The forest was dark. Above the canopy, the moon was bright, but below the trees I was bathed in twisting shadows. My eyes had adapted to the low light conditions, but I could only assume goblins had much better night vision than I did, so I was being extra careful.

  Admittedly, this was a bit crazy. I had headed out into the woods with a glorified stick as a weapon, for fuck’s sake. I was much more likely to die than anything else.

  Still, my heart hammering, adrenaline pumping through my body, I was actually excited.

  Obviously, I couldn’t risk encountering a group of goblins. If I did, I had no doubt I’d die immediately. In this world, it was clear goblins were a threat to a grown man, given what had happened to Hildan. I had no idea if he had been swarmed or if it was a single goblin who did that to him, but I was assuming the latter, pessimistically.

  My only hope was encountering a single scout, and taking it by surprise.

  I didn’t know these woods that well, but it was hardly my first time out here. I also knew where my father liked to hunt, which was presumably where he encountered the goblins, so I moved cautiously in that direction.

  After searching for an hour or two, the pressure of the whole situation was causing me fatigue. So much adrenaline, for that long, had also spiked my cortisol levels, and I was getting twitchy and my head was starting to hurt.

  Reluctantly, I came to the conclusion it was probably time to head back. Naturally, that was when I encountered the goblin.

  Its dark green skin made it blend in with the forest exceptionally well. If the moonlight hadn’t glinted off the sword that was coming towards me, I probably would have been cut down.

  Parrying and evading backwards to create some room, I swung my head around to make sure I wasn’t surrounded. Had I been ambushed? No. I locked on to my opponent, squeezing the grip of my training sword. It’s alone.

  I grinned.

  Chance.

  The goblin scowled at my grin, a deep growl reverberating in its throat. It was naked and well-muscled, like a green version of a bald chimpanzee, except it had large, thin, pointed ears and a long, hooked nose. Its mouth was full of sharp teeth, definitely for tearing flesh from the bone. Distractingly, its nudity exposed relatively enormous genitalia hanging between its legs. I suppose I should say his, not its. Well, no need to personify the monster.

  Most importantly, in its hand was a sword. It was poorly maintained, rusted and obviously scavenged, but it was a real sword.

  Its eyes flicked down to my wooden sword, then it looked me dead in the eyes and sneered.

  “All right,” I said, taking a stance. “Bring it.”

  The goblin pounced forward.

  Years of drilling forms and doing practice swings allowed me to respond relatively easily. The goblin was using a sword, but wasn’t engaging in swordsmanship, per se. It was a sharp club in its hands, whereas I was trained by a former soldier. My blocks, parries, and counters came relatively easily, though my mind was racing to keep up. My arms quivered with each block; it struck with far more power than I had in my young body.

  The biggest issue was clearly the difference in our weapons. As poorly maintained as its sword was, it was metal, and mine was wood. My sword was chipping from reflecting repeated heavy blows, and wouldn’t last long.

  My brain churned through its pool of knowledge, seeking a solution, and found it in a lesson that, unfortunately, I had never been able to truly practice: disarmament.

  I waited for the right moment, biding my time for the goblin to get extra sloppy, hoping my practice sword would hold out long enough for my chance.

  There—he’s open, I thought as it swung wide.

  I parried the blow with an inside swing, putting the goblin off balance, then stepped in and smashed my sword down on the goblin’s wrist.

  The monster screeched and lost its grip on the sword, which continued its arc with the momentum behind the goblin’s wide attack. Without a second’s delay, I hurled my practice sword at the goblin’s face, and leapt after the real sword.

  My hands closed around the grip of the weapon and I lifted it, noting the extra weight. I turned just in time to block a violent smash from the goblin, who had grabbed at the practice sword I had thrown at it.

  Time to go on the offensive.

  I had trained for this. I knew my forms. I had a real sword in my hand.

  I struck.

  And something clicked into place.

  [Swordsmanship] flared to life, and all of my training coalesced into something… new.

  It had been said that it took ten thousand hours of practice to master something. In my old life, progress was iterative, but there were definitely points where one was skilled enough that they could perform with a certain amount of automatic response without the need for thought.

  There was also the flow state, where one could get “in the zone” while performing some action, becoming fully immersed in it; the melding together of action and consciousness.

  Gaining my first skill was a lot like immediately reaching the ten thousand hour point while in a flow state. My mind, formerly racing, settled into a calm but energized focus. I no longer had to think all that hard about what I was doing with my sword, which forms to use, or how to respond. My body responded for me, as though I had been born with a sword in my hand and used it my whole life.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  The goblin swung again, and rather than intellectually knowing what to do, it felt perfectly natural to simply move in such a way to respond to the strike. So I did, stepping in ever so slightly so that our weapons would connect where the goblin’s practice sword was weakest.

  The wooden blade splintered into pieces, and I followed through with a second strike across the goblin’s throat. It lifted its own weapon with futility in an attempt to block, but there was no longer a wooden blade to block with.

  A red line opened up across the goblin’s neck, and its hands flew up to staunch the bleeding.

  It gurgled and hissed, taking a staggering step forward, then fell to its knees, glaring up at me with hate in its eyes. Within moments, its eyelids were fluttering, and it fell face first into the humus of the forest floor with a soft thud.

