Although he didn’t notice it himself, on this new mission, Teclos moved differently—he wasn’t faster or stronger, at least not by much. But something had changed in the way he approached a hunt. He was stealthier.

Every step he took carried the intent of stealth.

Every breath he took was controlled.

Even the way he shifted his weight along the branches felt refined, moving with the forest itself.

Like a shadow of the forest, unseen by most of its dwellers.

He had begun to understand something fundamental about his darkness affinity.

For him, brute force was not the answer anymore.

Stealth was.

Patience.

And a precise killing blow.

It was what allowed him to fully utilize the nature of his darkness mana—and without realizing it, he had started walking the exact path the old man had been pushing him toward from the very beginning.

The old man chose the training targets in a way that favored stealth—either because the target was too strong for a frontal assault or too quick.

It forced Teclos to unconsciously think like an assassin, relying on evasion, blind spots, and hiding.

Nothing like a proud warrior, but something more cowardly and sneaky, deadly if used in the right way.

Before now, he had only given him missions that required running away, so his progress was somewhat obscured. But this time, it was the first mission that required Teclos to kill a target. It was a test to see if he was usable, or if he should discard the idea of teaching him and coaxing him into obedience.

—

The goblin camp stretched beneath Teclos like a festering scar carved into the forest floor, its crude structures forming a loose and chaotic circle.

Flickering fires cast uneven light, their smoke heavy and foul, carrying with it the stench of rot, filth, and decay. Even from above, the smell gnawed at his nose like a ferocious beast.

Teclos remained still for a while, crouched low along a thick branch, his presence nearly nonexistent as he observed.

He didn’t rush and only watched from afar for now, trying to learn their habits and behavior, as well as count them.

The goblins moved erratically, their patrols lacking any discipline, yet there was still a strange efficiency to their chaos. Guards lingered at key points, some alert, others distracted, scratching at their festering skin or muttering under their breath.

They were unpredictable, and that made them more dangerous in his eyes—but not impossible to navigate.

Teclos exhaled slowly, letting his body relax, and wrapped himself further into the shadows, erasing his presence and scent almost perfectly.

Then, finally—

He moved.

A small stone slipped from his fingers and dropped into the underbrush below.

The faint tap was enough to draw the attention of some goblins.

One of the nearby goblins snapped its head toward the sound, its ears twitching sharply before it shuffled forward, curiosity outweighing caution.

That was all the opening Teclos needed.

He dropped silently behind it, his landing so soft that not a single leaf stirred. Before the creature could make a sound, his hand clamped over its mouth. In the same motion, he twisted his whole body with brutal force, wrenching its head at an unnatural angle until its neck snapped.

The goblin went limp instantly.

Teclos held it for a second longer, ensuring there was no twitch or reflex left, before lowering it carefully into the shadows.

No trace or scent of blood remained.

And he was already moving again.

Another guard paced along a rough path between huts, its steps uneven and distracted.

Teclos stayed behind a tree this time, clinging as closely to it as possible, his body flattened against the bark. He watched the rhythm of the goblin’s movements.

Stepping forward.

Pausing suddenly.

Then turning around.

Like it had noticed something amiss for a second. But then it continued onward.

Another step—

Teclos rushed out the moment its back faced him again.

An arm slipped around its throat, tightening his grip enough to cut off airflow. The goblin struggled weakly, claws scratching at his vambrace, but Teclos didn’t rush it. He held firm, steady, waiting until the body went limp.

Then he disappeared again, taking the body into the trees, where he laid it on a branch and fastened it with a piece of rope.

Nothing was left behind with a chance of being discovered.

He moved through the camp like that—silent, unseen, a presence that existed only between fleeting moments.

Sometimes he created diversions, tossing pebbles or snapping twigs at a distance to draw attention away from his path. Other times, he simply slipped past guards entirely, letting them live, choosing efficiency over unnecessary risk.

And when needed—

He eliminated them.

Cleanly.

Quietly.

Without hesitation.

—

Back at Kolma, while playing cards in the tavern, the old man suddenly laughed like a deranged man. Across the table from him, another old man looked up with a questioning expression, doubting his sanity.

"Oh, sorry for my laugh just now, friend. I seem to have remembered something good just now."

"Hmph! I fold my hand. There is no way I’m falling for your tricks!"

While carrying the game onward, the old man was pleased by Teclos’s methods.

—

Back at the goblin camp.

Minutes stretched on as he carved a path through the camp’s outer layer, never once revealing himself, never once allowing his focus and tension to break.

Until finally—

He reached the center of this filth.

The largest structure stood before him, towering over the rest of the camp.

A grotesque tent stitched together from thick animal hides, its surface reinforced with bones and crude carvings that seemed almost ritualistic in nature. It radiated corruption—wrongness.

It was the chieftain’s dwelling. He was sure of it.

Teclos lowered himself onto a branch overlooking it, his body blending seamlessly into the shadows as he focused.

Then—

He heard it.

Moaning.

Wet sounds.

It was... unmistakable.

His expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes did.

Slowly, carefully, he descended along the tent’s outer edge, using the deeper shadows cast by its uneven surface to conceal himself completely.

He made a small tear in the hide.

