Chapter 2 Wright Monteith

Through the dense forest, a young hero tore forward, his bespoke uniform—crafted for a champion—streaked with dust and grime, a testament to his relentless journey.

His breaths came sharp, his legs churned through the underbrush, until at last he shoved aside a tangle of branches.

There, in a clearing beneath the canopy, sprawled a goblin encampment.

A drowsy archer slouched atop a rickety watchtower, oblivious to the world.

Below, squat goblins shuffled through the wooden stockade, their garish banners—smeared with vivid paints—fluttering against the walls.

This was it: the goblin stronghold near Wagner Town in the Empire’s southern reaches, just as the prophecy foretold.

Crouched in a thicket, the young hero’s eyes darted over the scene, matching each detail to the sage’s vision of the Witch’s arrival.

A spark of excitement kindled in his chest.

He was Lyte Montis, once the mightiest warrior of Tria, the chosen son among all supreme heroes, wielder of twin holy swords of unmatched power.

The Church had promised him the hand of their saintess; the pirate queen of the lawless seas favored him with her gaze; his childhood friend, the imperial princess, awaited his triumphant return.

Yet none of these stirred his heart.

His sole desire was to crush the Sin Realm and usher in an era of peace.

Time and again, he led the Empire’s champions to thwart the Sin Realm’s invasions, each victory a step toward salvation.

But then came the sage’s prophecy: a world-ending Witch would descend.

At first, it was dismissed as fable—until a snow-haired girl emerged, commanding a horde of grotesque creatures that clawed up from the earth, razing all in their path with terrifying ease.

No one could stop her.

Not even Lyte, the so-called strongest, who fell beneath her power.

Until the gods granted him a second chance.

Now, reborn, Lyte chewed dry rations to restore his strength, his journey to this moment unbroken since his return.

He had come to slay the Witch before she could rise to her full might.

A sudden breeze stirred, lifting his sweat-matted bangs.

Sunlight filtered through the dappled leaves, casting a glow on his chiseled features, as if sculpted by divine hands, radiating a faint, godly aura.

With a bit of grooming, he might have been breathtaking.

Finishing his meal, Lyte rose, poised to infiltrate the camp, when a prickle of danger halted him.

His honed instincts flared, and in a flash, his holy sword parried a strike aimed at his back.

The assailant was a masked captain of the Sin Realm, an alien breed of formidable power.

“Why is a hero here?” the captain hissed, voice cold as frost.

Lyte’s grip tightened on his blade.

I could ask the same of a Sin Realm captain.

So, the Witch is tied to them after all.

Words were wasted here.

With a spark of steel, Lyte lunged, clashing with the captain in a whirlwind of combat.

***

The corridor was short, its cells mostly barren.

A yawning goblin guard ambled along, dragging his feet.

Hidden in the shadows, a snow-haired girl peeked out, waiting until the guard vanished around a corner before stumbling forward to the next choke point.

Her body adjusted faster than she’d expected, though her steps still wobbled.

At least she wasn’t sprawling face-first every few paces anymore.

But the weight of her newfound curves—two burdensome “rabbits” swaying with each step—strained her back.

Her first grievance as a woman.

What if I have to marry and bear children someday?

She shook her head, banishing such distant worries.

Noi traced the rough, ashen walls, her footsteps muffled in the silence, broken only by the crackle of candle flames.

Her gait slowed, cautious as if crossing a tightrope.

“Hey! Over here, beautiful!” a hushed voice called, shattering her focus.

Startled, Noi teetered and crashed to the floor with a thud.

In a cell she hadn’t noticed, an elven rogue grinned, his eyes gleaming as if spotting a savior.

“Wait—you’re not an elf. A mercenary from the teahouse? You look… kind a clueless. I’m a VIP there, you know.”

Noi rose, her face blank, fixing him with a stare.

The elf, undeterred, pressed his face to the bars, babbling on.

“Taught a goblin human speech, and it paid off. Sent a letter yesterday, and here you are! Come on, bust this door open.”

Noi silently produced a letter pilfered from a goblin guard.

“This one?”

The elf’s grin faltered.

“That’s… not right. Teahouse rules say distress letters go to their archives. And that’s unopened. Unless…”

His face fell as realization dawned.

She wasn’t his rescuer.

The letter never left the camp.

“How’s it in your hands? Only goblins and me are here. Unless… you’re that meteor girl from yesterday? Complete with prisoner cosplay?”

Meteor girl?

Your whole family’s a meteor!

Noi turned to leave without a word.

“Wait!” the elf shouted.

“Take me with you, or I’ll tell the goblins you’re here!”

Noi froze, then turned, her gaze icy enough to chill the underworld.

The elf’s heart skipped, but he held her stare.

“Come closer, or I’ll scream.”

Her expression softened, and she approached, meek as a forest fawn.

