The next morning, Finn woke with a renewed sense of purpose, a fire burning in his chest that hadn't been there before. His small body still ached from the constant adjustments, but something inside him had shifted. The feeling of uselessness, of being a weak runt, gnawed at him constantly—but today, that would change. He would no longer be the one left behind.
"I'm going to hunt something today." He repeated it to himself, over and over, as he sat up in his nest. The words echoed in his mind like a mantra, steadying his resolve. His hand reached under his makeshift pillow, a pathetic bundle of leaves and bloodstained rags, to grab the crude knife he'd managed to scavenge. It was little more than a jagged shard of stone bound together by scraps of cloth, but it was the closest thing to a weapon Finn had—and in this world, that was all that mattered.
He studied the knife for a moment, its rough edges reflecting the flickering firelight. It was far from perfect, but it was sharp enough. His hand tightened around the handle, a weak grip but one born of determination. With a deep breath, he stood and stepped out of the cave, into the unknown.
The musty, damp air of the cave vanished almost instantly. The fresh, earthy scent of the forest greeted him like an old friend, the weight of the cave's oppressive atmosphere lifting off his chest. He inhaled deeply, the fragrance of the trees, soil, and leaves filling his senses. In the background, birds chirped, their melodies floating through the air like soft whispers. Every time Finn turned his head, though, thinking he might spot some easy prey, the birds would flit away, leaving nothing behind but empty air.
"Focus," Finn muttered to himself, shaking his head. He couldn't afford to be distracted.
He scanned the area around the cave's entrance, its dense greenery stretching outward. The forest was vast, but he didn't want to venture too far—he had no idea what dangers lurked deeper within. A sense of caution hung in the air as he took his first steps, his crude knife tucked tightly into his hand. Finn ventured about 100 meters from the cave, glancing around with sharp, careful eyes, trying to catch sight of anything weak and small. He repeated the process, moving in small increments. He didn't want to risk getting lost or facing something stronger than he could handle.
He set up a mental perimeter, marking the invisible line he wouldn't cross—a cautious boundary that kept him close to safety but also pushed him further from the cave's familiar walls.
By midday, the forest had started to feel like an endless stretch of failures. Finn had tried to chase down small creatures—anything he could manage to catch—but every time he spotted something, it was either too quick for him or far too strong. He could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the sharp hunger in his stomach, and a rising frustration gnawing at him.
He had been hunting all day, yet had nothing to show for it. Every failed attempt was another reminder of how weak he still was. Finn stood still, staring at the forest around him, almost ready to give up for the day. His eyes were beginning to blur with fatigue, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of his failure. He turned to leave, ready to return to the cave and lick his wounds, when he heard it.
A sound. So faint, so quiet, that anyone else might have missed it. A rustling, a shift in the underbrush to his left.
Finn's instincts screamed at him to be careful, but the desperation to prove himself overruled any sense of caution. Without thinking, he leaped toward the noise, diving into the nearby bushes, not considering that it might be something dangerous. He scrambled through the branches, fingers brushing against leaves and twigs, until finally, he felt something cold and slick under his hand.
He held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He had it. A small creature. A lizard, its scaly body no more than ten centimeters long. It was struggling in his grasp, trying to wriggle free, but Finn didn't let go. His hands shook with excitement as he drew his knife, the crude blade gleaming in the light that filtered through the trees. Without hesitation, he pressed the edge against the lizard's small body, the struggle ending quickly as he made his move.
The creature stilled, its body limp in his hands. Finn let out a breath, both relief and satisfaction flooding him.
"You did it," he thought, staring at his catch. It wasn't much, but it was his first victory.
The air around him felt a little less suffocating now. He had proven something to himself. This world was harsh and unforgiving, but that didn't mean he couldn't survive in it. With the lizard still in hand, Finn barely registered the notification that appeared in his mind.
[You have killed a lizard, +1 XP.]
Finn wasn't surprised by the notification. He had learned about the so-called "system" by eavesdropping on the other goblins. They often spoke of it in passing, almost dismissively. Apparently, the system activated when you killed something for the first time, granting you XP, or Experience Points. The more XP you gained, the stronger you became.
What intrigued Finn most, though, was the idea of evolution. The goblins didn't explain it fully, but from what he gathered, evolution wasn't just about getting bigger or stronger. It was about changing—becoming something more, something better. Only those who had accumulated enough XP could truly evolve, and those were the goblins who commanded respect.
As Finn held the dead lizard, the +1 XP flashing in his mind, he realized this was his first step. He wasn't just a helpless runt anymore. The path to strength had begun. It might be a small victory, but it was a start. Maybe the system was the key to changing his fate.
The small pop-up felt oddly satisfying, a confirmation of his success. He wasn't just wandering aimlessly anymore—he was learning. He was becoming more than just a weak runt. This world might not care about him, but Finn was starting to realize something important: he could make it care.
He tucked the lizard into his makeshift pouch, already thinking about how he would return to the cave, his mind racing with plans for the next hunt. This was only the beginning.