Echoed Lands

As Colm ventured deeper into the Grove, each step brought new shapes and shadows, the trees growing taller and more twisted, like silent sentinels guarding the secrets of the Grove. After some time, he noticed the trees beginning to thin ahead. The dense foliage gave way to an open area, revealing what looked like the remnants of a makeshift campsite.

He paused, scanning his surroundings and listening carefully. The camp lay still, untouched by any apparent movement or sound. Cautiously, he scouted the woods surrounding the clearing, moving silently while utilizing his Stealth skill and keeping his grip firm on his wooden spear. He'd learned to not trust appearances, and he wasn't about to let his guard down now.

After a few tense minutes, satisfied that nothing was lurking nearby, he stepped into the clearing. The camp looked hastily abandoned: a small fire pit sat in the center, its charred remains circled by stones and bits of blackened wood. Scattered around the fire pit, rough bedrolls fashioned from leaves and bark lay clearly left behind in a hurry.

As he looked over the scene, a spark of hope stirred within him. "Someone's been here before, Carver," he murmured to his spectral companion, who hovered silently nearby, observing the surroundings with quiet vigilance. The thought that others had once been in this place—perhaps even survived for a time—gave Colm an unusual sense of connection. He couldn't help but wonder if they had been travelers like him, thrust into this world against their will or if they were perhaps from here.

He sifted through the remains of the camp, hoping to find supplies, tools, or perhaps even clothing. His own outfit desperately needed replacement; his shirt and jeans were torn and caked with dirt, barely holding together after weeks of wear and makeshift washes in the streams he'd found. As he pulled at the frayed edge of his shirt, he laughed dryly. "Unfortunately, no spare pants here, Carver. You might need to prepare yourself. I might run through this place in the nude before long."

Continuing his search, he found a few items scattered around: a dented tin cup, some scraps of cloth, and the remains of what might have once been a satchel. But everything seemed worn and hastily discarded, as if the camp's previous occupants had left with only the essentials.

Then, something unusual caught his eye. Near the fire pit, deep gouges scarred the ground, accompanied by dark stains that looked like dried blood. His pulse quickened as he knelt to get a closer look. Running his fingers lightly over the jagged marks, he felt a chill of recognition.

"Carver," he whispered, his voice low. "These claw marks... It looks like something attacked them."

Colm frowned, unsettled. There was a disturbing intensity in their uneven edges, as if some noble creature had clawed the earth in rage or desperation. He scanned the surrounding area, piecing together fragments of a story that seemed to whisper from the disturbed soil.

Could this attack be the work of some creature he'd yet to encounter? He couldn't shake the feeling that these marks held hints, fragments of a larger story unfolding around him. A flicker of determination stirred within him. Maybe, just maybe, finding out what had left these claw marks would reveal something vital to this world—and his place in it.

His eyes darted around the clearing, taking in more of the details he'd missed before. Bedrolls were upturned, belongings scattered as if abandoned in haste. He noted impressions on the ground—footsteps that had faded but hinted at a struggle. Whatever had attacked the campers was powerful and unrelenting, leaving behind only remnants of a desperate escape.

A sudden, creeping anxiety filled him as he rose to his feet. He could feel the weight of his heartbeat in his chest, each beat pounding in a silent warning. The sight of dried blood and claw marks was a visceral reminder of the Grove's dangers, and despite all his training, he felt an instinctive urge to flee back into the trees. He backed up a few steps, keeping his spear in front of him, his gaze fixed on the shadows around the clearing.

He hurriedly scanned the edges of the camp once more, every fiber of his being attuned to the slightest movement or sound. There was nothing but the wind rustling the branches, but the oppressive stillness in the air made it feel as though something unseen was watching him.

After a tense moment, he whispered to Carver, "I think we've overstayed our welcome here." He took a step back, then another, retreating into the safety of the trees with Carver floating by his side. Once he reached the edge of the clearing, he took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. The vivid image of the bloodstains and claw marks replayed in his mind, making him think that whatever creature made those marks had likely claimed the campers' lives.

Despite the tension, something else stirred within him—a surge of excitement and determination that he hadn't felt since first arriving in this world. He didn't fully understand the Grove, but he knew it held secrets, dangers, and, perhaps, answers. And he wanted to face them.

He glanced over at Carver, his lips curving into a slight grin. "You up for a challenge, Carver?" he asked, his voice tinged with a thrill he couldn't quite contain. "Looks like this place has more to it than I thought."

The thrill of the unknown mingled with his fear, stoking a fire deep within him. He tightened his grip on his spear, feeling its familiar weight in his hand, and straightened his stance. Whatever creature had left those marks was most likely still out there—and Colm knew he couldn't leave the Grove until he'd faced it, learned from it, and proven he was strong enough to survive in this strange, unforgiving world.

With one last look back at the campsite, Colm turned and began his journey deeper into the Grove, his senses heightened, every nerve attuned to his surroundings.

Colm spent the next few days trekking deeper into the Grove, hoping all this exploration would prove worthwhile. Each day brought the promise of discovery, though most encounters had been tame—a few glimpses of small wildlife darting through the trees, which he'd tried and failed to catch. Realizing he had no easy way of making a fire and was wary of drawing the attention of the beast that had attacked the camp, he'd given up on hunting. Occasionally, he came across groups of Blossom Beetles, though all beneath his own level, and each time, he felt that familiar itch for something more.

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The further he traveled, the more the landscape shifted. The plant life grew dimmer, casting shadows across his path as if he'd passed some invisible threshold within the echo. Now, in this new, darker section of the Grove, he heard distant sounds—movement, faint rustling, and subtle shifts in the underbrush. His senses sharpened, and he leveraged Stealth skill, pushing it to the limit as he crept forward.

As he crossed what seemed like an abandoned path, a notification appeared.

