Ultimate Level 1

Chapter 4: The art of combat or lack there of

The sound of something beneath him woke Max up. Noises and grunts were coming from under him.

Trying not to fall out of the tree Max was sleeping in, he leaned his head over and saw two goblins examining the camp he had created, scratching around the log and sniffing for him. The smoke hid his scent as the two of them padded around the fire.

Their green skin looked waxy and dirty in the dying light, almost like they rolled in the soil for fun. It had to have been a few hours as the last two logs he had put in before climbing into the tree were mostly gone, and deep red embers were burning hot.

Max glanced at his pack, which he had tied around the branch near him, and felt relief that he had not left it on the ground. If he had done that, he knew they would be ransacking it and eating the food he had left in it.

Both goblins were talking in whatever clacking and screeching language that they had. They were wearing ratty and dirt-covered clothes; each had a stick with a sharp end like the one he had up in the tree with him.

While he wasnt the tallest guy, they had to be at least a foot shorter than him.

One screeched and pointed in the direction Max had entered the woods from. The one being screeched at waved his hands and said something back, but the other pointed his stick at him and then at the trail Max had arrived on.

It grunted, receiving a louder growl in return before it turned and started down the path, quietly moving out of the dim light and into the darkness.

Max could barely hear the sound of the creature as it disappeared into the trees.

The other goblin turned and stared at the fire, leaning his spear against the log and holding his green, bony hands toward the flames.

Watching the goblin as it stood there, glancing around the forest occasionally while seemingly enjoying the fire, Max considered the opportunity sitting beneath him.

Goblins werent the greatest fighters, but neither was he. However, there was one by himself with no weapon in his hands. There was no telling how long it might be before his friend would return.

Think of this like a game of tag. Im just playing tag where if I lose, I die.

Shaking his head, Max tried to breathe quietly as his heart pounded like a hammer on an anvil in his chest. He was really considering doing something stupid!

Get stronger or die, you pansy!

Wishing he could slap himself, but knowing that would give his position away, Max didnt have much time to decide. The other goblin could be back at any moment, and two versus one was not a position he wanted to be in.

He let his brain consider the plan in his head. He wasnt the strongest, but he was smarter than most of the other kids he had grown up with. He could move a few steps to the right in the tree and use his spear and height to pin and strike down the goblin in one blow.

It sounded good in his head, but he knew this could go wrong in so many ways. He would be trapped in the tree if he gave away his position. If he missed, he could find himself on the wrong end of the stick. Literally.

If I screw this up, Im going to be dinner for both of these goblins...

His hand brushed the knife at his waist, and suddenly, he felt like he wasnt alone. His sister and best friend had risked their lives to free him and give him a chance to live. That meant he would have to do something his sister and Caleb wouldnt hesitate to do.

Slowly swinging his leg over the branch he was sitting on, Max believed the pounding of his heart would make a noise that would alert the goblin, who had decided to sit on the ground and relax even more.

Resisting the urge to chuckle, Max saw the goblins head starting to bob and sent a prayer to whatever god must have given him this gift.

I owe someone up there. Im not sure who, but if I come out of this with my life, Ill find a way to make it up to you.

Having prayed to the gods and knowing the foolishness of what he was about to do, Max managed to get both his feet on one branch and positioned his body with the weight on his soles.

Taking a few more breaths, his hands grabbed the spear that was resting on a few branches as he tried to swing it around slowly.

Sweat was beading up on his forehead, and his hands felt like rivers of sweat, gushing across his body and ready to strip away his grip on the wood. Thankful that he had stripped off the bark, the sticky sap of the spear kept it from slipping out of his hands when he almost lost his balance for a second.

Eyes wide, he glanced down at the goblin who was not paying any attention, its head bent over and a slight snoring sound coming from it.

As he prepared to jump, a thought tickled his brain.

[HP Status Check]

*****

HP: 33/40

*****

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Im still not full health

Shaking his head to clear that loss of focus, he gazed down at the goblin once more.

Finally freeing his spear and getting it turned around so the tip pointed at the sleeping green goblin, he took one last breath and gripped the shaft with both hands.

Now or never. Time to nut up like Caleb always says

Pushing a little from his feet, he felt the drop take him down faster than he had planned.

His aim was off from where he had aimed, and before he could correct it, instead of planting the spear in the goblin's back as he had hoped, the shaft plunged through its right arm and pierced its leg, impaling in the ground.