The elf exhaled, thinking he’d won—until her hand shot through the bars, seizing his throat with terrifying strength.

He thrashed, pinned against the iron, her grip unrelenting, her intent unmistakably lethal.

Gasping, he fumbled at his waist, conjuring a dagger from nowhere and pricking her hand, forcing her to release him.

“Cough… you’re insane!” he wheezed, retreating.

“Can’t we just talk? No need for extremes. Where’s your sense of trade?”

Noi leaned against the wall, her tattered prisoner’s garb failing to conceal her curves, a glimpse of which briefly flustered the elf’s glare.

Emboldened, he stole a few more glances.

“Seen enough?” she asked coolly.

“With your keen business mind, five seconds of staring at such fine assets should buy me intel on this place.”

Caught, the elf cursed her shamelessness but relented.

“Fine. This is a goblin-built stronghold. Lowly demonkin like them shouldn’t be this close to towns. There’s a shadow spider caged below, likely kept to harvest its venom. Someone’s using the goblins as wardens.”

“How strong are they?”

“Grunts are weak, but the goblin chief’s no slouch—around C-rank strength. Got an escape plan?”

Noi didn’t answer, instead casting him a cryptic glance before settling gracefully on the floor, still as a porcelain doll.

The elf blinked, baffled.

“What are you doing?”

Silence.

“Enough with the dots! Say something!” He paused, then grinned.

“Oh, I get it. Fine, I’ll plan. Follow this corridor to the stairs. At the bottom, the key to my cell is with the goblin guarding the spider. Sneak it off him.”

“That guard… is it strong? I’m just a defenseless girl,” Noi said, her voice quivering, tears welling in her eyes, the picture of fragility.

Just then, the patrol returned, the sharp slap of a club against a palm echoing through the corridor.

The elf’s face darkened.

Defenseless?

Sure.

As the footsteps neared, he tossed a pouch and a cloak through the bars.

“Take these and go.”

The pouch held gunpowder-scented pellets; the cloak was oversized, swallowing her frame.

Grimacing, the elf watched as Noi eyed his dagger.

With a scowl, he tossed it too.

“Get lost!”

She scooped up the items and vanished.

The returning goblin guard glanced at the elf, who swallowed his words and feigned innocence.

***

In the dungeon’s dim glow, a massive shadow spider hung bound by steel, its venom dripping into a wooden barrel.

A grotesque goblin dozed on a suspended plank, a keyring glinting at its waist.

A cloaked figure crept forward, snatching the keys.

The guard stirred, but the thief—swift and precise—cracked the dagger’s hilt against its skull, knocking it out cold.

Noi threw back her hood, her snow-white hair tumbling free, her crimson eyes glinting in the gloom.

She tested the keys, freeing herself from her shackles with a sigh of relief.

Staring at the dagger, she willed it into her system’s storage, where it vanished.

Tearing strips from her prisoner’s garb, she gagged and bound the guard, avoiding bloodshed—not out of mercy, but practicality.

A botched kill could summon reinforcements.

Her gaze fell on the venom-filled barrel.

After a moment’s thought, she scrounged up sealed bottles, filling them with the viscous liquid.

Might fetch a good price.

As she’d claimed the dagger from the elf, her system had flickered to life:

“Absorbed trace magic. System active for 10 seconds. Host, kill a creature to harvest soul energy and fully unlock system.”

The interface vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Unreliable thing.

Noi stashed the bottles in her system’s storage—its sole functioning feature—and prepared to flee.

Rubbing her aching back, she slipped out of the dungeon, pondering her next move.

The elf’s deal was transactional: items for his freedom.

She had no desire to entangle herself with a self-serving opportunist.

His intel was sparse, leaving her to navigate this perilous maze alone.

Staying here was a death sentence.

As for the “falling from the sky” nonsense, she was clueless.

Had her soul transmigrated into a woman’s body mid-plummet?

Or had she crossed into someone already falling?

A blaring horn from the dungeon snapped her from her thoughts.

Her makeshift gag had failed—the guard was awake.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs.

With no escape, Noi doubled back, knocking the goblin out again with a vengeful strike.

Now what?

Pacing frantically, her foot nudged the venom barrel, its contents sloshing faintly.

A wicked grin spread across her face.

Summoning the dagger, she slashed the spider’s chains.

When the goblin reinforcements arrived, they found only their unconscious comrade.

The spider was gone.

A panicked shout drew their eyes upward—to the creature clinging to the ceiling, its fanged maw gaping.

Chaos erupted.

The goblins scrambled, weapons clashing against the freed spider, but it overpowered them effortlessly.

Many fled in terror.

Cloaked in the elf’s enchanted mantle, Noi slipped away, her presence dulled by its magic.

Unseen, a wisp of black mist clung to her back, trailing her like a silent specter.