Goblin Heavy Dependence

Chapter 254 Karosh, Tears Frozen in the Night
Time and space seemed to freeze the instant that dazzling silver light burst forth.

The crimson blood splashed on the surface of the leaves flowed down due to gravity, but was scattered by raindrops falling straight down from the sky; in the disintegration, it turned into a solidified blood flower.
With his left hand broken and his right hand gripping the rapier tightly, Lawson's eyes were bloodshot from the intense pain, and the veins on his neck were bulging from the strain.

Opposite him was the heavily armored knight Terry William, whose eyes were icy cold and whose handsome face was streaked with rain. But his gaze was not on his opponent, but on the wasteland to the side—where the metal block had fallen.

The two stood facing each other, and even the raindrops suspended in the air seemed to freeze in time.

Xia Nan knew clearly in his heart that the current situation was most likely not because time had actually stopped flowing.

It's just like the "bullet time" of my previous life. My mind is so active that it flashes through millions of thoughts in an instant, making the external world, including my physical body, seem slow.

As for the source of all these changes, it was naturally the strange creation in his hand, an oval-shaped object that emitted a dazzling yet soft silver-white light, named the [Dream Corridor].

The wound in the center of his chest, suppressed by the "secondary healing spell," still throbbed with pain.
What echoed in his mind was a cold, mechanical voice devoid of any emotion—initially unfamiliar, but then, as if sensing his thoughts, it transformed into the common language used on the continent of Aifara.

"Entering dynamic password..."

Password verification successful!

"Starting up 'Dream Corridor - Neural Roaming Terminal'..."

"Start successfully!"

"Welcome, Dream Weaver."

"Warning! Remaining energy is less than 5%. Please recharge as soon as possible to ensure normal use!"

"Checking memory archive repository..."

"Warning! Storage unit damaged. Please contact the device manufacturer for maintenance and repair!"

"Connecting to the online memory cloud..."

"Connection failed!"

"Attempting a local connection..."

"Connection successful!"

"Retrieving neural source trajectories, generating subjective experience log..."

Accompanied by the cold, mechanical voice echoing in my mind, a long string of characters flashed across the surface of the Dream Corridor installation.

After localization, it uses the same common language as the spoken language.

This enabled Xia Nan to recognize the meaning represented by the characters.

But just like the strings of code in the computer backend of his previous life, he might be able to recognize the individual letters, but when they were combined with many unfamiliar technical terms, he would be completely baffled.

Silver light flashes.

As Xia Nan's gaze swept over the words "Password verification successful" on the device, she felt relieved that the Lady Luck's [Coin of Destiny] had indeed worked.

Even if you don't know the password type, number of characters, or whether you need to re-enter it, if you blindly type it in, as long as there is a possibility of success, the probability will definitely reach 100%.

Before I could continue reading and analyze each word carefully, the long string of silvery-white characters vanished along with the words "Experience Log Generating".

Instead, there are four seemingly abstract patterns that accurately represent what they symbolize.

A black wolf, its mane swaying, lies prone in the depths of the shadows;

It burst open like a firework, a reddish-brown scattering of light;
A longsword made of wood, leaving a perfect arc afterimage with each swing;

And a simple pattern composed of pure lines and dots, resembling the trajectory of planets moving within a galaxy.

Even though the device itself did not explain in detail what these patterns represented, Xia Nan still keenly matched them one by one with the four combat skills he currently possessed, based on their quantity and the highly directional images they represented.

Black Wolf – Fang Hunt, Ochre-Red Light Cluster – Gravity Etching, Swinging Longsword – Spinning Slash, Planetary Trajectory – Gravity Control.

"But... what does this mean?"

Xia Nan was puzzled.

Based on the description on the attribute panel, he knew that [Dream Corridor] should have some kind of virtual reality-like function, allowing users to experience life from a character's subjective perspective and immerse themselves in watching movies.

But how can one connect their combat skills with these?
As he pondered, his thoughts unconsciously focused on the image at the very end of the device, which symbolized "gravity control".

"Warning! Low energy. Please recharge before use."

My heart skipped a beat.

Focusing our attention forward, we arrive at [Spinning Slash] and [Gravity Etching], where we hear two warnings of insufficient energy.

Just as he was secretly worrying about whether he would waste a precious opportunity to use the [Coin of Fate],

Xia Nan's attention was drawn to the last remaining pattern on the device's surface—a black wolf symbolizing "Fang Hunt".

