The goblin standing closest to the fallen body froze for a long, stretched second. Its yellow eyes widened, its breath stalled, and a panicked clicking sound burst from its throat. It staggered back half a step, spear lifting instinctively in its grip.

  It saw nothing.

  No arrow.

  No movement.

  No sound of attack.

  Yet its companion lay crumpled, the side of its head crushed like overripe fruit underfoot.

  Its wild instinct screamed.

  Danger.

  It spun sharply, scanning the treeline, the bushes, the shadows between the dark trunks. Its nose twitched, sniffing the air, searching for any scent that didn't belong to its own kind.

  The forest remained silent.

  Nothing.

  And that silence only made it worse.

  The other goblins began to stir in agitation, their hisses and guttural clicks colliding chaotically. The panicked one pointed toward the dead tree where the stone had embedded itself, then at the corpse, then toward the forest.

  One of them knelt beside the body.

  It touched the shattered side of the skull.

  Its claw sank too deep.

  The goblin jerked its hand back with a low snarl, staring at the dark fluid coating its nails.

  The small body didn't move.

  Completely dead.

  Without a fight.

  Without warning.

  Several dozen steps away, Lilya leaned weakly against the trunk of a large tree. The rough bark pressed against her back as she slowly lowered her gaze to her own hands—her fingers were trembling faintly.

  She didn't understand.

  That throw hadn't been meant to kill, only to distract. Yet one goblin had dropped instantly. She knew her level far exceeded that of an ordinary village girl. Even her class was still ambiguous to her.

  Still... that had been too precise. Too powerful.

  "Did that dormant skill leak out?" she wondered, her brow faintly furrowing. "Activate without warning?"

  Lilya suddenly remembered what had happened yesterday, when she had accidentally torn a pillow apart simply from holding it too tightly while feeling embarrassed about the bold celestial armor design she had imagined for herself.

  So it made sense—if her body truly existed at an abnormal level now, then a throw meant only to stagger a goblin could easily become a lethal blow. The logic felt cold, but consistent.

  She slowly lowered her hands, then clenched and opened them again as if to confirm they were truly hers.

  They were empty.

  No sword. No visible magic.

  And yet she had just taken a life.

  "Can I save Cecilia with this power?" she murmured softly—not in pride, but in doubt barely louder than breath.

  She peered out again from behind the tree trunk. The remaining goblins had drawn closer together now, spears raised, yellow eyes sweeping the forest with sharpened suspicion. The earlier chaos had transformed into structured vigilance.

  Lilya swallowed.

  If she forced her way deeper into the camp, there were likely more goblins.

  Among them, almost certainly a smarter variant—one capable of reading patterns, setting traps, commanding the others with cunning.

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  One throw might have been luck.

  The next move had to be calculated.

  She swallowed again, her throat dry despite the humid forest air. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs—yet strangely, her mind remained clear. That passive skill was still active, like a thin layer of ice wrapping her emotions to keep them from spilling over.

  Fear existed, but organized.

  Trembling existed, but controlled.

  She drew a slow breath and whispered almost soundlessly, "Hikaru... lend me your strength one more time."

  Her hand reached for another stone from the ground. Its cold surface pressed against her skin. She called upon that memory again—stance, shoulder rotation, hip drive, the straight line that split the air.

  She aimed at the goblin closest to the corpse, the one still scanning the darkness nervously.

  Its pointed ears twitched first, catching something barely audible. It turned—

  Too late.

  The stone shot forward like a silent bolt of lightning, piercing through the side of its head and exiting the other before burying itself deep in the soil behind it.

  The small body collapsed without a scream.

  Instantly, panicked clicking erupted from the other goblins. Spears rose higher. Yellow eyes swept the trees more frantically than before.

  Lilya had already taken the next stone.

  As long as they didn't know where the attacks were coming from—so long as the forest remained her ally—she still had a chance to eliminate them one by one before they realized death was stalking them from the shadows.

  One by one, the small bodies fell without ever understanding what had killed them—brief cracking sounds, movements frozen mid-step, then silence. Each throw felt lighter in Lilya's arm, more precise in her wrist, as if she now fully understood that straight line of death.

