Chapter 12: Tier 1 Gate (6)
Lanz was still sitting on the hobgoblin like it was some kind of demonic beanbag, his legs splayed out, arms resting on what used to be its shoulder blades, head tilted back like he was waiting for the sky to hand him answers. His back hurt, his arms hurt, his pride hurt the most, but that was pretty normal.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, staring at the burnt sky like it had personally betrayed him. "I kill a Tier 1 boss and you give me less than a full level? My ex definitely designed this sh*t."
He, in fact, did not have an ex. Closest thing he had was an awkward desk partner in second year who once borrowed his pen and never gave it back.
The System didn’t respond, which honestly felt more passive-aggressive than helpful.
Lanz groaned, slid sideways off the hobgoblin’s back, and flopped onto the dirt like a worn-out rug. Ash puffed up around him in lazy clouds.
"I should’ve killed one more goblin," he mumbled to no one. "Just one. One f*cking goblin."
He rolled over, facedown now, arms stretched out. "I cleared a dungeon. A full-ass, boss-filled, trap-happy, pain-in-my-entire-body dungeon. And I’m one point short. That’s psychological warfare. You can’t convince me otherwise."
A loose tent flap fluttered in the wind somewhere behind him, what’s worse, it sounded like laughter.
He closed his eyes. For a moment, he just lay there. Listening to the crackle of dying fires, the soft hiss of burned wood, the scent of smoke and roasted goblin hung in the air like some kind of haunted barbecue. Every inch of him felt like bruised fruit, his knuckles were scraped, his cloak was ripped, and his shirt underneath had so many holes it qualified as modern fashion.
The hobgoblin’s body hadn’t moved. Still lying face-down in the ash, blood pooling slowly beneath it, steam rising from where its side had cracked open.
Lanz reached one arm up like he was in a soap opera death scene.
"Tell my family I was a disappointment," he croaked dramatically. "But like, a really brave disappointment."