Ren's full stomach twisted, the comfort of food instantly replaced by a knot of ice.
He dropped to his knees, eyes locked on the faint glow of the silver runes. There was no mistake. The arrowhead's shape, the matte black metal that seemed to drink in the light, the arcane engravings… it was a master-crafted Dragon-Slaying Arrow. A single projectile worth more than an entire mid-level party's gear.
He reached out with a trembling hand and tried to pull it free from the wall.
It didn't move. Not even a millimeter. It felt fused to the rock itself. The strength of his goblin body was like a baby trying to bend steel.
Impossible, his mind whispered, the word echoing into a void of confusion.
Panic gave way to cold, feverish analysis. The player in him took over.
Fact 1: A Dragon-Slaying Arrow is here. That means a Master Archer—a level 80 player at minimum—stood in this exact spot.
Fact 2: The arrow was fired. It's embedded in solid rock, not lying on the ground. It was launched with catastrophic force.
Fact 3: The target. Ammunition like this is used on… dragons. Or something equivalent. An S-rank monster. A raid boss. Here? In these forgotten tunnels that don't even exist on the official map? Absurd.
Fact 4: The arrow was abandoned. No one leaves an item like this behind. Unless they couldn't retrieve it.
Which led to the only logical—and terrifying—conclusion.
The player died.
Or was forced to flee so desperately they never came back.
Ren's blood ran cold. His new home. His tiny alcove with its worm pantry. It wasn't a sanctuary.
It was a crime scene.
A battlefield where a titan had fallen.
And if the player died… what killed them could still be here. Hiding. Waiting. Sleeping.
The anomalies clicked into place. The corrupted mana dust. The dried-up stream. And now—a late-game battle in a beginner zone.
Something was broken here.
Did that fight… corrupt the mana? Break the map?
The sense of safety evaporated.
This wasn't a home.
It was a graveyard.
And he was living next to a god's tombstone.
He needed to move. To run.
But where?
Back to player farming zones? Death.
Into other monster territories? Death.
Out there was certain danger.
In here… was unknown danger.
If you can't run, Ren thought, something hard forming behind his goblin eyes, you fortify.
If his home wasn't safe—
He'd make it safe.
He looked at his [Slate Shovel (Quality: Poor)]. Durability: 2/3. Pathetic. But his.
He returned to the mud wall. This time, not for food.
He dug.
He carved out chunks of clay and dragged them to the entrance of his alcove. Slow. Exhausting work. His weak body protested. Muscles burned.
Fear didn't care.
He stacked the clay into a crude barricade, leaving only a narrow gap to squeeze through. It wouldn't stop a player. Wouldn't stop the Centipede.
But it might slow a Dungeon Rat.
Or warn him.
Next—tools.
The shovel was useful. But he needed a weapon.
Something better than teeth.
He searched for more slate, finding a long, pointed shard. Then he needed wood.
Back near the broken bridge, he found part of a shattered support beam. Thick. Heavy. Longer than him.
Perfect.
Back in his fortified hole, he got to work.
Using the shovel's edge, he tried to sharpen the wood. Chips flew. The wood was tough. His arms ached. Durability dropped to 1/3.
Then—
An idea.
[Improvisation]. [Tool Crafting].
He placed the slate shard at the tip of the wood.
Binding.
He needed binding.
His rags? Useless.
The ground.
Between the rocks, fibrous roots pushed through the cracks.
He spent ten minutes tearing out the strongest ones. Then, slowly, clumsily, he tied the slate to the shaft. His fingers fumbled. The first attempts failed.
He kept going.
Zephyr designed it.
Ren built it.
Finally—
Done.
He held it up.
A spear.
A terrible, primitive spear. The stone tip slightly crooked. The root bindings already looking loose.
But it had reach.
It had a point.
It was a weapon.
[You used Tool Crafting to create a new item.]
[Item Created: Goblin Spear (Quality: Terrible)]
Damage: 3–5
Durability: 5/5
A surge of pride hit him—completely out of proportion to the object.
He looked around.
Mud barricade.
Worm pantry.
Crude spear leaning beside the wall—
next to the arrow of a god.
It was pathetic. Built from fear and mud.
But it was his.
He was weak.
But not defenseless anymore.
Exhausted, he sat down. Hours of work. Between the effort and the food, something shifted.
A new window blinked into existence. Green. Familiar. Welcome.
[You have gained enough experience.]
[YOU LEVELED UP!]
[Level 2 Reached!]
[All attributes increased by 1. HP and MP fully restored.]