Rain and Light continued crouching low to the ground.

  From this closer view—seeing and hearing the men and women trapped inside—the pounding of Rain’s heart felt almost too loud. Since the beginning of this tower ordeal, his emotions had always been… different. Fear, disgust, anger—they were still there, just like everyone else. But something else seemed to block them, like a magnet pulling his feelings away, keeping them at bay.

  Now, inside the goblin fortress, those suppressed emotions surged back at the worst possible moment.

  Rain stayed pressed behind the wooden huts, every so often catching the guttural chatter of goblins. Each sound made both him and Light tense, anxiety tightening their muscles.

  They moved cautiously, hugging the edges of the huts and the fortress walls. A single misstep, a stray noise—anything could alert the goblins. Aimless movement wasn’t an option. Survival demanded precision.

  Rain could almost smell it—the blood of the men being tortured. It made him pause, question himself.

  The fortress was massive, still full of goblins. The victims were at least two hundred feet away. How… how could he smell their blood from that far?

  He glanced at Light. “Do you smell anything?”

  Light scrunched his nose. “It smells like rotten flesh.”

  It did smell like decay, but not the same as the fresh, metallic scent of blood Rain was sensing. Luckily, the smell was distant enough that it didn’t tempt him. He could push it from his mind.

  They hugged the fortress wall, moving in a straight line, when a sudden noise cut through the air.

  “Gurah… nshum… jakeje.”

  Rain froze. Light froze.

  They had almost reached the middle of the fortress, crouched low on the dirt floor. The left side of the fortress was relatively quiet, shielded by patrolling goblins—but somehow, one goblin had wandered close.

  Rain and Light ducked behind a hut, pressed low.

  The goblin was massive—6, maybe 6.5 feet tall—and it paused, sniffing the air, turning its head left and right. Its mottled green skin glistened with sweat and mud, eyes darting as it sniffed the air, searching for intruders.

  It stepped closer.

  Rain inched backward, pulling up his status window as he gripped his iron sword. The blade stayed hidden, hovering just above the hut’s edge.

  His arms shook. One misstep, one sound, and the goblin would alert the others. They would die instantly.

  Think… think, Rain… what do I do…

  Light’s hands trembled. He hadn’t equipped his weapon, he was far too scared to move.

  Time slowed. Rain could hear the wet thud of the goblin’s feet squishing through the mud. Its guttural noises—half words, half growls—made his skin crawl.

  He didn’t dare peek around the corner—not yet. Not until the goblin had moved.

  The thuds of its feet grew louder, closer… until it seemed only a foot away, just around the corner.

  Rain pressed his hand to his mouth, trying to quiet his breathing. His iron sword felt heavy in his right hand, shaking slightly from exhaustion and tension.

  Is this it… he thought. If that goblin notices us… it’s over.

  Time stretched. Rain raised his sword slowly, listening to the wet, squelching thuds of the goblin moving along the mud. He could tell it knew something was there. He crouched low, ready, the hut tall enough to hide most of his body.

  Finally, it appeared. The goblin stepped into view. Rain tensed and dashed forward, sword raised—

  “Hu…h,” he muttered, faltering.

  Light’s hands shoved him back, pressing him to the floor. Before Rain could protest, Light clamped a hand over his mouth.

  “Shh,” Light whispered. “Look.”

  Rain lifted his head, eyes tracking the goblin. It stood there, in plain sight—but it wasn’t attacking. It had clearly noticed something… yet not them.

  Rain froze, trying to process it. Why… why isn’t it attacking? Is it… friendly? Does it not attack humans?

  He focused, studying the creature. Its ears flicked, sensing vibrations; its nose twitched, sniffing the air. And then he saw it—though it was mere feet away, it wasn’t looking at them. It couldn’t see. The goblin was blind.

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  Rain and Light held their silence. The goblin shifted slightly, pausing to listen. Twenty seconds passed. Then, it turned and shuffled around the corner, gone.

  Rain exhaled sharply, relief flooding through his chest.

  He turned slightly toward Light, keeping his voice low. “Thanks…” He paused, breathing out heavily. “You might’ve just saved my life.”

  Light gave a small smile, one that tried—and failed—to fully hide his anxiety. “I’m sure you’ll save mine soon too,” he whispered back. “Don’t sweat it.”

  They stayed where they were, unmoving, for nearly two full minutes. Neither dared to continue forward yet. Both of them focused on steadying their breathing, forcing their racing hearts to slow.

  Rain thought.

  About how close that had been. About the goblin.

  It didn’t make sense.

  How could a goblin be blind? Especially one that had almost discovered them. It hadn’t attacked. It hadn’t reacted the way the others did. It had listened. Smelled. Hesitated.

  Rain let the thought settle—and then something clicked.

  Every goblin wasn’t the same.

  They all looked similar. Same green skin. Same crude build. Same filth and stench. From a distance, they were indistinguishable. But up close… they weren’t.

  Even the two goblins Rain had killed earlier had fought differently. Different weapons. Different movements. Different reactions.

