Chapter 30: THE TERROR
Before he could even process it, another screen burst to life, brighter than the rest.
[Great Skill Acquired: SHADOW PHASE]
• User can become invisible at will.
• Sense and presence drastically reduced.
Raito’s eyes widened, breath catching in his throat. "Whoa... that’s really useful."
But the system wasn’t finished. A new window unfurled, stamped with the dark crest of Greed.
[Greed Analysis: This skill allows the user to absorb, copy, or transform defeated abilities into weapons or artifacts. Each acquisition comes with a cost.]
His grip tightened on the dagger. "So... Greed can even turn an enemy’s power into mine." A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, but it faltered just as quickly. He remembered the earlier moment—the surge of uncontrollable hunger, the way his body had nearly turned against him.
A cold sweat traced down his spine. "But that cost... when I almost went berserk..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "If I lose myself to Greed, even once... I may never come back."
The thought terrified him. Yet underneath, excitement burned bright.
"Shadow Phase, stat boosts, mastery increases... This is incredible. Dangerous, yeah..." His smirk returned, sharper this time. "...but incredible."
The glow of the system finally faded, leaving him alone in the silence of the dungeon. Yet it no longer felt empty—every shadow seemed to watch, and every silence seemed to whisper.
Raito wiped the last trace of black ichor from his dagger, exhaling slowly. "Not bad... I actually earned some good skills this time."
He tightened his grip on the glowing blade. "Moving forward, then. No stopping now."
The dungeon shifted around him, bathed in a strange blue glow that rippled along the stone walls. He stepped carefully, senses sharp. His eyes narrowed when he noticed movement ahead.
"...A goblin?"
The small, green creature shivered in the azure light, its beady eyes fixed on him. Raito tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "This is going to be fun."
But the moment he advanced, more goblins appeared—half a dozen of them, pressed flat against the dungeon walls. None dared to move. They didn’t attack, didn’t growl, didn’t even breathe too loudly. Their crude weapons clattered from trembling fingers.
Raito slowed, confusion flickering in his gaze. "Wait... are they scared of me already? Or... something else?"
One goblin’s eyes rolled back, its body sliding down to the floor as if paralyzed by terror. The others held their ground, but their fear was obvious.
"Strange," Raito muttered, pulling another dagger from his inventory box. He stepped closer, daggers ready. "What the hell are you so afraid of—"
Then he stopped.
A shadow moved. The air trembled.
Something huge shifted in the depths of the dungeon.
Raito’s eyes widened as the blue light spilled across a massive silhouette—its chest broad enough to resemble a wall, its arms thick like tree trunks. The ground shook with its steps, and in one hand it carried a crude but massive cleaver, jagged and stained.
The goblins’ fear suddenly made sense.
"...You’ve got to be kidding me," Raito whispered, daggers raised.
The creature stepped fully into the light.
A Hobgoblin Lord.
Raito’s eyes narrowed. Wait a second... goblins?
He frowned, scanning the trembling creatures clinging to the dungeon walls. That doesn’t make sense. Goblins are supposed to be on the first floor... not down here.
The thought hit him like a spark. Unless...
His gaze shifted toward the massive shadow rising behind them. The goblins weren’t looking at him—they were looking past him, frozen in pure terror.
"Of course," Raito muttered, his grip tightening on his daggers. "They’ve got a commander.
The regular goblins quivered, pressing their backs to the stone as though their lord’s presence alone could crush them. Raito recalled something he had once read. Goblins feed on their own kind when they’re starving. And Hobgoblins... they’re apex predators. Strong enough to rule, cruel enough to devour.
The dungeon walls pulsed with an eerie blue glow, like veins of light running through stone. The entire chamber seemed alive, humming faintly as if it were breathing. The glow reflected off Raito’s daggers, painting his face in cold light.
But it wasn’t the walls that stole his attention.
From the center of the room, a figure rose—towering, monstrous. Its skin was a deep, unnatural green, gleaming under the blue illumination. Muscles stacked thick upon thick, each ripple of flesh proof of its brute strength. Its fangs jutted forward as it snarled, and its yellow eyes glared with primal rage.
"A Hobgoblin Lord," Raito muttered, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Nine feet tall, built like a fortress... no wonder the goblins cower in the corners."
Indeed, the smaller goblins pressed themselves against the glowing dungeon walls, trembling, refusing to move. Their wide eyes weren’t on Raito—but on the beast itself. They feared their own master more than death.
The Hobgoblin Lord raised its massive wooden club. The weapon looked more like a tree trunk stripped bare, its surface scarred and splintered from countless kills.
The ground shook with every step it took forward. Thud. Thud. Thud. Each footfall echoed against the glowing blue walls, a drumbeat of dread.
With a guttural roar, it swung the club downward in a crushing arc.
Raito leapt back just in time—the impact rattled the chamber, stone dust falling from the ceiling. Cracks spread across the glowing wall where the club had struck.
Raito smirked, rolling his shoulders as if to loosen them. "Big guy, is that all you’ve got? Don’t get me wrong, you’re strong. But you’re slow. And worse—you’re predictable. Even goblins fight smarter sometimes."
The Hobgoblin bellowed in rage, lifting its club again. This time, it swung sideways, a sweeping strike meant to flatten Raito entirely.
But Raito dashed forward instead of back. His body blurred with speed as he jumped high, the club whooshing past beneath him. His glowing dagger arced down, slicing clean through the Hobgoblin’s thick wrist.
Blood sprayed.
The massive green hand dropped to the glowing blue floor with a sickening thud, still clutching the club.