  The remaining goblins scattered in panic, but their confusion only made them stand exposed for too long. The third stone dropped one trying to flee. the camp became a circle of small corpses twitching faintly in the muddy ground.

  Lilya's breathing quickened—not from fear, but from adrenaline boiling beneath the cold layer of her passive skill. She grabbed the final stone with something dangerously close to exhilaration and aimed at the last goblin—

  The slightly taller one.

  Broader shoulders.

  The one who had stood at the back earlier, its gaze more aware than the rest.

  But the space where it had been standing was empty.

  No body.

  No shadow.

  Only the dim fire and the thickening scent of blood in the air.

  Lilya's heart stopped for half a second.

  The hairs on her neck rose. Instinct screamed louder than logic.

  Slowly—very slowly—she turned her head.

  There, only a few steps behind her, stood the missing goblin.

  It was taller than the others, its split grin stretched wide. Its yellow eyes narrowed with conscious cunning. Thick saliva dripped from the corner of its mouth as a low clicking laugh escaped its throat—long and satisfied.

  Not because it had found a threat.

  But because it had found another lone human female hiding in the forest's shadows.

  "Gii!!" the goblin shrieked, its voice sharp like metal scraping metal. It lunged without hesitation, thin legs pounding against the muddy ground with unnatural speed.

  The short spear in its hand cut through the air first—not a precise thrust, but a savage sweep meant to rip through anything in front of it.

  Lilya flinched, her reflexes moving before her thoughts could form commands.

  Her body twisted half a step sideways. The spear's tip grazed her clothing before missing entirely and slamming into the tree trunk behind her with a loud crack.

  She didn't think of counterattacking—not yet.

  Instinct drove her away instead.

  Lilya ran into the campsite, breath uneven but her steps light—far lighter than she had ever felt before. The goblin's attack chased her from behind, the spear swinging wildly toward her back.

  But every time the crude blade nearly touched her, her body had already moved—ducking low, leaping aside, spinning between ragged tents with an agility that surprised even her.

  Her level spoke faster than her fear.

  The goblin grew more brutal. It no longer cared about strategy, only the prey that kept slipping beyond its reach. Its spear stabbed into the earth, tore through tent fabric, splattered mud into the air.

  Lilya brushed cloth from her face, stepped back, then twisted her body to avoid a horizontal slash that nearly struck her neck.

  Her heart pounded—not because she couldn't evade it.

  She could.

  Easily.

  But she still wasn't ready to strike back.

  Every opening felt like a cliff's edge.

  Her hands were empty, and killing up close felt different from killing at a distance.

  Her retreat became rushed.

  Her heel stepped on something soft but unstable—the body of a goblin she had just felled. Her balance faltered. Her foot tangled.

  In one careless second, she fell hard onto the muddy ground. The air burst from her lungs in a short gasp.

  Above her, the goblin's shadow loomed rapidly larger. The spear rose high in both hands, poised to drive straight down as that split grin widened in savage delight.

  The spear fell.

  Fast.

  Straight.

  Without hesitation.

  Lilya raised both hands reflexively, but the angle was wrong—she was down, exposed.

  The purple-coated metal tip struck her thigh before she could roll away completely.

  The sound of flesh being pierced was dull.

  The pain arrived a fraction of a second later—not sharp, but an explosion of heat spreading instantly through her leg.

  "AA—!"

  Her scream tore free before she could stop it. Her hands clawed at the muddy ground, fingers digging into wet soil as her body arched under the searing sting that seemed to reach her bones.

  The goblin yanked the spear free with a rough jerk.

  The heat shifted into burning agony, and something else—cold creeping slowly from the wound, as if freezing her from within.

  Poison.

  Lilya's breathing grew ragged.

  The world narrowed.

  She could see the thin purple liquid coating the spear's blade as the goblin lifted it again, its eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

  The creature stepped closer.

  One step.

  Two steps.

  Lilya dragged herself backward on her elbows. Her thigh felt heavy—not completely paralyzed, but slow.

  Too slow.

  Tears blurred her vision—not from surrender, but because the pain was too sudden, too raw.

  "No—"

  The goblin raised the spear again, this time aiming at her chest.

  "No! Don't come closer!"