The cave was wet with blood. And it wasn't Daniel's this time.
The orc swayed where it stood, each breath a ragged rasp. A trail of dark crimson followed its lurching steps, leaking from half-healed gashes and festering wounds that pulsed with every heartbeat.
Daniel watched from the shadows, crouched low behind a fallen stalagmite. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but his grip on the mace never faltered.
He had fought smarter.
He had bled deliberately.
And now the beast was dying.
"Just a little more…" he whispered to himself, pushing off the rock.
He charged again.
The orc's eyes widened, but its body couldn't keep up. It raised the club, sluggish and desperate. Too slow.
Daniel ducked under the swing, slid between its legs, and drove the blade of a broken dagger of a goblin into the orc's left calf.
SHINK.
A roar of agony shook the cave. The orc stumbled.
Daniel stabbed again, this time into the back of the knee, tearing through muscle and sinew. The orc collapsed forward, its legs no longer strong enough to bear its monstrous weight.
But the motion wasn't without consequence.
In its fall, the club swung down and smashed into Daniel's shoulder. He felt bone shift, muscle tear. He screamed—then rolled, dragging himself toward the glowing portal behind him.
The orc was down, but not dead.
Not yet.
Flash of light. Healing. Bones mended. Flesh reformed.
Daniel was whole again, except in his mind. That part was fraying. His breathing was too calm now, like the eye of a storm before a final deathblow.
He stepped back through the portal, no longer with fear. But resolve.
The orc tried to stand again.
Its arms trembled.
Its legs quaked.
Daniel didn't let it.
He sprinted forward and stabbed both of its thighs repeatedly with the broken dagger, over and over again, until the dagger snapped. Black-green blood spewed in bursts, coating his arms, soaking into the earth.
The orc screamed again.
Then fell—finally—onto both knees.
A mountain brought low.
Its massive club lifted once more, a last flicker of resistance. Daniel ducked left, rolled in close—and smashed the club with his shield arm, knocking it aside.
It clattered uselessly to the stone.
Daniel stood before the beast.
It was defenseless.
He grinned.
And raised the mace.
Then brought it down.
The first hit crushed one of the orc's tusks, blood and teeth flying in opposite directions.
The second caved in a portion of its skull with a wet crunch.
The third sent a long crack down its temple, as if splitting stone.
Each time the mace rose, it fell harder.
CRACK.
TWHUMP.
SPLAT.
The orc's massive arms twitched with each blow, jerking upward—like some final refusal to die.
But soon, the twitches weakened. Became spasms. Then nothing.
Its arms slumped to its sides. Limply. Useless.
Daniel didn't stop.
The orc's face was barely a face anymore—just a ruined pulp of meat and shattered bone.
Still, he struck again.
Just once more.
CRUNCH.
Silence followed.
He stood over the broken body, chest heaving, vision shaking. He stared at the unmoving corpse. Waited. Watched. Nothing.
Still, he was cautious.
He stepped forward, grabbed a jagged stone, and sawed through the thick neck until sinew and vertebrae parted ways.
He ripped the orc's head from its ruined shoulders and hurled it across the room like a ball of meat.
Thud.
No movement.
Dead. Really, truly dead.
Daniel collapsed to his knees, laughing softly. Not joyfully—madly. Hysterically.
He'd done it.
The monster was dead.
[OBJECTIVE 2 COMPLETE.]
[Kill Orc: 0/1]
The system's chime echoed like the bell of a dead god.
A swirling portal of black and violet opened ahead of him, floating in midair with eerie grace.
Behind him, the white marble portal shimmered—then faded into nothing.
He was no longer allowed to go back.
"Guess there's no more healing breaks," he muttered, dragging himself upright.
He stood there, staring into the swirling darkness of the new portal.
But something pulled at him. A tug of curiosity.
Protagonists in stories always found something valuable before leaving a floor, didn't they?
Maybe he wasn't the chosen one. But damn it, he was still alive—and that had to count for something.
So Daniel turned from the portal.
And began to explore.
The cave was massive. Bigger than he had realized during the fight. It stretched on like a beast's ribcage, full of twists and broken stone.
About the size of two soccer fields, he guessed. Crude goblin markings covered the walls—red paint, dried blood, and scratchings in an unknown language that reeked of old curses and primal rage.
He moved carefully.
Every shadow was suspect. Every sound a possible ambush.
He did encounter more goblins—just stragglers. One here. Two there. Pathetic things, separated from the horde. He didn't hesitate. Mace, skull, blood, silence. Routine by now.
But as he pushed deeper, something changed.
The air grew colder.
The walls smoother.
And then he found it.
A chamber. Circular. Perfectly carved.
At its center stood a raised stone platform—and on that, a throne.
A throne far too elegant for goblins. Dark stone veined with gold. Armrests carved with monstrous faces. And resting on the seat?
A book.
Daniel approached slowly, mace at the ready.
The book was bound in leather that wasn't… entirely human. Thick. Smooth. Tinted gray-green like orcish skin.
It pulsed with faint crimson light.
He reached out. Touched it. The moment his fingers made contact, the air vibrated—like a war drum sounding in another realm.
The book opened itself.
Words burned into the air in front of his eyes:
[CLASS UNLOCKED: NOVICE BARBARIAN BERSERKER]
[Description: You are rage, muscle, survival incarnate. You take pain and turn it into power. You bleed and laugh. The more you break, the stronger you become.]
[Do you accept this path?]
Daniel stared at the floating words.
The blood on his hands.
The still-warm pulp of orc meat not far behind him.
He remembered the pain. The rage. The will.
He grinned.
And said, "Hell yes."