tamer were walking toward a large bookshelf. “So this is the education I was speaking about before,” Tamer said.
“Education?” Matthew hadn’t heard that word in a long time, being a former college student and a (former) brother of three home-schooled siblings back at home on Earth.
Tamer raised her brows and frowned with satisfaction—the “yeah I know” look.
Matthew showed her his new items, having gone and collected various loot due to his higher rare loo drop chance increase.
They included a hat that increased the damage of critical strikes by 20%, an amulet that raised movement speed by 10%, a late-game-scaling sword that pierced through armor with 50% more armor-destroying power, and a shard shaped and etched to look like an eye that shortened his spells’ cooldowns by 5%.
At the facility, later, she smacked a training dummy with a broom.
She was biting her nail, as she stared to her and at the passersby and bystanders, thinking deeply about something.
Matthew was looking at his own coffee and sipping it gently in case he burned himself.
With that natural lull, shifting to Elena, Liam, and Ray Deathbringer, they were grabbing toys and various things that had fallen from someone’s desk. These items were improvised to prop up a sign on that desk.
Architecture God
Coincidentally, Matthew’s hair was short, so she never got to see his hair flow.
He followed her before diverging toward Brandon and Brackern, who were both impressed at the contraption one of the students made.
Brandon looked like an older person with how surprised he was.
This book detailed theories such as the Advancement Theory, which suggested that the mana well of humans emerged due to their domestication of dogs and that levels were being removed [?] through a magicumotory mechanism located in the dog’s stomach. It was a strange string of words, but he got the gist: it was going to take a while for him to learn this actually.
He was addressing everything today. No more psycho-block to make his day a living hell. Today, he was Intellectual Sam, a new personification of formal education.
A day later, he got the meeting and arrived there punctually, having studied and planned out various events from the past, the present, and hypothetical futures. This made staying systematic across a field of dynamics, especially with the diverse commitments he had since he came to this world, coherent for him as a singular individual.
He provided a few words of greeting and prefacing, establishing some foothold to get gears into action.
After hearing and listening for a bit, he exchanged with information of his own in order to expose new hidden previously capped information. He did this intermittently and with previous practice, being an adroit conversationalist. In the end, he completed his goal of gathering more anecdotal experiences with magic, considering the complex mechanisms underlying what skills an individual received. As a result of the meeting, he confirmed once again that personal beliefs and inclinations played a clear role in skill acquisition.
He met several different adventurers at the inn and asked for advice regarding the book, not trying too much to stand out by focusing on those about to leave the inn. This way, it felt like he was just asking for directions.
He fell asleep at the cottage, not really minding the messy sandals at the entrance or the mud that partially went inside.
He remembered many people from the past, visiting a certain older man who frightened him at a familiar eating place.
Matthew didn’t want to bother him, so he sat down nearby and waited for the man to notice him.
Matthew asked, slowing putting down Tamer’s copy of the book, “What’s that?”
The man saw the copy and looked up to Matthew, a smile emerging on his face. “Roberto’s Essentials of Magic.”
The older man was not quick to express disdain, but he did openly disapprove of the new policies of a certain far away city-state. He said that the attack of something called “the Just” led to certain changes that impacted not only domestic policies but also foreign policies. This led to 
restrictions and barriers to trade
merchant ventures
foreign ownership
The older man said: “The ‘disgusting’ man? I think I know him. The portal weaver, called to this earth by a legion of angels. His presence here in unhindered, and he only looks for flesh. Fleshling monsters abide by his word, diligently reaching into the world to control the powers from within. The disgusting man you’re speaking of must be that man. The Portal Weaver.”
Matthew didn’t understand why the older man took the time to give a more poetic explanation, but he accepted it.
At his first quest in a while in this city, he found out that he didn’t have to do much. The adventurers he had partied with were of a different caliber than usual. They swiftly eradicated a camp of goblins. It was like pan-heated butter being sliced.
This figure, a man, stared upward, his eyes closed, his hair nicely messy. His outfit was much simpler but still elegant.
He wore a golden coat over a purple tunic with a large, wide collar. 
He wore a golden cloth wrap around his waist to hold his tunic, and his posture was that of a elegant man demonstrating superiority. 
His left hand was outstretched and palm-up in an enlightened manner. 
