Dawn broke over the valley like a bruised eye, the sky a sickly yellow-green. Goblinor woke before the first ray, shaking Goblar and Goblir awake with a rough nudge. "No breakfast. We hunt the ravine today."
Goblar groaned, rubbing his eyes. "The ravine? But that's where the big ones live—"
"Exactly." Goblinor hefted his spear, newly sharpened with a shard of obsidian he'd chipped from the cave wall. "We need six crystals. The weak ones won't cut it."
The trio moved in silence, skirting the main hunting grounds where other goblins yammered over traps and spears. The ravine lay at the valley's edge, a jagged gash in the earth choked with twisted trees and clinging vines. Goblinor's Keen Eye picked out faint webs between the branches—spider silk, thick as rope, glinting with trapped dewdrops.
"Stay sharp," he hissed, motioning Goblar to the left, Goblir to the right. "This is their territory."
They'd barely taken ten steps when a shadow dropped from above—a giant tarantula, its body the size of a boar, eight legs ending in dagger-like claws. Goblir squealed, scrambling back, but Goblinor was already moving, Combat Instinct flaring. He ducked a swipe that would've split his skull, driving his spear into the spider's abdomen—Critical Strike LV.9—black blood spraying in a foul mist.
"Goblar! Spears to the eyes!" he roared, rolling from under a second attack. The spider's fangs dripped venom, each drop hissing as it melted the grass. Goblar charged, jabbing blindly, but the spider pivoted, knocking him aside with a backleg.
Goblinor cursed. This wasn't a common monster—this was a Tier 2 creature, its exoskeleton gleaming with magical reinforcement. He'd underestimated the ravine's dangers, but fear was a luxury. Summoning every ounce of Strength, he leaped onto the spider's back, spear stabbing repeatedly at the joint where leg met torso.
The spider screeched, a high-pitched whine that set Goblir's teeth on edge. It twisted, trying to dislodge him, but Strong Body lent him grip, his legs clamping down like vice. "Now, Goblir!" he shouted. "Fire—burn the webs!"
Goblir fumbled with a bundle of dry grass, igniting it from a hidden flint. The flames caught the spider's silk nest, crackling hungrily. The creature hesitated, distracted by the blaze, and Goblinor seized his chance—Deadly Strike—a downward thrust into the soft spot behind its cephalothorax.
It collapsed with a wet thud, legs twitching. Goblar scrambled forward, jabbing its compound eyes until they oozed pus-like fluid. Only then did Goblinor dare breathe, blood pounding in his ears.
"Two crystals," Goblir said, holding up the shards—larger than Tier 1, pulsing with purple light. "Tier 2 Magic Crystals. The system didn't mention these."
Goblinor smirked, wiping spider blood from his face. "The system doesn't tell us everything. But these—" he held up a crystal, its energy thrumming against his palm—"are worth ten regular ones. Maybe more."
The spider's lair yielded a trove: six Tier 2 crystals, plus a dozen smaller Tier 1s from its half-eaten prey. Goblinor's pouch now bulged with 25 crystals—enough for the next simulation, and then some. But the discovery left him uneasy. If Tier 2 monsters exist here, how many more secrets does this valley hold?
"Let's go," he said, shouldering the heaviest crystals. "The Troll will wake soon. And we—" he glanced at his companions, their faces splattered with blood, eyes alight with newfound courage—"have a date with the system."
Back at camp, the tribe was in chaos. The Troll had roused early, smashing a hapless goblin for spilling its breakfast. Goblinor ignored the screams, slipping into his alcove to prepare. He'd learned from the last simulation: timing was everything.
System, initiate third simulation.
25 Tier 1 Magic Crystals consumed. Third Simulation Initiated.
[3 leftover evaluation points detected. Random mid-tier talent acquired: Poison Resistance (minor venom immunity).]
Goblinor grinned. Perfect timing. The spider's venom had burned his arm, but now—Poison Resistance—the ache dulled to a throb. The simulation's first scene unfolded: a tribe stronger than before, goblins trained in formation combat, their spears tipped with obsidian blades.
But his focus was on the Troll, now eyeing him not as prey, but as a threat. The creature's den held no crystals—it had learned to destroy them faster—but Goblinor had a new plan: steal the Troll's weakness.
As the simulation raced through years of sabotage and strategy, Goblinor barely noticed the passage of time. He was no longer just a goblin plotting survival; he was a general, a tactician, a creature evolving beyond his template.
And when the simulation finally asked the fateful question—"Challenge the Troll now, or wait for it to grow stronger?"—Goblinor smiled, sharp and certain.
"System, select Option 3: Burn its den, bury its weakness, and rise."
The simulation erupted into chaos—flames, screams, the Troll's roar of fury—but Goblinor didn't flinch. He knew the truth now: crystals were just tools. The real power was in evolution, in breaking the limits of what a goblin was supposed to be.
And when the simulation ended, he'd have more than just stats—he'd have a path. A path to becoming something the valley, the Troll, even the humans, had never imagined.
For the first time, Goblinor felt it: the faint stirrings of a new form, a new destiny, waiting just beyond the edge of his current skin.
The next simulation wouldn't just change him.
It would transform him.