Simulation Concludes: Level Advancement
A year passed in the simulation, and your level climbed to 5, with Critical Strike reaching Level 3. You stood a head taller than the other goblins, the strongest among them—though still trapped in that grotesque three-headed torso. The Troll, however, paid your growth no mind. You didn't let your newfound strength go to your head; you knew the Troll had feasted on far more monster meat, his raw power eclipsing yours. Challenging him outright would be suicide, so you bided your time.
Years blurred into a cycle of survival: by year 2, level 8, Critical Strike at Level 7. The Troll vanished mid-year, returning days later—you thanked fate you'd stayed passive. By year 3, level 11, Critical Strike maxed out. And by year 7, level 20: your Critical Strike evolved into Deadly Strike Level 1. But progress stalled. Devouring monster meat no longer worked; your Common Template had hit its cap. The Troll's appetite had grown ravenous, too—he eyed you not as a subordinate, but as prey.
Choose Your Path:
Flee the goblin tribe, venture into the unknown to find a way to evolve.Remain in the tribe, clinging to a life of constant dread.Take the Troll down by any means and seize control of the tribe.
Option 2 was a death sentence. Between 1 and 3, caution warred with ambition. The Troll was a higher-tier creature—even at max level, you weren't sure you could best him. But a sneak attack Your human intellect might tip the scales. Still, prudence won out.
"System, select Option 1: Leave the goblin tribe."
You escaped under cover of night, the tribe's second-in-command by default. The first day beyond the borders, you crossed paths with a rookie adventurer squad. Their teamwork was sloppy, their arrogance misplaced. Your Deadly Strike tore through them, but not without cost—you lay bleeding, half-dead. Before you could drag the corpses to safety, a black tiger emerged from the shadows. No chance to fight back. You died.
Simulation Terminated. Overall Score: 37.
For a common goblin, a life of surprising triumph. For a transmigrator? A disgrace.
Choose Your Reward:
Gain 1 level (cost: 5 points, repeatable).Raise Critical Strike by 1 level (cost: 4 points, repeatable).
You grasped the rules: rewards mirrored what you'd earned in the simulation. No abstract "life lessons"—just raw power. Calculating quickly, you allocated points for maximum impact.
"System, four levels in rank and four levels in Critical Strike."
36 points consumed. Rewards applied.
A surge of energy flooded your body, muscles thickening, stature expanding—from 1.2 meters to 1.6, now towering over most goblins. A sharp, needle-like pain pierced your skull as combat insights flooded in: Critical Strike was now Level 5.
Your updated stats reflected the transformation:
Name: Goblinor
Race: Goblin
Template: Common
Level: 5/20 (4%)
Vitality: 7
Strength: 11
Agility: 6
Spirit: 8
Charisma: 0
Skills: Critical Strike LV.5
...
Each level added a point to core stats and a free attribute point. You dumped all four into Strength—overpowering force solves all problems.
One mystery lingered: where had the Troll gone during that mid-year absence? The system's emphasis on it itched at the back of your mind.
Shaking off the thought, you left the cave, memories of your goblin "childhood" trickling back: you were a newborn just a week old, and Goblar, the goblin who'd called you to eat, was a slightly older tribe-mate.
The camp was a fetid mess of goblin droppings, but your nose barely twitched—your body had adapted. Near the feeding ground, over fifty goblins swarmed the remains of two boars, tearing at the flesh ravenously. By the time you arrived, only bones remained.
Your stomach growled. The sight of raw meat didn't revolt you; it excited you. But no food meant one choice: hunt.
Goblar approached, eyes widening at your new size. "Goblinor? You grew—did you eat the shit pile?"
You barely stifled a grimace. "No. I just… grew. You full?"
"Nope."
"Then follow me. Do as I say."
Goblar obeyed, cowed by your earlier display of strength. You grabbed crude wooden spears from the ground, handing one to him. Solo hunting meant wasted meat; better to train an ally—Goblar, at least, had shown you basic loyalty.
As you marched toward the hunting grounds, a plan took shape: survive, grow stronger, and one day, transcend this wretched goblin form. The simulation had failed, but the rewards had given you an edge.
The first step? Prove that even a goblin could defy fate—one hunt, one level, one simulation at a time.