The wolf-like beast pattern that had been crouching in the shadows suddenly came to life, as if it had finally found the perfect hunting opportunity. The black wolf lunged forward, its sharp teeth bared at the edge of its snout, and its limbs outstretched in the air.

"Activate the experience log?"

The mechanical sound echoed in my mind.

Now that the "Coin of Fate" has been used, there's no going back.

Xia Nan focused his mind and gently touched the black-furred wolf beast with his gaze.

Activation successful!

"Weaving a dream..."

……

……

I, Grom Windswallow, the most valiant barbarian warrior of the Frosthowl tribe, favored by the spirits of my ancestors, and destined to become the future leader of the tribe.

When I was young, whenever I introduced myself to the adults in the tribal priest's igloo in this way, I was always greeted with a good-natured laugh and a rough, large hand patting my head.

I know they didn't take those words seriously.

I never believed that with my physique, which was not outstanding among my peers, I could become a great warrior who would inherit the will of my ancestors.

They might be right.

Even now, when I think back to those grand ambitions I made as a child, I can't help but feel a little embarrassed.

Whenever someone brings it up, he just waves his hand and changes the subject.

For his brothers and sisters in the tribe, a few sips of wine and a few interesting stories about the monsters on the snowfield were enough to cover up any topics he didn't want to mention.

But who hasn't thought of being "the bravest," "the strongest," "the most favored," or "the leader" since growing up in a tribe?
They just know the gap between themselves and those leaders, but they don't dare to say it out loud in front of others.

"Grom," my name is not common in the tribe, because it does not come from the priest who never smiled and whose face was more wrinkled than the cracks on ice.

Instead, it was named by my human father, whom I had never met since birth and who was said to be some great man.

I hope that I can be like "Grom"—that is, the thunderous roar—so that my name can resound through the snow and wind of the plateau.

Frankly, this confused "stranger father" should no longer place such expectations on me after he realized that his son, that is, me, was a hybrid of savage and human.

The human blood flowing in my veins naturally makes me shorter than my peers in the tribe.

While children my age were battling wolves and jackals in the snowstorm, I even needed to wear several thick animal skins just to stand firm against the biting cold.

Even the fervent rage that symbolizes the degree of favor I receive from my ancestors is much harder for me to perceive than for others.

The human blood in my body makes me more emotionally stable and less prone to anger compared to other members of my race.

Clearly, this was not a good thing for the barbarian tribes.

But just like a blizzard on the plateau, it can completely confuse those on their way home into the depths of ice and snow, but it can also cause dangerous predators following behind them to lose their trail and clues.

The human blood flowing through my veins makes my body far less robust than that of other savages in my tribe, but it has endowed me with talents that my people do not possess.

Combat skills, which possess great power, are a prerequisite for obtaining a class level.

I grasp concepts much faster than others.

While the leader among my peers, who once mocked me for not being able to beat even a snow rabbit, was still struggling to get started, I had already mastered the first combat technique.

Soon, as my professional level increased, the physical bonuses provided by the "Mastery" level combat skills made up for the physical gap between me and my clan.

He even fulfilled his childhood dream of becoming a member of the tribe's hunting team.

The grand ambitions of the past seem to have become a reality.

No, that's far from enough.

My mixed bloodline requires me to put in more effort to reap the rewards I deserve.

To earn the respect of one's people, to carry on the legacy of one's ancestors, and to sit in that glorious position.

We must pay more.

I found that opportunity.

……

……

This is my 63rd day in the Rifttooth Heights.

The white smoke I exhaled was almost instantly torn apart by the frigid air; the thick bear fur wrapped around my body made me feel like one of the rugged black rocks that can be seen everywhere on the plateau, blending into the earth.

The wind and snow continued, but my heart burned ever hotter.

How to gain the approval of one's clan and even be promoted to the highest position.

In the human kingdoms on the continent, this would likely require a complex, tedious, and extremely difficult process.

But for the savage people of the plateau, only two things are needed:
1. Loyalty;

2. Make sufficient contributions to the tribe.

Regarding the former, the foreign bloodline within me naturally puts me at a disadvantage compared to others.

This also means that I need to make a contribution that is far greater than that of other candidates in order to turn my childhood dream into reality.

From the perspective of barbarians, what kind of contribution would be considered truly significant?
A victory so magnificent that it will be etched in the annals of our people?
The Frosthowl Clan currently does not have an enemy of this scale, and my strength is not yet sufficient to become the core of such a war.