  Time started to move again for me. I glanced down at the red slash on the rusted blade I was holding, then looked back at the dead goblin.

  “I did it,” I murmured.

  My hand trembled a bit, but I shook it out and alternated between making a fist and flexing my fingers, getting it under control. My arms ached; a metal sword was heavy, and it was only thanks to my diligent training, exercise, and practice that I could wield it so well in the first place.

  But I had wielded it. And, as hoped, when I crossed blades with the goblin, I had gained the [Swordsmanship] skill. I pulled up my System to look at it.

  From there, I opened up the new skill description.

  It was so simple on paper, but in practice, it was truly fantastic. The moment I had gained the skill, I had felt like I had been sword fighting my whole life. This is the power of skills.

  I shuddered slightly thinking of the implications. What would a war look like when all the soldiers had this level of swordsmanship? I supposed it evened out if both sides had the skill, and they must have in order to survive.

  I didn’t fail to note that this skill had a skill level attached to it. I had gained “basic mastery” of the sword, which suggested there was even more advanced mastery to achieve. Given that magic was real, I could only imagine how absurd this skill could grow over lifetimes of training.

  The sound of a cracking stick was the only notice I had, and it was almost too late, having been so wrapped up in my celebration. I spun and deflected the strike at the last second, identifying my new target.

  No. Targets, plural.

  The sounds of my battle hadn’t escaped notice. Three more goblins had approached. Only one had a sword, and the other two were carrying large clubs.

  I was tired, weakened from my previous battle, out of my element in the dark forest, and stressed out from hours of cautious hunting. As I lifted my sword, I felt [Swordsmanship] activate and gave myself to the coming combat.

  “Let’s do this,” I said with a grin.

  * * *

  My eyes drooped as I finished burying the pair of swords in a spot behind my house, in case I needed them again. After dispatching the second round of goblins, I had collected the second sword and skedaddled, making my way back towards the village so I could hide them and head to bed. My body was young and needed sleep, and it had been a long, grueling day.

  The house was quiet when I slipped inside, which was fortunate. I had been out much longer than I intended and didn’t want to answer questions before I could sleep and recover a bit. I made my way to my bed and collapsed into it as quietly as I could.

  Before I drifted off, I pulled up my System one more time, a smile growing on my face as I drifted off to sleep. The battle had definitely been worth it.

  I slept deeply for the remainder of the night, but was awoken in the early morning by a deep cry of pain. I blearily opened my eyes and got up, making my way to the front of the house, where I found my mother redressing my father’s wound. The bandaged linens had dried to the cut, which had started bleeding again when she removed them. It seemed like Hildan had reached his limit and let his voice out in the process, which was no surprise, but he seemed angry with himself for showing weakness in front of my mother.

  A small, unfamiliar keg was in the kitchen, and there was a mug on the table, which my father picked up with his remaining hand and took a swig from. I could smell alcohol in the air, so I assumed someone from the village had brought spirits for Hildan to use as a painkiller.

  I watched my mother redress the wound, then joined her when she left to wash her hands.

  “How is it looking?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice slightly warbled from suppressing her desire to cry. She took a steadying breath, then looked at me. “Thank you for taking care of it last night. I’m sure it would be worse otherwise.”

  She didn’t mention my late night excursion, so I supposed my absence had not been noticed given all that had happened. That was a relief, because I wasn’t sure I could come up with an excuse that couldn’t be rebutted by the adults of the village who had spent the night on guard.

  After some time consoling my mother, I went and checked on my siblings, who were both still sleeping. I grabbed some stale bread from the kitchen to eat, and stepped out of the house to head to the village.

  Some of the women were talking in the square, and I learned from them that the village had been unmolested in the night, and the men had already set off this morning to deal with the goblins. There wasn’t much else I could learn, so I headed homeward, slipping around the back to sit down in my usual spot and to meditate.

  Killing the goblins had leveled me up, finally. Last night I had learned that monsters truly existed in this world, and that killing them definitely gave experience of some kind which prompted leveling. It might not be the only way to gain experience towards a level, but it definitely seemed like a major one. That, or gaining my skill had been a large factor. Overall, neither was a huge surprise, but it was good to confirm that I could level up by continuing to pursue this lead.

  I had also gained a single stat point in each key stat upon leveling. This meant that, finally, my Will had grown.

  I was willing to bet that most people didn’t kill that many monsters in their life, which meant that most people also didn’t get this stat bonus. I knew some people did, having heard about such a “divine gift” before. It might not be common knowledge in this village, but it was so obviously connected that I assumed people who regularly killed monsters at least partially understood the connection.

  Allowing my thoughts to clear, I focused on my breath, easing into my mindfulness meditation practice. I had done this countless times over the years—it was one of the main ways I had increased my Mind stat early on—and it was trivial to fall into the meditative state, despite everything that had happened the night before.

  Something was different, though. As I breathed, feeling the air which provided me with life enter and exit my body, I explored the sensation of my blood feeding oxygen to my body, the air connecting me to the world and the living beings around me.

  It wasn’t just oxygen feeding my body, though. There was something more than air that I was absorbing from the world, something more than life-giving oxygen supporting my existence.

  My eyes snapped open, breaking my meditative focus.

  Mana.