The third simulation hurled Goblinor into a world where his tribe was no longer a ragged mob—they were a disciplined force, obsidian-tipped spears glinting in the pale sunlight, Goblar and Goblir leading squads in formation drills. The Troll had noticed the change; its single eye pulsed with a new, cunning light, no longer dismissing Goblinor as mere prey.
Year 1 of Simulation 3:
You've transformed the tribe into a martial unit, every goblin trained to strike in unison, to retreat at your whistle, to prioritize magic-rich kills over mindless gluttony. The Troll grows restless, sensing the shift in power—it's no longer the apex predator here.
Midnight, the Troll's den rumbles with a ritualistic chant. Goblinor creeps closer, Keen Eye revealing a horror: the Troll is fusing with Magic Crystals, shoving shards into its own flesh, skin bubbling where they embed. It's evolving, too—but recklessly, painfully.
Choose Your Path:
Challenge the Troll directly—use your disciplined squads to overwhelm its raw strength.Sabotage its crystal ritual—burn the den, destroy its supply, and starve it of power.Wait for it to mutate—observe, adapt, strike when its new form shows weakness.
Goblinor's Combat Instinct screamed urgency. The Troll's body was already swelling, bones cracking like breaking trees, its roar now laced with static magic. Option 3 was a gamble; Option 2 risked losing the hoard.
"System, select Option 1: Strike now, while it's still half-formed."
The attack began at dawn, goblins swarming the den in three waves. First, a hail of fire-arrows—Goblir's squad had mastered primitive pyromancy—setting the entrance ablaze. The Troll burst forth, skin now a patchwork of crystalline growths, but Goblinor's strategy was merciless: target the crystals.
"Spears to the shards!" he roared, leading the second wave. Goblar's squad slammed into the Troll's legs, obsidian blades chipping at the embedded crystals. The Troll howled, kicking a goblin into a boulder—instant kill—but Goblinor didn't flinch. He darted under its arm, Critical Strike LV.9 hammering into a glowing crystal on its chest.
The shard cracked, black blood erupting from the wound. The Troll staggered, off-balance, and Goblinor seized the moment—Deadly Strike—a leap onto its shoulders, spear driving into the base of its skull.
It fell like a mountain, shaking the earth. Goblinor stood atop the corpse, chest heaving, as his tribe chanted his name. But the simulation wasn't done.
Year 2:
As tribe leader, you discover the Troll's ritual was a desperate bid to evolve, taught by a shadowy figure it had met in the forest—a human sorcerer, trading secrets for goblin slaves. Now, the sorcerer knows of your existence.
Year 4:
The first human warband arrives, led by the sorcerer. His magic twists goblins into mindless husks, his knights clad in armor that turns aside your spears. Your tribe falls in three days.
Simulation End. Score: 88.
A conqueror of monsters, but a novice to human sorcery. You died defending your tribe, but left no legacy.
Rewards:
Skill: Crystal Infusion LV.1(Temporarily embed Magic Crystals in flesh for boosted stats, risk of corruption).Talent: Battle Harden(20% resistance to blunt trauma).Level: 5 → 7(Attribute points redistributed: +2 Strength, +1 Agility).
Goblinor's body convulsed as the simulation ended, crystals seeming to burn under his skin. When he opened his eyes, his vision was sharper, his muscles denser, a new hunger gnawing at him—the hunger of a creature that had tasted victory over a Troll, only to be crushed by human magic.
"Goblinor?" Goblir's voice trembled as she stared at his now-muscular frame, skin faintly shimmering with embedded crystal flecks. "You… you look like a different goblin."
"Because I am different." He flexed a fist, marveling at the way light refracted off his arm—Crystal Infusion at work, a dangerous but thrilling ability. His stats now read:
Name: Goblinor
Race: Goblin (Common Template, 67% to Elite)
Level: 7
Strength: 15
Agility: 9
Vitality: 10
Spirit: 12 (Magic resistance increased)
Skills: Critical Strike LV.9, Crystal Infusion LV.1
Talents: Battle Harden, Devour, Keen Eye, Poison Resistance
The Troll's den loomed in the distance, its hoard still intact—for now. Goblinor gripped a Tier 2 crystal, its energy singing to him. The simulation had revealed a new threat: humans weren't just warriors; they were manipulators, sorcerers, planners.
But so was he.
"Goblar, Goblir—gather the strongest goblins," he said, voice low, deadly. "We're raiding the Troll's hoard tonight. And then…" He glanced at the valley entrance, where the first tendrils of human magic might soon creep in. "We're fortifying the vines. Building traps. Training archers."
Goblir nodded, already moving. Goblar hesitated, then grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "And after that? When we're strong enough?"
Goblinor smiled back, a smile that held no warmth, no mercy. "After that, we don't just survive. We make them fear the word 'goblin.' We become the nightmare that crawls from the dark, the thing humans whisper about by their fires."
He turned toward the den, the weight of crystals in his pouch a promise, a threat, a destiny. The Troll was dead in the simulation, but here, in reality, it still breathed—for now.
But not for long.
For Goblinor was no longer simulating evolution.
He was living it.
And the next time the Troll roared, it would be in fear.