Food resources sufficient for the entire tribe to survive the winter, ensuring that no one starves or freezes to death.
Although I was indeed once a member of a hunting team, I was far from being a captain, and my experience was far inferior to those of the veterans.

If such an opportunity were to arise, it certainly wouldn't be mine.

In the end, I chose to start with my own strengths, which were also the root cause of my current predicament.

Hoping to leverage the exceptional comprehension inherent in human blood, they developed an excellent combat technique applicable to all members of their race.

This is my way of giving back to my tribe and also my great contribution that supports my ascent to higher levels.

Following countless cold nights, the tribal epic was recounted by the great priest who lived for an unknown amount of time.

I ventured alone into the depths of the plateau, hoping that the blizzards and monsters there would offer me some enlightenment.

After a long, ordinary, and extremely patience-consuming wait, I found my goal:
—A large winter wolf pack.

"Ouch!"

The long howl of wolves echoed across the snow-covered ice plains.

The silvery-white wolf pack roamed the snow like flowing, cold iron, encircling and weaving through the deer herd, dividing them into manageable pieces.

Young cubs and sick or weak individuals were torn apart and dragged out, becoming the wolf pack's dinner.

Barbarians are certainly no strangers to winter wolves, dangerous monsters that are commonly found in snowy highlands and travel in packs.

The experience passed down from countless predecessors also tells me that these embodiments of the will of winter, those bloodstained teeth and claws, will provide considerable assistance in the process of me forging new combat skills.

Therefore, with the help of special items brought from the tribe and the special abilities granted by my profession, I remained hidden around the wolf pack for a whole month.

Follow them on their hunts, follow them as they roam the snowfields.

I thought I had observed carefully enough, but after so many days, all I had gained was frozen flesh and blood and an increasingly exhausted spirit.

Fortunately, I have enough patience and should be able to hold on for many more days.

Perhaps it was my foolish and thankless behavior that even the ancestors on the ice dome couldn't stand.

On my 103rd day in the Rifttooth Heights, things took a turn for the better.

It was fluffy and stood out starkly against the snow-white ice plain, a small patch of pure, thick, and inky black.

—A young, heterochromatic winter wolf!

This is the first time I have actually seen something that only exists in legends with my own eyes.

Even if we expand this scope to the entire Frosthowl tribe, it would only add that elderly priest whose lifespan is as long as frozen stone.

"The Night Mother's Tears..."

I silently recited its name from an ancient tribal song.

Legend has it that the Night Mother—the great goddess who rules over darkness and night—was betrayed by her twin sister. Her tears fell upon this land and transformed into an equally dark and mysterious beast.

I even felt a sense of dread.

After all, the black winter wolf is often considered an ominous symbol among barbarian tribes.

Those who witness its existence will die a gruesome death against the backdrop of darkness and blood.

But soon, my inner desires and longing for a bright and glorious future suppressed the turmoil in my heart.

Realizing this might be a turning point in my life, I began to observe more closely.

This black winter wolf had a difficult childhood. Its fur color, so different from the other wolf cubs, made it ostracized by the pack from birth.

If it weren't for its mother—the strong and powerful leader of the pack—it might have died at birth, its neck bitten off by its malevolent brethren.

Being ostracized by my peers because of my human bloodline when I was young, a similar experience inexplicably made me feel a touch of sympathy for it, to the point that I paid special attention to it.

Fortunately, the pack of winter wolves was large enough, and the relatively abundant prey on the highlands was enough to fill the bellies of every single one of them.

The little guy survived under its mother's protection.

The leader of the wolf pack, with an almost stubborn tenderness, nestled the wolf cubs under his belly, using his body heat to ward off the cold.

When the cubs playfully try to push the black wolf away, growl to shoo them away, allowing the black wolf to suckle the abundant milk first.

It was under this care that the black wolf cubs, naturally smaller than their kind, struggled to grow up in the gaps of frost and shadow.

Perhaps we should give it a name?
I thought to myself that this.

After much deliberation, I decided to call it "Kalosh".

Please forgive me for using the tribal poem's name for the exotic winter wolf; after all, the meaning conveyed by these characters is too apt, and I cannot imagine a better alternative.

Karoš, tears frozen in the night, an ominous shadow.

The records from our ancestors have been confirmed.

This heterochromatic winter wolf, which I named "Kalosh," truly seems to be a symbol of misfortune and death.