A scream and screech erupted as the goblin's head snapped up while Max fell to the side, fingers sliding down the shaft before tumbling forward and smacking into the goblins lifted skull with his head.

Dazed and seeing stars for a second, Max staggered back and saw the goblin reaching up to its forehead with one hand while trying to figure out why its other arm and leg werent working.

Its yellow eyes glowed in the light of the dying campfire, and the smell that came from its tooth-filled mouth almost made him gag. It was like someone had taken spoiled milk and rotten meat and gargled with it.

Finding himself on his butt, he fumbled with the dagger on his waist. His sweaty hands were not helping him keep hold of the wooden handle as he ripped it from the sheath, and it fell to the ground.

The goblin tried to swipe at him as it screamed in pain, but the spear blocked its own attack when its arm hit the wooden stick stuck in the ground. It whined as the force caused it to tear open a larger hole in its leg, revealing a bone that had been snapped.

Concentrating, Max finally found the dagger in his hands and started slicing wildly at the injured goblin.

As it held up its hand and arm, the knife sent chunks of fingers and flesh flying everywhere, spraying blood on himself and the goblin, who was struggling to fight back.

Sounds of screeching came from the direction the other had run, and Max knew he had to hurry.

His heart pounded, and even though his hands shook, he charged and drove the knife into the goblins chest, watching it shudder for a moment before its head rolled back.

Yanking the dagger back, he felt a similar sensation wash over him.

[ 9 Hit Points Consumed ]

[ 1 Strength Consumed ]

Max felt recharged and rejuvenated. It was like a cold bucket of water had been dumped over him. His lack of sleep and discomfort were gone at that moment.

Did I really

His random thought stopped as he heard the snapping of branches and turned in time to see a goblin charging at him with its stick pointing out toward him.

Max stumbled to the side. The goblin adjusted slightly as its wooden spear caught his left arm and pierced it partly, ripping through the outer part of his tricep.

Pain racked him, but he gritted his teeth as the goblin flew past him and into the wall he had built behind the fire.

Spinning around, he lunged back at the goblin as its spear snapped when it hit the log barrier he had built. It stumbled from the impact, dazed from crashing into the wall Max had built.

There was no skill or technique, just fear-driven strikes with every ounce of strength he had.

Max charged the goblin, lifting the knife he held in his right hand. Screeching and cries rang out as the goblin arched its chest up, suffering from an eight-inch blade that pierced its entire body multiple times. In seconds, the fight was over the goblin fell forward, landing limply on the wooden trunks and not moving.

The cold sensation struck Max again.

[ 15 Hitpoints Consumed ]

His left arm tingled and felt warm and cold all at the same time.

Glancing at it, he saw in the dim light that his fancy shirt was torn and covered in blood, but when he looked inside the hole in his sleeve, the injury he had just suffered was gone.

Spinning around, Max scanned the area and listened to see if anything else was coming.

When no sounds were made other than his heart, which felt like it would burst, he let out the breath he had been holding and glanced around.

He needed light.

Tossing a few more logs on the fire, he took the broken shaft of the goblins spear and used it to rake the coals.

Soon, flames engulfed the dry logs he had put on the fire, and he held his left arm closer to it. Wiping the wet blood off his skin, his eyes couldnt believe what he saw. There was no scar on him where the spear had struck him. He could have bled out, but yet he was perfectly fine.

He was better than fine!

[Status Check]

*****

Max Hoste

18-Year-old Human Male

Level 1

Exp 0/1000Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.𝘤𝑜𝓂 for the best novel reading experience

HP: 40/40

MP: 20/20

Stamina: 20/20

STR: 4

DEX: 4

CON: 4

INT: 4

WIS: 4

Skills:

Baking - Common

Consume - Rare

*****

Smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Max stared at his stats.

His strength had gone up!

His skill had not only healed his arm by somehow stealing the life of the goblins, but it had also managed to give him a point of strength!

A tremor ran through him, and for the first time in his life, he felt a peace he had never felt before wash over him.

All his life, he had been afraid of pain and of how hard it would be to be an adventurer. The stories he had heard in town were always the rose-colored ones. Everything seemed grand, even in defeat.

Yet when he was nine, an old adventurer had come into town for a year. He was missing part of a leg and an eye and had told him the true woes of adventuring. Those stories had scared him for so long when the man had talked about how most of his squad had died, and the scars he wore were a testament to how he barely lived.

Yet with a skill like his he could get the strength he needed and perhaps one day return home.

He could get revenge on those who had tried to kill him and find out why they had done this.