His right arm was much lower and more tucked in, but still carried that tone of the phrase ‘This is enlightenment.” 
His background featured artistically abstract colors of brown, white, and other earthier background-friendly tones of yellow and purple, and his yellow cloak blended abstractly with the background.
He gritted his teeth and exploded into a dance, making his way down the street.
“I lost my goblin friends! I did! I killed them myself!” he said.
The children were scared, distancing themselves from him.
When he arrived there, he was greeted by a host of goblin miners, who found his likeness horrid to look at. The purple and yellow colors gave them the creeps. It looked like an uncanny creature.
Matthew used his skill [Whirlwind Waltz], crushing the goblins even more immediately than when that skill was only level 1. Now, it was level 8, having increased in range and duration of stun.
He beat the first one that approached unstrategically to shreds with a spear, pulling them by their head aside.
Matthew stood, beholding his bare hands.
Goblin blood savored the dungeon floor.
“The Witchman had returned to claim his loot!” said a goblin elder leading the group, shuffling away, hurriedly looking for something from the assemblage of chests, containers, and piles present.
The shadow of Matthew stretched, overshadowing some of the goblins, who soon fell standing at the massacring blades of the lavishing Matthew.
He crushed a stoic wall of goblin laborers.
The goblins grew rageful. “How dare you!” repeatedly danced upon their lips.
The light lost its strength, Mark’s shadowed edifice presenting itself with his spear, ousting the gleam.
He crushed their forcefulness.
The goblins retreated on all fours.
He screamed, as he was abruptly tortured to passing.
Matthew moved forward. Upon his figure, various movements created a borderline cosmically beastly form.
Potions flew.
Matthew got hit, flying backward.
The goblins’ distraught expressions grew still. They walked up, shuffling, sauntering up to their feet. Some crawled away. Some got up with their faces and temples covered.
Matthew got up, his motion angelic and ethereal.
The goblins gritted their teeth and fled, their pride deteriorating. They pointed at Matthew, arguing amongst each other. “We must kill the beast!” they soon said in unison.
They armed themselves and kicked themselves forward, waging a war against the heavenly presence.
The words flew to a silence, and the swords crafted their formations, reified under the night sky of the cave ceiling.
But the dead faces of the goblins decorated the floor.
The running operation continued to hum, 
as the shadow of Matthew stretched deeper inside—
a foreign body sparking light in an internal system.
Matthew struck like a child touching a dew-covered a plant’s network of leaves, destroying its watery stasis.
Explosions upon explosions of flesh and blood made a mark.
They rapidly closed the doors and gates, running through the hallways and tunnels, 
gathering in sweet hot spots where they at least had most of their combat resources at their disposal.
The time would stop to make way for a new era of goblin operations.
He waited for his body to relax, having forgotten to sit on his haunches for a while now. He had been a chair-sitter for months now after being assigned here.
ch. 40, 105,920 words passed, 15,700 words noted.
19:23:32 – 21:54:17 Matthew
He stood up and prepared himself, grabbing a spear that he had snucked in here. He hid in a specific compartment, but it was somewhere far away, where the adventurer certainly was.
Matthew returned to his cottage, relaxing on a seat, his eyes closing to make room for contemplation. If he had been more prepared, maybe he would not get injured as much. He was trying to optimize his strategy and methodology for later. So he brainstormed for a while before falling asleep.
After taking the time to clarify past events and interactions and reset their rapport to a clear and clean slate, Matthew left, contacting Tamer for a quest.
…they did hand out Damian gold coins as a reward. It financed Matthew’s adventurer activities—even those occasions where he only declared that he would be taking on a quest after the fact—with impunity, even if it might have involved goblin killings.
For context, the determining factor behind this reputation system was primarily social (and often political) reputation, though adventurer competence was predictive of it.
This was why he had to move forward, because even as a rookie, he wielded great power in the form of potential.
After meeting Tamer and her current adventurer party’s roster [first use here], they immediately headed to a quest.
Several goblins appeared in the distance, flying with their wings, shooting and running backward in repetitive motion.