Before it could even fully grow up, the largest winter wolf pack in the vicinity suffered a devastating blow.

On a snowy night, an adult centipede attacked the den of the winter wolves.

The mournful howls of wolves echoed almost all night.

When I approached again the next morning, the area around the den was almost littered with the corpses of winter wolves, their frozen blood soaking the snow.

The wolf pack suffered heavy losses, with nearly half of the adult wolves dying in the fierce battle.

As the leader of the wolf pack, Karosh's mother, that brave and gentle she-wolf, also became one of the corpses in the snow.

Karlos's life took a sharp turn for the worse.

The death of the wolf mother robbed it of its last foothold in the pack, leaving it a solitary figure, a symbol of misfortune.

More rejection and silent expulsion; whenever it tries to approach the wolf pack to share prey, it is always met with bared white teeth and threatening growls.

Its striking black fur, which stands out like a flag in the snow, further excludes it from hunting, the most crucial aspect of survival, making it difficult for it to participate in the group.

Increasingly isolated.

Finally, after a failed hunt, the new leader of the wolf pack drove Karosh out of the winter wolves' territory.

It stood alone on the wind-swept mountain ridge, gazing at the pack of wolves, letting out a final, long howl that seemed to tear at the soul, before turning and disappearing into the pale depths.

He became a true lone wolf.

At the same time, with the goal of observing the monsters' expressions and developing new combat techniques, I must also make a choice between the wolf pack and Karosh.

Without the slightest hesitation, I chose the latter.

As for the reason, it was already destined the moment I decided to name it.

I began to search for its trail in a wider and more dangerous area.

To be honest, its jet-black fur was like an ink spot on a white sheet of paper on the snowfield, too conspicuous for both me following behind and those exceptionally alert prey.

The repeated failed hunts made Karosh increasingly thin, as if he would collapse into the snow at any moment and be buried by the wind and snow.

But like a polished ice blade, once the innocence and naivety under the protection of elders are worn away, the true sharpness and edge are revealed.

Its aura became more profound, and its posture more composed. Its wolf eyes, which were as black as its mane, had lost their former brilliance, but were now incredibly eerie.

Kalos stopped pursuing.

As a lone wolf, a lone wolf with a unique coat color, the hunting method of running and hunting in a pack was no longer suitable for it.

It chose to wait.

Perhaps it's beneath a shady, steep rock face, or under the trunk of a hemlock tree that was broken by a blizzard and is leaning against a nearby tree.

Kalosh was like a real black stone, lying prone on the cold ground, breathing long and shallow, his black fur blending perfectly with the shadows.

Sometimes, even with my sharp eyesight, it takes several heartbeats to relocate it.

A robust antelope cautiously stepped into the area, lowering its head to nibble on the moss growing in the crevices of the rocks.

Time seemed to freeze as a gaze, suppressing murderous intent, swept across the antelope's fragile, slender neck.

It seemed to sense something, its ears perked up, and it raised its head alertly.

But just as the antelope tensed its muscles, about to leap away at the last second...

The shadow lurking not far in front of it suddenly exploded!

Without warning, the pitch-black shadow, like a longbow drawn from a taut bow, suddenly burst forth from absolute stillness, transforming into a blurry phantom that flashed past in the wind and snow.

I witnessed the entire Karosh hunt.

What comes to mind is the outline of the muscles writhing and expanding beneath its dark fur when it exerts force, the snow spraying backward in a fan shape under its feet when it bursts off the ground, the sharp claws embedded in the antelope's back, and the crisp "crunch" sound when the prey's spine breaks...

The condensation of death, the release in an instant.

A wonderful, unprecedented inspiration burst forth in my mind.

I have finally found it, the key that will help me reach the pinnacle, become the tribal chief, and fulfill my childhood dream.

One move is based on the hunting posture of a winter wolf, showcasing a combat technique that demonstrates instantaneous burst speed.

From that day on, I practically became the wind and snow on the plateau.

They followed the black wolf day and night.

When it rests, I rest too; when it hunts, I quietly hide nearby.

Kalosh must have noticed me a few times, but after realizing that I didn't affect its hunting, it stopped paying attention to me.

I remain in stealth mode and never approach others on my own initiative.

Out of respect for the lone traveler, and also out of the tacit understanding that has been formed between the human and the beast.

Time passes day by day.

The combat techniques I envisioned gradually took shape, and Kalosh's physique also grew.

Compared to ordinary winter wolves, it appears lighter overall, with its four long limbs representing powerful explosive force. Its temperament is like the shadow it symbolizes, deeper and colder.

