The adventurers moved through the forest with what had to be practiced efficiency.

  Arin followed from above, staying at least thirty feet back and using the densest foliage for cover. His darkvision let him track their movements even as the afternoon light began to fade, and his gelatinous body made virtually no sound as he flowed from branch to branch.

  The human fighter led the group, his armor dulled to prevent reflections that might give away their position. The elven ranger moved beside him, her bow held ready with an arrow nocked but not drawn. The half-orc brought up the rear, that massive axe resting casually on one shoulder despite its obvious weight.

  They were coordinated in a way that spoke of experience working together. Hand signals passed between them, wordless communication that kept noise to a minimum. When they paused to check for signs or threats, at least one of them was always watching in a different direction.

  Professional. These aren't new adventurers stumbling through the woods. They know what they're doing.

  The thought was both reassuring and concerning. If they were this competent, they'd likely succeed in clearing out the goblin camp. But they'd also be much more dangerous to Arin if they discovered him.

  The goblin camp came into view through the trees, the crude structures and fire pits visible in the clearing ahead. Arin counted at least fifteen goblins moving around, more than he'd seen during his previous observation. Either the camp had grown, or the missing scout had made them bring in reinforcements.

  The adventurers stopped about fifty feet from the camp's edge, gathering behind a fallen log to observe and plan. Arin positioned himself in an oak tree slightly to their left, close enough to see and hear but hopefully far enough to avoid detection.

  The elven woman spoke first, her voice barely above a whisper. "Fifteen visible. Probably more in the shelters. I count three that look like warriors, one shaman, the rest are scouts or gatherers."

  The human fighter nodded. "Standard formation then. Kara, you take the shaman first. Can't let it start casting. Grok, you and I go straight in, fast and hard. Don't give them time to organize."

  The half-orc, Grok, apparently, grunted his agreement. "Good fight. Been too long."

  "Remember, we're here to clear the camp, not for glory," the fighter said. "Quick, clean, professional."

  The ranger, Kara, smiled slightly. "You say that every time, Marcus. And every time, Grok ends up covered in blood and grinning like a madman."

  "Is good way to fight," Grok rumbled.

  Marcus sighed but didn't argue the point. Instead, he drew his sword, a well-maintained blade that caught what little light filtered through the canopy. "On Kara's shot. Three count."

  The three adventurers spread out slightly, with Kara taking a position behind a tree that offered a clear line of sight to the camp. She drew her bow fully, the arrow's tip aimed at something Arin couldn't quite see from his angle.

  The shaman. She's targeting the shaman first.

  He watched as Kara took a slow breath, held it, and then released it.

  The arrow flew true, crossing the fifty feet between the tree line and the camp in less than a second. A goblin wearing bone decorations and holding a gnarled staff suddenly had an arrow protruding from its chest. The shaman stumbled backward, tried to speak, and collapsed.

  Before the other goblins could react, Marcus and Grok charged from the tree line.

  The fighter moved with surprising speed for someone wearing armor, his sword already swinging as he reached the nearest goblin warrior. The blade took the creature's head cleanly, the body crumpling before it realized it was dead.

  Grok's approach was less graceful but more terrifying. The half-orc roared as he ran, his axe held in both hands. The first goblin to face him tried to raise a crude spear in defense. Grok's axe sheared through the wooden shaft and continued into the goblin's torso, nearly cutting it in half.

  Chaos erupted in the camp.

  Goblins scattered in all directions, some running for weapons, others simply fleeing into the forest. Kara's arrows continued to fly, each one finding a target with deadly precision. She wasn't aiming for killing shots on the fleeing goblins, just wounds that would slow them down or make them easier to track later.

  A group of five goblin warriors rallied near the largest shelter, forming a defensive line with spears and crude shields. Marcus engaged them immediately, his sword work methodical and efficient. He blocked a spear thrust, sidestepped another, and countered with a slash that opened a goblin's throat.

  Grok crashed into the line like a battering ram, his axe sweeping in wide arcs that forced the goblins to scatter or die. One warrior tried to stab the half-orc from the side, but Grok simply tanked the hit, the spear barely penetrating his thick hide, and responded by grabbing the goblin and literally throwing it into a fire pit.

  The battle lasted less than five minutes.

  When it was over, the goblin camp was silent except for the crackling of fires and the labored breathing of the three adventurers. Bodies littered the clearing, at least a dozen goblins dead or dying. A few had escaped into the forest, but not many.

  Arin watched from his tree, his core pulsing with a mixture of awe and concern.

  That's what high-level adventurers can do. They didn't even struggle. This was just... work for them.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Marcus cleaned his sword on a dead goblin's fur, then sheathed it. "Standard sweep. Check the shelters for survivors or loot. Kara, keep watch in case any of the runners double back with reinforcements."

  The ranger nodded, taking up a position at the edge of the clearing where she could see both the camp and the surrounding forest. Her bow remained ready, another arrow nocked.

  Grok and Marcus moved through the shelters, methodically checking each one. Arin heard a few brief struggles, followed by silence. They weren't taking prisoners.

  From one shelter, Marcus emerged carrying a small chest. "Found their stash. Looks like they've been raiding supply caravans. Some coin, trade goods, nothing magical."

  "Better than nothing," Kara said. "The guild will want confirmation of the clear anyway. The coin's just a bonus."

  The guild. Levi mentioned an Adventurers' Guild. They give out contracts for clearing monster camps and protecting travelers.

