My heart pounded in my chest, still reeling from the aftermath of the kill.

  Did I level up? I said, "Status Window".

  I didn’t have any more stat points to spend. A quick glance confirmed it—the screen remained unchanged. It seems leveling up is a journey in and of itself. Not just a reward, but a slow transformation, earned piece by piece.

  Desmond stood nearby, and I noticed his eyes widen slightly as a translucent panel flickered to life beside him. He tilted his head, reading something.

  Desmond had a window come up near him too. He said, “Oh? I got credit for that?”

  He did? That surprised me. I turned toward him with a raised brow and asked, “How? Is it because you helped?”

  Desmond nodded, “Must be. If you help in some meaningful way in a kill, you get credit. That means...”

  Isabella frowned. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she looked more annoyed than disappointed. “I didn't get anything.”

  Desmond theorized, “I expect when we level up there to be a notification.”

  It’s just a guess, but it sounds plausible. I don’t have an EXP bar, so the system must be counting through its own methods—hidden numbers, silent thresholds. There was something else to address. Something uncomfortable that none of us wanted to say out loud.

  I brought up the elephant in the room, “How is Isabella going to get credit?”

  Isabella looked through her window, flicking through tabs or panels. Her lips tightened with concern. “Maybe I could make a harming potion? Attack potion?”

  Her voice wavered near the end, and I saw the fear in her eyes. She started to get frightened, as if she would never get a kill. She thinks death awaits her.

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  I'm not going to let another suffer. I’d seen what despair could do to a person. But what to do?

  I thought and thought.

  Desmond stood beside me, quiet. His eyes were narrowed, focused. He was pondering the same question.

  She said, “Guys, you're starting to scare me. Why are you silent?”

  I smiled, a plan already forming in my mind. “Hey. Would you like to be bait?”

  She scoffed, “Are you joking?”

  We kept moving through the forest, leaves crunching faintly beneath our boots as the canopy filtered sunlight into scattered shafts that danced across the underbrush. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, with the occasional distant chirp of birdsong. It was quiet—too quiet. No goblins. No orcs. Just the forest and the tension between our steps. And yet, even in that stillness, I could feel the lingering surge of energy from when I upgraded. It pulsed faintly under my skin like an echo of adrenaline—but it was fading. I think that fireball I cast earlier took what, maybe five percent? Not much, but enough to feel it. That meant I had, what, nineteen or so more spells in me? Assuming I pushed myself all the way to the brink.

  And there's a good chance if I hit zero mana, I die.

  Desmond suddenly extended an arm in front of me, halting my steps. His eyes narrowed as he pointed ahead.

  “There, a clearing. You see the tents?”

  I followed his gesture, scanning the tree line. Just a couple dozen yards out, the forest opened up. A clearing lay nestled in the dense woods, and within it were several crude tents—ragged things of stitched leather and branches. Goblin-sized.

  The clearing held ten of them, scattered in a rough semicircle like some makeshift camp.

  Desmond squinted again, focusing harder. “I see maybe eight there. All in their tents. Two must be out on patrol or something.”

  I nodded and turned toward Isabella, who lingered a few steps behind us, looking uncertain. “It's your time to shine.”

  She tilted her head, her brows furrowed. Isabella was confused. “What do you want me to do? Run in and get killed?”

  I kept my tone calm but clear. She needed to hear the plan, not the fear. “You upgraded your speed, right? Evade them and gather them together. I have a spell called Lightning Bolt, which can string along all of them. That's how we'll kill them.”

  Isabella let out a long sigh, then placed a hand over her chest as if bracing herself. “Fine, damn it.”

  She walked forward, hesitant at first, then with more confidence as her feet touched the worn path leading to the clearing. The moment she stepped into the open, I saw a shift in the camp.

  The goblins already sensed her presence. Low, guttural grunts rose from the tents, and two emerged first—snub-nosed, hunched things with wicked grins and jagged weapons in hand. When they spotted her, they spoke some sort of language, harsh and rapid. Sounded like the shrieking from before to me—shrill and chaotic.

  The rest poured out like ants from a disturbed hill. All eight were ready to fight now.

  There were two tents closest to Isabella, and from them, goblins darted out with wild snarls. Their eyes locked on her, and in an instant, one lunged with a crude spear. She twisted her body to the side, barely evading the thrust. The tip missed her by inches.

  She wasn’t staying around for more. Panic overtook precision. She screamed out in fear, raw and sharp, then turned and sprinted back toward us, her form weaving between trees and brush. The goblins followed her in a near-perfect line, snarling and stomping over roots and fallen branches like they had nothing to lose. I raised my right arm, opening my palm as heat gathered in it. Energy surged, and the familiar hum of magic filled my being.

  Desmond, eyes tracking the line of enemies, said, “Right on target.”

  I yelled, “Duck!”

  Isabella dolphin-dived to her right into the grass, her speed blurring her figure as she vanished from the goblins' line of sight.

  And I yelled, “Lightning Bolt!”

  A yellow magic circle with the emblem of a lightning bolt hitting the ground appeared in front of my palm, flaring to life. The air buzzed with static, and a split second later, the spell fired. The lightning bolt burst forward in a blinding streak, cracking through the first goblin’s temple. It didn’t stop. The bolt chained from one goblin to the next, traveling through all seven. Their bodies stiffened and twisted as the current ran through them, smoke curling from their charred skin. Small burns radiated outward, leaving scorched patches across their limbs. They began spasming in place.

  Slowly, the effect began to wear off. Their limbs twitched less. Groans replaced shrieks. They weren’t done yet. My spell wasn't enough.

  Another!

  I yelled, “Lightning Bolt!”

  The magic circle surged again, faster this time, brighter. Another bolt of searing yellow tore forward, crackling with raw force. It struck the line a second time—and this one seemed to do the trick. The goblins jerked, cried out, and then fell motionless in heaps, smoke drifting from their bodies.

  I could feel it now. The strain. Firing two bolts back-to-back wasn’t unbearable, but it left a weight in my chest and arms—like the energy wasn’t just gone, but locked, cooling down. Not a matter of mana, but of time.

  Isabella cried on the ground. Her hands covered her face, and her body trembled. It wasn’t adrenaline at all—it was fear and exhaustion. We’d made it out, but we were shaken.

  We're doing well, and so far we’ve been ignoring what’s happening.

  But we couldn’t do that for long. We were trapped in this hell, fighting monsters, with no end in sight.