As Travis walked along the uneven forest trail, his boots crunching softly against the grass and fallen leaves, a sudden thought struck him. He decided to check his stats, instinctively swiping his hand through the air as if interacting with an unseen menu. Before him, glowing text materialized, illuminating his path faintly.


    ---


    **『 Name: Travis Blackthorn


    Age: 17


    Level: 1


    Stats:


    Strength: 2/10


    Speed: 2/10


    Flexibility: 1/10


    Mana: 3/10


    Stamina: 4/10


    Luck: 1/10 』**


    ---


    "Huh, I leveled up," he thought, his lips curling into a small grin. "So 10 isn’t my limit—it’s just the cap for this level. Nice. That means there’s room to grow."


    The realization sent a spark of excitement through him. He couldn’t wait to see what these stats would feel like at their peak—or beyond.


    "Now let’s see what I can actually do with this," he muttered under his breath, his hand instinctively brushing against the hilt of his sword.


    Spotting a sturdy tree to his right, Travis veered off the trail. The towering oak looked like a challenge, its thick trunk a perfect test for his skills. He unsheathed his sword in a smooth, fluid motion, the weight and balance feeling so natural in his grip that it startled him. The confidence of the movement brought a fleeting smile to his face.


    With a deep breath, he adjusted his stance and swung the blade.


    Siiing.


    The air whistled sharply as the blade sliced clean through the tree. The trunk wobbled for a brief moment before it toppled to the ground with a resounding crash. A puff of dust and leaves erupted as it hit the earth, and Travis stared at his handiwork with wide eyes.


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    "I’m getting the hang of this," he thought as he slid the sword back into its sheath, the action as seamless as his draw. A hint of pride flickered in his expression, but it was quickly overshadowed by a wave of melancholy.


    "I don’t know why, but I feel so natural with a sword," he mused. "Probably because of my ability..."


    He paused mid-thought, his mood plummeting.


    "Shit. Why did I think about that? Now I’m depressed," he muttered, shaking his head as he resumed walking down the trail.


    Each step was heavier now, but he pushed forward, knowing that dwelling on what he’d lost wouldn’t bring it back. For now, the forest was his focus, and survival his only goal.


    [After a few hours]


    As the day wore on, hunger gnawed at Travis’s stomach. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out an apple he’d scavenged earlier. Its surface was coated in dirt, so when he stumbled upon a babbling river, he seized the chance to rinse it off. The water was clear, its surface shimmering under the sun, and the sound of the gentle current was oddly soothing.


    Sweat clung to his skin from hours of trekking, and the river’s cool invitation became impossible to resist. Setting his belongings safely aside, he stripped off his clothes and plunged into the water.


    The shock of the cold hit him like a slap, but as his body adjusted, it became invigorating. The water seemed to wash away not only the grime but also the fatigue of the day. He floated for a moment, letting the current carry him slightly before swimming back to the shallows.


    After some time, Travis climbed out of the river, shaking droplets from his hair as he settled on a rock by the bank. Biting into the apple, he leaned back, his gaze drifting to the sky.


    "This is kinda fun," he mused silently, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. "Better than any day I had back on Earth."


    But as the thought lingered, so did a pang of homesickness.


    "I still miss it, though," he admitted to himself. "I wonder how Mom and Dad are doing. Probably working like usual."


    His grip on the apple tightened slightly.


    "Maybe I’ll see them again one day. But that won’t happen unless we kill that Vermillion guy. So I’ve got to get stronger—fast."


    He exhaled heavily, standing up and slipping on his shirt. As he turned to leave, a wisp of smoke rising from deeper within the forest caught his attention.


    His brows furrowed in confusion.


    "Smoke? Are there people here?"


    Curiosity mixed with caution as he moved toward the source, his steps deliberate and quiet. The forest thickened, the air tinged faintly with the scent of burning wood. His pulse quickened as faint cackling sounds reached his ears—sharp, guttural, and unnervingly familiar.


    Travis froze behind a tree, peering cautiously into a clearing. His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. A ramshackle village sprawled across the clearing, its crude huts surrounded by goblins bustling about, their grotesque forms lit by the glow of a large central fire.


    Heart racing, he ducked back behind the tree, pressing his back against the rough bark. Panic clawed at him as he struggled to steady his breathing. He clamped a hand over his mouth, silencing the sound of his ragged breaths.


    Climbing the nearest tree, he perched on a sturdy branch, his vantage point giving him a better view of the horde below.


    "Fuck," he thought, his mind spinning. "How are there so many of them here?!"


    He crouched low, his heart thundering in his chest as he tried to figure out what to do next.


    The goblin village sprawled chaotically, a grim testament to their crude ingenuity. Over a hundred goblins roamed the clearing, their guttural voices carrying in the night air. The largest gathering clustered around a roaring fire in the center of the village, where a spit turned slowly, cooking a freshly killed antelope. The rich, greasy smell filled the air, accompanied by the sounds of crackling flames and snapping bones.


    Their makeshift shelters, cobbled together from wood, mud, and animal hides, stood in disarray, yet each housed groups of goblins chattering or sharpening crude weapons. The sight sent a shiver down Travis’s spine.


    From his perch in the tree, he could see the full extent of their numbers, and it was overwhelming. A hundred or more goblins—not even counting those who might still be hiding in the huts. The realization hit him like a stone to the chest.


    "I don’t stand a chance," he thought bitterly, his fists clenched. He wasn’t just weak—he was utterly outclassed. There wasn’t a single scenario he could imagine where he survived an encounter with them, let alone defeated them.


    TO BE CONTINUED