  They weren’t copies.

  They were individuals.

  That meant differences—personalities, habits… weaknesses.

  Some might be missing an arm. Some might be blind. Some might be incapable of fighting at all.

  Just like humans.

  The realization sent a quiet chill through Rain—not fear, but understanding.

  If goblins weren’t uniform…

  Then they could be exploited.

  Previously, Rain had guessed that the goblins didn’t have enemies—that inside the fortress, they were comfortable.

  Now, it felt almost confirmed.

  The blind goblin had sensed something. A noise. A smell. It had even grown curious enough to investigate. Yet it never called for help. Never shouted. Never reached for a weapon.

  It hadn’t even had one.

  The goblins on the outside of the fortress were different. Those ones were cautious. Armed. Aggressive. They guarded the humans and killed without hesitation.

  But inside the fortress, the goblins were… calm.

  Unarmed. Relaxed. Moving without urgency. Acting like nothing inside these walls could possibly threaten them.

  And more than that—

  They investigated alone.

  Of course, most of this was still guesswork. Rain had only seen fragments of their behavior, pieces of a larger pattern.

  There was only one real way to know if he was right.

  Rain lifted two fingers and motioned for Light to keep moving.

  They continued crouch-walking through the uneven maze of goblin huts, slipping between narrow gaps and shadows, careful to never step into open space. The huts were scattered irregularly, packed tight in some areas and strangely spaced in others, forcing them to constantly adjust their path.

  Eventually, Rain slowed.

  They had reached the position he was aiming for.

  The left side of the fortress—nearly the exact middle of it.

  Goblin huts still surrounded them on most sides, but straight ahead, the layout changed. Roughly forty feet in front of them stretched an open area, wide and exposed. No huts. No cover.

  And goblins.

  Many of them.

  At least twenty wandered through the open space, crossing paths in loose patterns. Some carried weapons. Others didn’t. Some moved in groups of three or four, while others walked in pairs—or completely alone.

  Stepping into that space would mean being seen instantly.

  It was suicide.

  Rain stayed low, eyes scanning, then dropped his gaze to the dirt near his feet. His fingers brushed against a rock, roughly the size of his palm. He closed his hand around it.

  Then he moved.

  “W-what are you doing?” Light hissed, panic leaking into his whisper.

  “Trust me,” Rain murmured back.

  He continued forward slowly, staying crouched, hugging whatever cover he could find—hut corners, broken supports, stacked debris. Every step was measured.

  At fifteen feet in, goblins surrounded him on nearly every side.

  Rain’s body tensed, instincts screaming, but he forced himself onward until he reached a structure larger than the others.

  A goblin home—much larger.

  He slipped behind it and carefully tilted his head, peering around the edge.

  The open area lay fully in view now, about twenty-five feet away.

  Goblins filled it.

  Armed. Unarmed. Grouped. Alone.

  Rain exposed himself just a little more, careful, trying to get a clearer view of the goblins moving through the open space.

  As he watched them, his mind drifted—back to Earth. Back to early middle school. He had tried a lot of sports back then. Basketball. Football. Even lacrosse.

  He had been bad at all of them.

  Baseball had been the worst.

  So bad that he barely even counted it as something he had played.

  Rain looked down at the rock in his hand. It was roughly the size of his palm, uneven and heavy. Throwing something like that with accuracy felt… unrealistic. He tried to remember the way professional players moved on TV. The stance. The motion.

  It didn’t help.

  “Please… God,” Rain whispered.

  He took a slow breath.

  If he was wrong—if his guess about the goblins was wrong—this would be it. One mistake, one sound in the wrong place, and he and Light would die here.

  All of this rested on a single assumption.

  Rain swallowed and lifted the rock. He picked a target carefully. A goblin walking in a loose group of four, surrounded by others but not paying attention to anything behind it.

  His heart hammered violently.

  He exhaled, forcing the tremor out of his arm.

  And he threw.

  For a moment, time stretched thin.

  Rain could almost see the rock drifting through the air, spinning slowly, like it had all the time in the world.

  Please hit.

  If it doesn’t—

  The rock struck.

  It clipped the goblin squarely.

  Rain’s eyes widened—not just because it hit, but because of what followed.

  The goblin jerked in surprise, snarling as it turned in place. It growled, reaching for its weapon, spinning around in confusion as if searching for an attacker.

  But the others—

  They didn’t react.

  The goblins nearby glanced briefly, then kept walking. Even the goblin’s own group didn’t stop. They didn’t investigate. They didn’t spread out. They simply left it behind, continuing on as if nothing had happened.

  The hit goblin paced angrily, alone.

  Rain felt something cold settle in his chest.

  So that’s how it is.

  They don’t communicate danger. They don’t warn each other. They don’t even care unless it directly affects them.

  It wasn’t that the goblins were stupid.

  It was worse.

  They were complacent.

  And that meant Rain could move through them like a ghost—

  as long as he stayed quiet.

  As long as he killed cleanly.

  As long as panic never spread.