  The three adventurers spent another ten minutes thoroughly searching the camp, collecting anything valuable, and ensuring no goblins remained alive in hiding. When they were satisfied, Marcus pulled out a small device that looked like a compass but glowed faintly blue.

  "Marking the location," he said. "Guild can send a cleanup crew to burn the structures and scatter the remains. Don't want another group moving in immediately."

  As the three prepared to leave, Arin noticed something they hadn't. Movement in one of the shelters they'd already checked. A small shape, barely visible in the shadows, crawling toward the forest.

  A young goblin, probably not even level one yet, wounded but alive. It had hidden well enough to escape the adventurers' initial sweep.

  They didn't see it. Should I...

  Arin wasn't sure what he should do. The goblin was no threat to him, probably dying anyway from its wounds. But it was also prey, and Arin's essence was still not at full capacity.

  And there was something else. A memory of the mother squirrel defending her babies, of Arin's choice to find another hollow instead of killing them.

  But that was different. Those were babies who had done nothing. This is a goblin, a creature that would kill and eat anything weaker than itself.

  The adventurers were leaving now, heading back the way they'd come. The young goblin reached the edge of the camp and began crawling into the underbrush, leaving a trail of dark blood behind it.

  Arin made his decision.

  He descended from his tree quietly, staying well behind the adventurers until they were out of sight. Then he moved toward the goblin camp, toward the dying creature trying to escape.

  The young goblin heard him coming and tried to crawl faster, but it was too weak. It managed to roll over, its eyes wide with fear, and raised one small hand as if that could somehow protect it.

  Arin paused, studying the creature. It was barely larger than a racoon, its features not yet fully developed into the harsh angles of the adult goblins. Blood leaked from a wound in its side where an arrow had grazed it.

  It's dying anyway. If I don't kill it, something else will. Or it will just bleed out alone in the forest.

  The justification felt hollow, but Arin moved forward anyway. The young goblin tried to scramble away one more time, but Arin was faster.

  His mass flowed over the creature, and this time, there was no struggle. The goblin was too weak, too injured. It was over in seconds.

  [ +4 Mass ]

  [ +2 Essence ]

  [ No Skill Available ]

  The gain was minimal, barely worth the effort. But that hadn't really been the point, had it?

  Survival. That's all this is. Survival.

  Arin tried to believe that as he moved back toward the goblin camp proper. The adventurers had left behind a wealth of opportunity. Multiple bodies, each representing potential mass and essence. The question was how much he could absorb before something else arrived to investigate the carnage.

  He started with the nearest goblin warrior, his mass flowing over the body.

  [ +16 Mass ]

  [ +12 Essence ]

  [ Skill Available for Absorption ]

  Another skill opportunity. Arin examined the notification.

  [ Skill Available: Spear Proficiency - Tier 1 ]

  [ Accept skill? This will replace one of your current skills. ]

  Replace a skill. So that's how it works when both slots are full.

  Arin considered the spear skill. It would let him use spears more effectively, but he didn't have hands to hold weapons. The skill would be useless until he evolved further, if he ever did.

  Not worth replacing Charge or Darkvision. Not yet.

  [ Skill Declined ]

  Arin moved to the next body, then the next, systematically absorbing what the adventurers had left behind. Each goblin provided mass and essence, bringing him closer to full strength and beyond.

  After the fifth body, a notification appeared that made Arin's core pulse with excitement.

  [ +14 Mass ]

  [ +10 Essence ]

  [ Level Up! ]

  [ You are now Level 6 ]

  [ +1 Skill Point ]

  [ Current Mass: 134% of base ]

  [ Current Essence: 98/120 ]

  Level six. And my maximum essence increased. Does it grow with each level?

  The growth felt significant. Arin was larger now than he'd ever been, his mass substantial enough that he'd need to find bigger hollows to rest in. And the increased capacity meant he could go longer between feedings and use his skills more freely.

  He continued absorbing bodies, driven by a hunger that felt both physical and something else. Ambition, maybe. The desire to grow stronger, to become more than he was.

  By the time Arin finished, he'd consumed eight goblin bodies. The other corpses were too far from the tree line, too exposed. He didn't want to risk being caught in the open if something else arrived.

  [ Current Mass: 156% of base ]

  [ Current Essence: 112/120 ]

  So much stronger than I was just hours ago. Is this what power feels like?

  Arin retreated to the forest, climbing a tree at the edge of the clearing where he could watch and rest. The goblin camp was truly empty now, just structures and ash and blood.

  The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold. Arin settled into a comfortable hollow and reflected on what he'd witnessed and done.

  The adventurers had been efficient, professional, deadly. They'd cleared the camp without hesitation or mercy, treating it like a job rather than a battle. And then they'd simply left, moving on to whatever came next.

  Is that what I need to become? Efficient? Professional? Or am I something different?

  The question lingered as sleep pulled at Arin's consciousness. He was stronger now, more capable, closer to being able to survive in this dangerous world.

  But he still didn't know what he was surviving for. Arin had no clue what his purpose was, beyond simply existing.

  Levi wanted to help people. Wanted to use his skills to make a difference.

  Could a slime do that? Could Arin find a way to honor his creator's memory while surviving in a world that would kill him without hesitation if he made a mistake?

  The answers felt distant, but perhaps less impossible than they had been before.

  Arin closed his awareness and let sleep take him, dreaming of crystal arenas and moldy bread and a young man's voice saying, "You can do this, Arin. I believe in you."