Just when I thought this kind of life would continue indefinitely until I had fully developed my combat skills, or until the other side grew tired of my presence.

An accident happened.

It was also a night with a howling blizzard.

The adult centipede once again attacked the wolf pack, which was already severely weakened.

As for why I know...

Because during the daytime, I followed Kalosh, who suddenly abandoned his prey and inexplicably changed direction to rush towards the wolf's den.

At such a great distance, I have no idea how it sensed the presence of the centipede.

But without a doubt, it hated this powerful monster, hated that the monster had killed its family and destroyed its peaceful life.

The fighting continued throughout the night.

The swirling ice and snow of the Rifttooth Highlands, formed from highly concentrated magical particles, combined with the pitch-black night, made it impossible for me to see the specific situation on the field, and I dared not approach it easily.

When they looked again at dawn, the once largest wolf pack in the area had been completely wiped out.

There was no corpse of the centipede monster.

Black Wolf Karosh also disappeared.

After that day, I never saw that pitch-black, icy color again on the snowfield.

Is it dead?

I'm not sure.

Perhaps it is that explosive combat skill that is not yet fully developed, lacking only the last bit of "soul" to bring the entire structure to life.

We also spent countless days and nights wandering together on the snowfields, drinking snow and eating meat, and resisting ice storms.

I gave up my position as the "hunting team leader" in the tribe.

On the icy plains, they searched for traces of the other party.

Finally, two years later, on a night of a waning crescent moon.

Near the edge of the Cracked Tooth Highlands, atop a towering cliff.

Bathed in the moonlight behind me, the familiar, slender, dark figure once again came into my view.

More robust and powerful than I remembered, his frame seemed to have been stretched out, his mane was still jet black, but he carried a calm and composed air of someone who had truly experienced life and death.

Several terrible wounds appeared on his body; a horrifying claw mark tore through the fur on his left shoulder; another wound extended from his lower back to his right leg.

It lowered its head slightly and looked at me at an angle.

Those cold, wolf-like eyes were more resolute than ever before.

I understood what the other person meant.

It came back to me on its own initiative.

The purpose, of course, is to let me witness the revenge that is not yet finished.

So, just like those days two years ago, I quietly followed behind it.

We traversed icy plains and snowy landscapes, crossed mountain ridges, and passed by wolf dens long since buried under ice and snow.

We arrived deep in the highlands, in a secluded canyon where the sun never shines.

This is the lair of that centipede monster.

The battle ended quickly.

It's much faster than I expected.

Ancient tribal prayers about the Night Mother inexplicably surfaced in my mind:
"Grant him the feet of shadow, so that he may tread upon the shadows of his enemies;

Grant him a silent heart, awaiting the opportune moment of thunder;
"Give him the teeth of vengeance, and let him drink the blood of his enemies."

The dark, wiry figure blended into the night, as if it had become the shadow itself at that moment.

The movements carried a strange rhythm, and with each step, snow dust and ice shards splashed into silent crystal flowers.

Noise, vibration, and blind spots are utilized to the fullest extent, and the jet-black fur blends seamlessly with the darkness.

As if sensing something, the centipede-like monster's compound eyes, unique to insects, flashed with a hint of human-like suspicion.

In contrast, Karlos possessed a patience as firm as ancient ice.

Approaching, erupting.

It leaped forward, just as it had done in the hundreds and thousands of previous hunts, whether successful or unsuccessful.

But the speed was astonishing, unlike anything ever before.

Even I could hardly catch a trace of it in the air.

"Hiss."

A terrifying noise, like iron spikes embedding and tearing through ice, echoed in the air, making one's teeth ache.

The centipede monster lost its head.

Kalosh killed its enemy.

I stood on the vast snowfield, and at the end of my vision, a dark shadow gradually disappeared into the depths of the ice and snow.

A long, drawn-out wolf howl faintly emerged amidst the howling wind.

I know it won't come back.

This is the last hunt.

It completed its revenge and infused the most important soul into the already well-developed combat system I had constructed.

"hold head high……"

Another wolf howl rang out.

But this time, it echoed in my ears.

A blurry yet solid phantom of a wolf's head emerged menacingly around the body.

As for the name of this combat technique, I had already had an idea when I first witnessed Karosh hunting his prey and piercing his flesh with his sharp teeth.

I named it—

【Tooth hunt】.

(End of this chapter)