Tactical Battle
Matthew pointed at the hills around them and the river flanking them. “Be careful. We might get choked here. Let’s stay here, slowly moving to get a better view. In fact, let’s back off, the forest is behind us, and this clearing only leaves us vulnerable. The road to our right leads to a larger area, but it’s a large forest. That should be good if we’re planning to retreat, but we also cannot guarantee if they had prepared sufficiently for it. Moreover, it goes in the same cardinal direction as where the winged goblins are headed. Let’s focus on moving away as far as possible, moving backward where we’ve guaranteed control.”
While heading back, various long-ranged skill projectiles flew in their direction from the far left, but they were mostly probing shots to check Matthew’s team’s vigilance during a strategic retreat.
Afterwards, the winged goblins regained full control of the clearing;
not having to contest with Matthew’s party for the road entry point.
Matthew continued, “Let’s keep a wide angle to prevent the enemies from collapsing on us. But make sure we don’t stretch too wide that we cannot line up and charge one of the enemies’ flanks to get out of a collapse motion.”
Tamer reinforced Matthew’s concepts to the members, paraphrasing.
The enemies began moving and accumulating at the clearing, confident that could bait Matthew’s party in. But in case that didn’t happen, their goal anyway was to keep this objective secure. They didn’t have to force fights. They just needed to wait until one of Matthew’s members got caught. 
They had a lot of numbers, so they would focus their forces around in order to attack from behind. He already predicted where Matthew’s forces would end up and had the rear-attacking team head there to catch them off guard.
Matthew’s forces quickly re-arranged themselves however, moving backward as much as they could to regain control and vision. They didn’t want to loosen up, so if their enemy was confident in their attack, they would reveal themselves.
But for now, Matthew wanted to focus on catching the first wave of enemies with the goal of baiting the rest of the enemies to reveal themselves. However, if the enemy knew that plan, they would keep hiding.
It was strategic straffing game.
The enemies continued down from the clearing, their main force centering from this direction. [bruh]
Matthew already knew and felt the pressure coming to them, seeing the members of his party grow nervous as the trees began to rustle from the clearing’s direction. He didn’t want to throw stray shots and miss, so he kept his skills off cooldown.
One of the members had a low-cooldown spell
that offered a wide area-of-effect attack 
that could be used 
to prod for vision and 
poke enemies over a cone.
So he stayed closest to the clearing 
to gather information and 
keep the enemy guessing, 
hiding, and 
dodging fire.
This slowed them down.
Matthew noticed that one of his members were drifting too far, 
so he beckoned him back.
[Intro:] Another member straffed too far, after one of the enemies shot a long-range skill at him. 
[Cause:] The member dodged, 
but he put himself to a vulnerable position 
surrounded by blind spots.
[Pre-Response:] Matthew immediately moved his troops that way, 
pressing the flank, 
predicting an enemy collapse 
from that direction.
He was right.
[Predicted Event:] An ambush from various thickets and vegetation emerged to catch the member off guard.
[Additional Responses:] But Matthew immediately had the healers and shielders protecting him. 
He also motioned the low-cooldown–spell member to keep applying fake pressure to keep the main enemy force guessing, 
while his team collapsed on the ambush force.
The ambush force was strong, being members with the competence to handle a large group. 
But since the main enemy force was still careful, they didn’t get too much.
The canopies were especially thick as well, and
even if the goblins operated via the air, it was impossible for them to move without rainforest obstructions [probably should be “with” instead of “without”?]
In the end, Matthew’s team rotated immediately, 
commanding his team to move forward 
toward the main enemy force and 
let out loud screams of alarm
to match the reaction they would [have?] had 
if the ambush truly caught them off guard.
[Result:] This baited the main enemy force to enter, 
while Matthew secured the high ground, 
killing them off one by one,
[Cause:] since the main force entered in a hurry to collapse.
Soon enough, Matthew’s team succeeded, but they still were not yet done.
They moved forward, 
keeping their focus on the trees and the flanks. 
The back was already much secure, and 
the large force was eliminated. 
So they focused on moving quickly to the clearing and
keeping quiet 
in case more enemies were still there.
When they arrived at the edges of the clearing and saw it was empty, 
they moved forward, 
climbing the hill flanking the road to the right 
and the river to the left.
Their next priorities were establishing a foothold on this initial hill, 
which meant delegating control 
over 
the road entry point and
a little over 
the edges of the clearing.