Stealth (Level 1) is now Stealth (Level 2)

The rank-up sent a surge of excitement through Colm, a deep satisfaction bubbling within him at his progress. But the moment was cut short by the sudden sound of rustling leaves. His heart stilled as he dismissed the notification, standing motionless and scanning the area, barely daring to breathe.

At first, nothing seemed out of place—just the usual twisted trees and clusters of dark foliage. Then he saw it: a subtle movement, a flash of green flesh blending almost seamlessly with the dense mushroom clusters.

The creature was horrifying. Short and hunched, its body was covered in fungi, its unnervingly human-like form twisted and grotesque. Long claws extended from its hands, and its face was dominated by a sinister, toothy grin that sent a chill down Colm's spine.

Focusing on the creature, he used Analyze.

Fungal Goblin (Level ??)

Colm's gut clenched as he registered the result. The System didn't display the creature's level—a clear sign it was likely far beyond his own. A flash of caution urged him to retreat, but an equally powerful thrill held him back. He hadn't felt the rush of an actual fight in too long, and the mystery of this creature's power gnawed at him. A brief image of his old life flashed in his mind: sitting at his desk, merely surviving. That wasn't enough for him anymore. Taking a steady breath, he steeled himself, ready to test his limits.

Over the next few hours, he stalked the goblin from as close as he dared, studying it carefully. The goblin moved through the shadows with an unsettling agility, slinking in and out of dense patches of shrubbery. He watched it lash out with unnaturally sharp claws at any creature that crossed its path, its blows swift and brutal. He noted its speed and strength, making mental notes of its tactics and weaknesses.

Once he had a plan, he positioned himself at a distance and motioned for Carver to follow. His heart raced with anticipation. He would use Carver to distract the goblin, draw it into position, and then strike from behind. Holding his breath, he signaled Carver, pushing his stealth skill to its limit. As if in reward, another notification blinked in his vision.

Stealth (Level 2) is now Stealth (Level 3)

He grinned, surprised at the rapid progress—it had just ranked up to 2—and quickly dismissed the notification, focusing on the scene unfolding ahead. The goblin had spotted Carver, its eyes narrowing with a sharp, predatory gleam. It raised its clawed hands, preparing to strike. The moment it lunged at Carver, Colm sprang into action, rushing forward and driving his spear deep into the goblin's leg. A guttural howl erupted from the creature as it staggered, thrown momentarily off balance. But it recovered fast, retaliating with a brutal swipe to Carver's chest, instantly dissolving the Phantom Warrior into mist.

Your Phantom Warrior has been destroyed.

Colm gritted his teeth, the creature's sheer power sending a thrill and a jolt of fear through him. Wiping sweat from his brow, he resummoned his Phantom Warrior, feeling his mana drain with the familiar pull. He stepped back, hoping to make the goblin focus on Carver again, to give him time for another strike. But as if sensing his plan, the goblin whipped around with astonishing speed and lunged directly at Colm. He barely dodged in time, but a claw clipped his shoulder, sending him sprawling to the ground, pain lancing through him.

Before the goblin could land another hit, Carver was back, intercepting it with a flurry of attacks. Despite Carver's strikes, the goblin staggered but held its ground, refusing to fall, its breathing heavy and ragged, yet its eyes still gleamed with an eerie ferocity.

Glancing at his status, Colm saw his health below half. He couldn't afford another mistake. With a groan, he forced himself to his feet, watching as the goblin readied itself for another charge.

Your Phantom Warrior has been destroyed.

Colm's heart pounded as he felt his mana drain with each resummon, knowing he was running low. But with one last surge of focus, he summoned Carver once more, readying himself for a final assault.

The goblin's limping charge began, and Colm tightened his grip on his spear, feeling the battle-worn wood in his hands. He dodged right as Carver moved to the left, surrounding the goblin. This time, the creature turned its back on Colm, too focused on Carver. Seizing the moment, Colm drove his spear deep into the goblin's back, striking with all his remaining strength. The goblin staggered, howling in pain, and Carver delivered a final, decisive blow to its chest. The creature convulsed, then collapsed to the ground, defeated.

Breathless, Colm managed a grin. "We did it, Carver," he muttered, sinking to his knees, every muscle aching.

Gasping for breath, he crawled into a nearby cluster of underbrush, putting a safe distance between himself and the site of the battle to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. He pulled up his notifications, eager to see the results.

Fungal Goblin (Level 17) Defeated. Experience Gained. Bonus experience granted for defeating a higher level enemy.

Level Up! +5 Stat Points Available.

Level Up! +5 Stat Points Available.

Seeing the goblin's level on the notification filled him with pride, and the experience gained left him grinning. A few more fights like this, and he'd be well on his way to more power.

Another notification popped up.

Phantom Warrior (Level 2) is now Phantom Warrior (Level 3)

Just as he was about to relax, a final notification popped up.

[ Loot Acquired: Fungal Charm ]

An eerie charm fashioned from twisted roots and fungi harvested from the Fungal Goblin. When worn, the charm slightly boosts resistance to poison and environmental effects, providing limited immunity to minor toxins and fungal spores.

Colm examined the charm, a gnarled twist of roots with a faint, pulsing glow. It was small, but as he held it, a strange warmth seeped through his fingers. He blinked, surprised—a dropped item. He hadn't seen anything leave behind loot before.

"Guess the system's feeling generous," he murmured with a smirk, feeling a surge of satisfaction. The charm's description mentioned a slight resistance to poison, something that could be invaluable in the Grove's depths. Carefully, he slipped it into his pocket, deciding it would be his new good luck charm.

Lying there, hidden among the underbrush as Lingering Vitality gradually healed his wounds, Colm smiled. "Carver, it looks like it's goblin-slaying season," he said with a quiet laugh.