The mist clung to the air like a suffocating veil, making every breath heavier, more uncertain. Jinra moved with quiet steps, breath short, senses sharpened. Around her, the atmosphere felt alive—almost sentient—whispering that death could strike at any moment.
She had prepared for this moment, yet nothing could truly brace her for the cold dampness crawling across her skin, or the silence broken only by the guttural grunts of the mutant goblins. Their twisted figures crept cautiously through the ruins of a long-fallen fortress, clawing at the walls, rummaging through debris, whispering to one another in a choked, broken tongue.
These were nothing like the goblins of her childhood nightmares. They were warped, corrupted—fused with something darker. Their eyes glowed with savage intelligence, brutal and cunning.
Jinra crouched behind a moss-covered boulder. The spectral bow in her hands vibrated faintly, as if it had a will of its own. The soft blue light it emitted was subtle, almost graceful—but each pulse heralded death. She inhaled slowly. There was no room for mistakes.
Among the goblins, one stood out. Taller. More agile. Rusted chains hung around its neck like trophies. It gave orders with quick, commanding gestures. A leader. Her target.
She waited. Watched. Calculated.
As a small group wandered off, she slid into the shadows, moving with feline grace. One misstep could mean death—but she made none. She was invisible. Untouchable. A shadow guided by purpose.
She approached. Noticed a pile of dry wood nearby—a potential trap. The idea took root swiftly: create panic. Distract. Strike.
She reached out. A spectral arrow shimmered into existence, trembling with energy. Not yet. Too far. She had to wait… for isolation. Vulnerability.
The goblin leader turned his back to the others, just for a second.
Jinra felt her heartbeat slow.
Perfect timing.
She fired.
The arrow sliced through the air. A sharp thud. A strangled gasp. The body collapsed into the mud.
Chaos erupted.
Screams, scrambling footsteps, panicked grunts. The goblins scattered in disarray.
Jinra rose and sprinted toward the pile of wood. In one fluid motion, she tossed a torch. Flames burst upward, licking the fog-drenched sky. Heat surged through the mist. Goblins shrieked, stumbling back—some even leaping into the fire in desperate confusion.
Jinra became one with the darkness. One arrow. Then another. Silent death rained down.
Shot. A choked cry. A pierced throat.
Shot. A skull burst, spilling black blood into the flames.
She moved constantly, untouchable. The fire cast wild shadows, and she belonged to them.
Then she saw it.
One last goblin, limping toward the fire. Wounded—but calm. Not panicked. Determined.
She drew her bow.
But something stopped her. A violent instinct. This wasn't a coward fleeing.
She leapt forward. Bow in hand—but too close to shoot.
She crashed into the goblin like a storm.
Impact.
They tumbled through the mud—flesh against grime, claws against skin. It bit her shoulder—she screamed in pain and slammed her fist into its face. The creature snarled, spitting blood. She grabbed its throat and squeezed. Harder. Again. And again.
It died slowly, twitching beneath her.
She stayed there a moment, breathless. Her eyes blank. Her lungs burned with exhaustion... and rage.
> "I'm still alive…" she thought, almost surprised.
A voice echoed in her skull.
System: Skill [Heightened Vigilance] — leveled up to 3.
System: Skill [Weapon Mastery] — leveled up to 3.
She stood, staggering. Her hands shook, stained in blood. But she did not waver. Not now.
System: Objective completed. Access to Floor 2 unlocked.
A white light engulfed her. The ground vanished beneath her feet.
She closed her eyes—not to escape, but to feel the shift more deeply.
Because she knew:
This was only the beginning.