Certainly, having his members consolidated sounded easier, but 
if the enemies continued to press the same strategies of a rear–flank attack like they did a while ago 
with their main force entering in to collapse after the fact,
then at least he mitigated that risk.
[Condition:] With his main team advancing, 
[Action:] he pointed out various various hiding spots in the form of 
gullies, vegetation, trees, knolls, and 
minor slopes with 3-meter sharp dirt faces.
[Reason:] This was a congested jungle, 
but certain paths indicated regular traffic through this area from various directions.
They spread out horizontally, 
keeping their front unmarched 
because of the threat [that] 
moving in a line posed in such an area.
[Reinforcing:] They kept spreading out, 
[Relative To:] relying on the secured area at their far rear 
[Arrangement:] with the three members in the clearing.
[Fundamentals:] After clearing the area and establishing vision and control,
they slowed down and stayed, 
watching.
After several minutes, 
Matthew shot-called for the three members in the clearing 
to come and watch this cleared area instead
to keep their changing flanks actively secure 
as they advanced.
When they entered the front they avoided earlier, Matthew told the team to be trigger-ready 
in case one of the enemies appeared.
[Counterexample:] After hearing a shuffle, 
one of the members began shooting at all the hiding spots.
[Problem:] This was reactive, and it wasn't productive, only warning the enemy of their position.
[Counter-Response:] In the distance, 
various long-range projectiles shot precisely in their direction, 
[Catalyst:] the sound of the member's shots having facilitated this aim.
[Ripples:] Matthew called for a retreat, 
[Pressing the Attack:] as a single individual from the enemy team charged, 
[Capability:] tanking all the skills thrown at her. 
[All-in:] All the other enemies accompanied this individual, 
“riding” along and using her as a hammer forward.
The individual was too fast, so 
[Evasion:] Matthew immediately got his team to dodge sideways.
[Persistence:]The individual kept charging after missing, 
[Cut-Off:] but she stopped soon after, now covering their rear.
[Result:] Matthew's team had been separated into two flanks [split], but 
[Reserves:] because he had three high-damage area-of-effect skills [Solipsistic Slaughter], 
[Exploitation:] he told his team to charge the rest of the enemies and ignore the tank.
[Method:] They first regrouped and then charged, collapsing on the enemies 
[Rotation/Tempo:] while the tank tried to catch up.
[Strength:] Matthew used all his skills. 
His teammates were mostly fighters with one-vs-one competence, 
even the healers and shielders,
with some expections like the low-cooldown–skill member.
[Collapse:] The enemies were swiftly repeated to shreds, 
while the tank failed to catch up. 
[Outplay:] His back-to-front strategy as a tank failed. 
In the end, his fragile-bodied backline was ripped to shreds, 
having relied solely on the tank “taunting” the enemy team to distract 
while his backline shot from the newly emerged rear.
[Debuff:] Matthew punished this efficiently with his skills, notably having weakened the backline's armor and magic resistance by 20 with [Cattle Decapitation].
[Finish:] With the backline defeated, 
they turned to the now-useless frontline tank.
[Post-Battle:] With that victory secured, 
they rested first before 
covering the various strategic points of the area and 
creating a nice playground for them 
to bait enemies into.
[Cost:] But they were exhausted, low on health, low on mana, and had barely any of their ultimate skills.
[Departure:] They returned home.
[Potential Reward:] If the rankings and the guild gave them an honorable mention somehow, they would accept it with pride.
[Review:] She was most glad about Matthew's shot-calling and committed leadership throughout the whole process, despite the lack of communication previously had between her and the team. Even if the team hadn't practiced and trained much together, Matthew's decisiveness secured them the win twice in both fights. This was the epitome of grace and beauty.
[Ifs:] If Matthew had used his skills out of timing, 
they would have lost the final battle, so 
[Limitations:] she was glad that despite the lack of information,
Matthew was now a much more confident risk taker, being more aware and adaptable with respect to his enemy’s strengths and capacity to take damage.
Continued
Matthew focused his attention on skills and treading the path of leveling carefully. 
With his victory empowering him, he grabbed 10, a portion of his levels, and 
placed it into a new blade—a ghost blade, 
that which dealt necrotic damage similar to Michel. 
This blade came from her actually; furthermore, she mentioned that 
it would offer him a big discount with levels 
since it relied more on killing enemies 
rather than the experience gained from them.