Just enough so that he could look inside.

Before anything else, the rotten smell hit him first.

Death.

Sweat.

Blood.

And something far worse that lingered heavily in the air.

His gaze shifted toward the edge of the tent.

Bodies lay discarded in the corner—unmoving, lifeless, tossed aside like used-up and defective products. Bodies of different races. Different features. Different ages... but unmistakably women... only women.

All reduced to the same miserable end.

At the center of the tent, the cause of this atrocious sight stood—the monster, the filth—

The chieftain.

A hobgoblin, larger and more imposing than the others, its frame thick with muscle and decorated with crude trophies. Bones, teeth, scraps of armor—all signs of its dominance over the other goblins.

And beneath it—

A woman.

Barely moving.

Barely resisting.

Her strength was long gone, it seemed.

Suddenly, the shadows seemed to become darker, deeper. The chief noticed the change but didn’t think much of it, as he didn’t feel any killing intent and didn’t smell anything amiss.

But outside—

Teclos barely contained his rage, engulfed in darkness, his eyes pitch black and darker than the night. He wanted to rip the goblin’s head off.

But he had to control his emotions, so he tried to calm down, as a hobgoblin definitely wouldn’t be an easy target for a frontal assault.

His breathing slowed to almost nothing as he let his presence sink deeper into the shadows, erasing even the faintest trace of himself.

He studied the chieftain carefully, observing every movement, every shift in its awareness.

He just needed one moment.

One.

A perfect moment to end its life.

Time stretched from seconds into minutes.

The goblin grew sloppier, its focus narrowing completely, its awareness fading as it became consumed by its own desire.

That was the opening.

Teclos moved.

He slipped into the tent like a shadow peeling away from the darkness, his presence so faint it was almost nonexistent.

For a brief moment—

One of the women who was still alive noticed something, her eyes flickering in his direction.

And she saw him, but she was unsure, as her eyesight was blurry.

Only a silhouette that reeked of the promise of death. For a second, she thought that death would finally take her.

A figure cloaked in darkness, his form barely distinguishable from the shadows themselves. His eyes—cold, empty, devoid of hesitation or mercy.

Like death had taken shape and stepped into the room.

Then, just like that—

Her nightmare seemed to be over.

—

Bella—the woman who saw him—was a normal trader who had been captured a week ago and had tried to endure this situation.

Survive.

But her situation just wasn’t getting any better. At first, she held out hope that the kingdom might send some knights or adventurers their way... but after a week of this torture, her hopes were diminishing.

And her will to live was fading away.

—

She saw this death close the distance in a single fluid motion, his blade cutting silently through the air as he struck.

The timing was perfect.

The chieftain never even realized what had happened.

Just before he struck, she clearly saw his figure—it was a beautiful young boy. Darkness wrapped his blade, making it pitch black. His eyes were like two voids—filled with malice. On top of all that, he was cloaked in deep darkness, ready to swallow the world.

Bella was delighted.

’Yes! Kill this bastard!’ she thought.

His blade passed through the chieftain’s neck.

The head separated instantly, blood erupting in a violent spray that painted the interior of the tent red. The body convulsed once before collapsing heavily to the ground, lifeless.

Teclos didn’t pause for long. "Old man, I know you can hear me. Save them," he said.

Then he turned around and didn’t look back anymore.

He was gone—off to kill the rest.

—

Outside, the camp remained unaware—for a few seconds longer.

The silence was broken by a scream.

Then another.

Confusion rippled outward like a shockwave.

Perfect.

Teclos killed those two so that panic would spread. He watched as it took hold, as order collapsed in the camp and turned into chaos.

This time—

He didn’t avoid them, but hunted them like the pests they were.

A goblin sprinted blindly past a hut, fear written across its face—

A shadow dropped behind it, and a blade flashed across its throat in one smooth motion before it could even react.

Another turned a corner—

A tendril of darkness wrapped around its limb, yanking it into the shadows, where a muffled crunch ended it instantly.

They scattered.

Separated.

Fled.

Exactly as he needed them to.

Teclos moved faster now, more aggressive, yet no less precise and stealthy. Each strike was clean. Each kill silent.

He flowed through the chaos like a phantom, appearing and disappearing between moments, never giving them a chance to regroup.

They never saw him.

Never understood what was happening.

They simply died.

By the time silence fully returned—

There was nothing left of the camp but corpses and the lingering stench of death.

—

Far from the carnage, the old man ended his card game, winning a few coins and being accused of cheating.

Now he leaned casually against a tree outside, watching.

A slow smile spread across his face.

"...Heh."

It wasn’t warm or kind.

It was something sinister.

"Now that’s more like it, brat..."

A low chuckle escaped him, growing into a quiet, almost twisted laugh.

"Maybe... just maybe..."

His eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light.

"...you’ll be useful after all."

For a brief moment, something dangerous flickered beneath that gaze—something cold and predatory.

Then it vanished.

He pushed off the tree and said, "Well, might as well ’save’ the women there so that the kid will be happy, haha."

He vanished from his spot and reappeared in the forest, which became silent with his presence.

At the camp, goblins were dying off one by one, and amidst the chaos, the old man gathered the women in wooden cocoons and transported them out.