Two months later.
The outskirts of Mist Forest, at a certain goblin nest.
Silence.
Eerie silence.
"Drip."
Crystal-clear blood refracts the pus-green light emitted by the fungi, dropping and creating a fine ripple on the blood.
The terrifying shrieks echoing between the stone walls now only leave a semblance of illusory echoes, and the excited, twisted howls have dissipated into nothingness.
The air is still filled with a dirty, unpleasant stench, yet compared to before, it carries even more intense bloodiness.
This is a goblin community with a population as high as twenty-three.
Even without the presence of an elite individual.
These lowly and inferior bottom-level demons still rely on their inherently primal hunting instincts inherited from deep within their bloodlines, attacking in groups with near-maniacal aggression, and with an exaggerated breeding capability akin to another species, they maintain a foothold within the dangerous Mist Forest.