Basically, it was a cheap, broken item.
Matthew looked at the edged blade he now had in his palm, having being gifted it by Michel in a package. He placed it again into the package to showcase to her.
So why was it advisable for him to grieve when he could smile with their spirits clanging triumphantly within him?
When Matthew showed the blade, Tamer immediately had her goblin touch it in case.
Newly enchanted blades had a chance of making the first creature that touched it bleed from the hand. So she was careful about this.
He went to a nearby dungeon to test his new blade.
At the dungeon, he slashed a goblin to the ground in a series of attacks that kept it displaced and unable to summon up a counter-attack. He demolished it.
For context, his swords and spears usually only added around 25 to 40 damage, and this ghost blade was almost no different, topping out at 60 damage. But it also included an active skill and a passive skill.
But that wasn’t the case. He used up 54.6 stat points on mana to get 39 more mana and reach a total of 350 mana 
since the mana cost of his three skills combined was 350. 
He didn’t want to rely on mana potions anymore, 
considering he spent so much gold buying them.
Anyway, 54.6 cut down 
his 247.2 to 192.6, 
which he sunk into health, 
gaining 223 more health and 
reaching a new total of 1129 health, 
with 0.36 unused stat points remaining.
Anyway, when it came to his [Attack Damage], which was interchangeable with [Strength] here, 
he had 145 attack aamage now with his ghost blade. 
Moreover, he had the [Goblin Slayer] title, 
which increased his damage against goblins by 12%. 
So his total damage in this case was 162.4 and 
could increase or decrease in terms of output depending on how well he slashed.
So he shredded through generic goblin health 
in 3 hits or fewer, 
since they had around 500 health.
Returning to reality, the next goblin in front of him stopped, raising its arms. 
“I’m not your common gob, please, don’t kill me,” it said.
Matthew watched the goblin’s mouth, 
but he couldn’t comprehend what the goblin was saying.
He could understand it, but for some reason, 
he couldn’t “hear” it.
Nothing in him decried goblin killing.
In fact, he sliced and stabbed and crushed the goblin, ensuring that whatever he said next was in the afterlife.
The next day, after he returned to the party, he taught Tamer about strategy and tactics, 
answering questions and getting her up to speed to an initial degree. 
As a result, she quickly summarized her findings from the day before, 
seeking to learn from him more and more.
Having been with Matthew for a while, she picked up on the way he described things, 
using his terms and adding her own perspective as well.
It began with the question: “What is the reason for the loss of the enemy team in the second fight?”
She said: “It’s likely that they were overconfident and overreliant on a list of things being true, basically a well-oiled machine. The issue was that their powerful strategy didn’t make room for any mistakes, 
so as soon as they encountered a threat that adapted appropriately, 
they lost in a landslide.
The fact that they can’t just respawn like a wraith makes this even more severe, 
since they can’t just learn that lesson and restart the fight again. 
They cannot perform well weak side basically, 
overreliant on early game strong side strategies.
The fact that the main force in the fight before that did the same thing—lack of communication between 
ambush force and main enemy force.
But the ambush force was also surprised, 
not taking into account the possibility that they could be detected.
It was a very rewarding strategy, but it backfired so badly. 
Same super well-oiled machine.”
The fact that she had been a child bride for two years added a back face to her various aspects as a human being.
Anyway, Matthew decried the loss opportunity 
to have the goblin enemies from the two fights fall under his leadership. 
He could have trained them, 
streamlining their strengths and trimming the impact of their weaknesses through his active direction.
The cool tank was especially tempting.
But imprisoning the goblins just wouldn’t work: 
they were going to fighting to the death. 
It was sad, a lost opportunity. But loss would always be part of the journey really.
Though he added to the conversation, 
using his past experience playing League of Lagands among the top 500 in his region 
even while being a top academic performer:
“It makes sense. In League of Lagends, 
one of the things new players do is 
get used to fighting 
certain match-ups, 
but it also depends on the skill level of the enemy players. 
If a new even better player emerges, then it’s often a very quick loss where one has to limit test. 
That’s how improvement happens in League of Lagends. 
Get used to one’s champion pool, different matchups, team compositions, player skill levels, and weak side and strong side.
But these goblins were not used to fighting very good enemies, 
having some strategy to some degree. 
