I awoke to an itch. I rolled my swollen tongue around my mouth; my throat was parched in the same sense my mother used to describe her long-neglected house plants, more twig than green. I could hardly feel it as my crusted eyes broke open.

  I staggered to my feet, memories flooding back to me.

  "Clink!"

  My foot had knocked something hard on the ground.

  Loot from the spider was strewn across the dirt ground of the tent.

  Spying no other resident liquid, I scooped up the health potion and downed a few mouthfuls. A tangy, grit-filled bitter taste ran down my tongue with an unnatural warmth. I felt it spill across my body and run along my veins; everything it touched was stoked with energy. Like a crisp gust of fresh air whipping across my entire body. Like coffee with none of the anxiety or jitters.

  I was alone for now, lying in a ramshackle tent. Taking the alone time to equip the coat. Its almost metallic sheen misled me; upon touch it was a smooth velvet formed by thousands of tiny hairs.

  My arms snapped out faster than I could process, the world became a blur that warrior's spirit could only give me hints at. I needed to see, to do. So I had to upgrade perception.

  I fell back down onto the floor.

  The whistle of air tickling my nostrils, the thumping of blood in my neck, the way the light dappled through the pointed open top of the animal skin tent—it formed on the ground an exact silhouette of the tiny ridges of the roof hole.

  The grunts and shouts of goblins outside slammed into me, the heights and lows of each note of goblin, the trill of the birds, so much clearer; I could hear it all, so I could hear nothing. It all merged into one.

  I sat down, adjusting, noticing things and letting them go without attaching thought. Trying always to let my mind drift, refusing to pick up the wheel and follow any thought down wherever it may lead. Sound by sound slowly got relegated to the back of mind, as loud as before, but manageable.

  I sat up, opening my eyes slowly, still riding the wave of heightened perception. Spying the items scattered on the floor, ideas began to blossom in my refreshed mind. If I was going to survive whatever was coming next, I'd need every advantage I could get.

  I picked up the shadow spider fang. It was heavier than it looked, its surface deep obsidian that seemed to drink in the light. Peering down the hollow shaft, I saw that the terrible poison from earlier still clung to its sides—a viscous, dark liquid that oozed slowly, almost reluctantly.

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  My eyes flicked to the HP potion bottle. In the game, health potions could act as Trojan horses for poisons, carrying them into a creature's vital energies to be quickly absorbed. It wasn't done much; good poisons needed no agent to carry them, and the health potion's regenerative properties could sometimes counteract the poison. However, player killers made use of it now and again, and I'd dabbled with the technique during long dungeon runs.

  It was a hail mary, but what else? Could I run from my tent into the forest? What survival skills did I really have? What about fresh water and food? It would be best to prepare for anything. Something to kill the goblins with could not go amiss.

  The ratio would be hard to get right. I had only used this specific mechanic a couple of times against zombie-type undead on the third stage of the Lich King's dungeon run. An irritatingly high HP mob with no Achilles' heel—it turned out they were weak to both health potions and poison.

  My hands moved almost on their own, muscle memory guiding me through the familiar steps. Carefully, I tore a small strip of cloth from my tattered shirt to use as a makeshift glove, wrapping it around my fingers to avoid direct contact with the poison. I tilted the fang over the opened HP potion bottle, using a thin twig to scrape out the residual venom. The poison dripped into the potion, swirling like ink in water.

  A sharp, acrid smell filled the air—a mix of metallic tang and bitter herbs. The spider's venom was potent; even a whiff made my eyes water and my throat tighten. The potion's liquid, originally a translucent ruby red, darkened slightly, taking on a ruddy brown hue.

  I did the maths in my head, calculating the optimal ratio. Too much poison, and it might neutralise the potion's effects entirely; too little, and it wouldn't be potent. As I stirred the concoction with the twig, a familiar sensation washed over me—a subtle warmth spreading from my fingertips, a tingling awareness. A soft chime echoed in my mind.

  I continued mixing. I angled my hand to use less of my wrist and more of my arm; naturally, I added a few drops of water from a nearby jug to thin the liquid slightly. My new skill guiding me subtly, a deep semantic knowledge making the process flow. The smell was less pungent now, masked partially by the earthy aroma of the potion.

  A rustling at the tent flap caught my attention. A goblin peeked inside, its beady eyes narrowing as it took in the scene. I shifted my body to obscure the potion, holding up the blue mana bottle as if I'd been examining it. The goblin grunted but seemed uninterested, letting the tent flap fall closed as it moved on.

  Another chime resonated.

  So soon? It must've been the advanced nature of the potion I was making. High-level alchemical ingredients and minimal skill.

  I secured the cork back on the potion bottle, giving it one last swirl. The mixture was ready. Slipping it into my pocket, I gathered the remaining items—careful to wrap the fang securely—and stood up just as the tent flap opened again.

  The old crone goblin, who had forced me asleep previously, gestured for me to follow. I stumbled after her, still adjusting to the surge of heightened awareness from my boosted perception. Stepping outside, the bright sunlight hit me like a wave, almost too sharp, the clarity overwhelming. The morning air, crisp and fresh, filled my lungs with a chill that seemed more pronounced now, as if I could feel every particle. A cool breeze rustled through the towering oaks, the leaves brushing against one another like whispers in a language I could almost understand.

  The scent of damp earth was so vivid I could nearly taste it, rich and alive beneath the shade of thick canopies overhead. My ears picked up the distinct chirps of birds high above—each note crisp and separate, weaving through the background noise of the camp like individual threads. Goblins shuffled around, their grunts and mumbles layered over the steady rhythm of rustling leaves and the faint, almost imperceptible scurrying of tiny creatures in the underbrush.

  As we moved deeper into the camp, strange bulging shapes caught my eye at the base of the trees. My mind, sharper now, registered the lean-tos tucked beneath the thick roots and brush—makeshift goblin dwellings camouflaged by mud and sticks. They were everywhere. Not a single tree was free of these haphazard huts, their roofs sagging with the weight of damp leaves and goblin refuse. The ground had been stomped to a mushy pulp under a thousand tiny green feet, the earthy smell mixed with the sour stench of goblin bodies and discarded food.

  Most of the goblins we passed seemed to be asleep, their snores creating a discordant hum beneath the waking camp's activity. The few that were awake ducked out of our way as we approached, casting wary glances at me. The density of the camp grew as we neared the largest structure I had seen yet. It towered above the others, a sagging mess of wood and fur, yet unmistakably grand by goblin standards. Tall, crooked spikes jutted out around it, adorned with bleached skulls, casting long shadows over the uneven ground. Animal skins draped the walls like patchwork banners, sagging under their weight but giving the place an air of crude authority.

  Every step I took felt exaggerated, every sound sharper, every smell more intense. The world had become overwhelming in its detail, and I struggled to stay focused as we approached the chieftain's domain.

  My guide barked something in her guttural tongue, and from the shadowy depths of the ramshackle hut, a figure emerged—massive and menacing, stepping into the dappled sunlight. He towered over me, his sheer size making my blood run cold.