But they probably don’t have a diverse pool of strategies like a champion pool. 
They haven’t gotten used to different match-ups likely that much. 
They haven’t probably had the chance to train and fight other team compositions,
considering the difference in power that adventurers had over goblins. 
They couldn’t just practice with and watch adventurers to get better.
They fought blind or avoided fighting.
They didn’t practice with different player skill levels both on the micro and the macro. 
They didn’t get used to playing weak side, having relied on staying on top in the early game—
relying on the first strike of the ambush and 
the first strike of the tank charging in and taunting the enemies with the backline shooting from the rear.
In conclusion, the goblins were severely underprepared, while I had lots of personal experience in fighting goblins, all the goblins he fought dying or traumatized instead of learning from his micro fighting skills. 
The fact that I had gone on many different quests makes it even harder to goblins to gauge who the enemies are. They don’t know about I had lots of experience tactically and as a solo fighter. So it makes all the sense why they lost.”
After finishing up the discussion with Tamer, he returned to the cottage to reflect.
Eventually, he went to the adventurer guild where he could meet his friends for a dungeon raid. He imaged the cafe, the inn, the bazaar, and the various familiar places that he now called his home.
He took a deep breath, sighting the various colors in the air and the way the trees swayed in the wind. The wind was strong, the sky was clear, and the air was hot. He was thirsty, so he drank from a pouch that he soon bought a refill.
He scheduled with them a multi-party event that included his friends. It was set two weeks from now.
In the meantime, he visited all his friends one by one. He did the same thing he did with Drakekiller Rollingthunder.
After taking the time to clarify past events and interactions and reset their rapport to a clear and clean slate, 
he left, heading to a blacksmith shop to have his equipment assessed.
He had always delegated the obligation to handle weapons and equipment to procurement specialists 
during coalitions and
had the young credentialed blacksmiths at the guild do maintenance repairs on his equipment.
But now, he wanted to have a tailored evalution done on his stats, 
hoping to connect with a stats evaluator through the blacksmith. 
Rodney’s team actually suggested to do this.
Now that the evaluator had context, he said: 
“You can try focusing on 
finding ways to 
strengthen your healing. 
Health is good, 
but healing is much more effective in the long term. 
However, 
increasing your ability power won’t increase your healing, 
but if you continue to work with the [System] quests and focus on getting titles and other [System] mechanics, 
it will reward you.
I suggest you focus on 
committing to [Bridge of Knowledge]. 
Since you excel in teamfights, I suggest you keep doing that. 
That should give you a team quest with a healing upgrade for a reward.
Your solo adventuring is good too.
Usually, you would put your stat points to armor 
since your enemies rely on physical damage, 
but you have [Overlord's Gifted]. 
So it’s good that you’re putting points into health.
What I can add to that is to find stronger enemies with skills that you can kill 
since they give a skill point for each skill they had. 
That should allow you to experiment with your path much better.”
It wasn’t advice that Matthew didn’t already know. 
The only thing he didn’t know was the healing part. 
But the fact that he confirmed that killing enemies did give a skill point for each skill they had made things a little complicated. 
Almost all the goblins he encountered didn’t give skill points. 
So none of them had skills. 
And the only enemies that did give him skills in the past were human beings—
the crazy “adventurers” that tortured him.
Anyway, because of the evaluator’s statements, he decided to visit a more difficult dungeon, one situated much lower. 
The lower the dungeon was in terms of elevation, 
the more challenging the enemies were.
So he gathered Tamer’s party again. 
The roster had completely changed except for Tamer, and now it was a new set of individuals whom Matthew had to learn how to adapt to.
They were heading on a dungeon raid, but it wasn’t a quest. 
So what they would do was purely for adventuring, leveling, and testing the waters.
If this failed, 
then they would have to make sure they escaped.
In the end, these lower dungeons
were much easier to monitor 
since they were often in 
low-lying, 
high-risk, 
flood-prone areas. 
So monsters that escaped to the surface were often assaulted by the elements. 
However, they could still leak out, 
which made their presence a threat to those living nearby.
The good thing was that they were uncoordinated, which made them easy to pick off one by one for stronger adventurer parties
This was why Matthew and Tamer’s party were not alone here in this new area, outside of the beginner zones.
Chapter 43.