My Goblin System : Levelling up with my SSS Class Devouring skill-Chapter 303

"Did you resent him?" Satou asked, following her across the stream.

"Sometimes. Especially when I saw other children living normal lives." Sylvara’s smile was sad. "But I also understood why he was the way he was. He’d lived for centuries in a world that kills the weak without mercy. He’d watched people he cared about die because they weren’t prepared. He didn’t want that for me."

She stopped at the far bank, looking back at Satou. "And honestly? His training saved my life more times than I can count. The skills he gave me, the mindset he instilled—they kept me alive when others would have died. So yes, I resented him sometimes. But I also loved him. And I’m grateful for what he taught me, even if the lessons were hard ."

"But the one thing I hated him for , was killing my mother " She said with anger filled within her voice

Satou felt pity for her and then rubbed her head and started thinking about his own journey. He’d been thrown into this world as a baby goblin, forced to learn survival through brutal necessity., just raw desperation and the instinct not to die.

"I never knew my parents in this world," he said quietly. "The goblin elder who raised me was killed in the human raid. I learned survival by watching others die and figuring out what not to do."

"That’s even harder," Sylvara said. "At least I had guidance, harsh as it was. You had to figure everything out yourself."

"I had Jessica and Kelvin. We kept each other alive."

"Family isn’t always blood," Sylvara agreed. "Sometimes it’s the people who survive alongside you."

They walked in companionable silence as the forest darkened around them. The sun had fully set now, leaving only fading twilight that would soon give way to complete darkness.

"We should make camp," Sylvara said, scanning their surroundings with practiced eyes. "Find somewhere hidden, get a few hours of rest. We’ll move again before dawn."

She led them off the faint game trail they’d been following, pushing deeper into thick undergrowth until they reached a natural hollow created by the root system of a massive oak. The space was barely large enough for two people, but it was concealed on three sides by earth and roots, with the fourth side screened by hanging vines.

"Perfect," Sylvara said, crawling inside. "No fire, obviously. Cold camp protocols—no light, no heat, no cooking. We eat travel rations, sleep in shifts, and leave no trace we were here."

Satou followed her into the cramped space. It was tight—their shoulders touched when they both sat—but defensible and well-hidden.

Sylvara pulled out her pack, revealing its contents with the efficiency of someone who’d done this hundreds of times. Dried meat, hard bread, a waterskin. Also: coiled rope, lock picks, several throwing knives, vials that were probably poison, and what looked like fake travel documents.

"You came prepared," Satou observed.

"Always. My father’s first rule: ’Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and have three escape plans ready.’" She handed him some dried meat and bread. "Eat. You’ll need your strength."

They ate in silence, the only sounds the normal forest noises around them—insects chirping, leaves rustling, distant animal calls. The darkness was now complete, but Satou’s Dark Vision let him see Sylvara clearly as she chewed methodically, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings even in the safety of their hidden camp.

After both of them had finished eating, Satou pulled out a thin blanket, spreading it over the ground. "You should sleep first. I’ll take first watch. We’ll switch in four hours."

"You sure? I can—"

"Sleep, Lord Satou. I’m used to functioning on minimal rest. You’re not, and you’ll need to be sharp when we reach the monastery." Her smile was faint in the darkness. "Besides, this is my element. Night infiltration is when people like me thrive."

Satou wanted to argue but recognized she was right. He lay down in the cramped space, using his pack as a pillow. Sylvara positioned herself at the opening of their hollow, barely visible against the darkness, her entire posture radiating alert readiness.

"Sylvara?" Satou said quietly.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For coming with me. For being here."

"You’re welcome, Lord Satou." A pause. "Thank you for... for treating me like I matter. Not many do."

Sylvara closed her eyes, letting exhaustion pull her toward sleep and then she slept off.

—---------------

[ The next morning ]

Satou woke to Sylvara’s hand clamped firmly over his mouth.

His eyes snapped open instantly, dragoblin instincts flooding his system with adrenaline. Sylvara’s face was inches from his, her expression utterly serious in the faint moonlight filtering through the vines. She held one finger to her lips—the universal gesture for silence.

Then she pointed.

Satou’s enhanced hearing picked up what had alerted her: voices. Human voices. Multiple people moving through the forest, maybe fifty yards away and getting closer.

"—fucking waste of time," one voice grumbled. "Been patrolling these woods for six hours and haven’t seen shit."

"Keep your voice down," another responded, authority clear in the tone. "Captain said there’ve been reports of monster activity. We find anything suspicious, we report it. We don’t find anything, we keep looking."

"Monster activity my ass. Probably just farmers seeing shadows and getting spooked."

"Yeah? Tell that to the merchant caravan that got hit last week. Twelve dead, wagons burned. Captain thinks it was organized—raiders or deserters or worse."

The voices were getting closer. Satou could now hear their footsteps—heavy boots crunching through underbrush, making no effort at stealth. Six distinct sets of footfalls, maybe more.

Sylvara’s looked at Satou , her eyes conveying a clear message: Stay absolutely still. Don’t move. Don’t breathe loudly. Don’t even think too hard.

The patrol passed within twenty yards of their hollow. Satou could see them now through gaps in the vines—human soldiers in mismatched armor, carrying weapons that ranged from proper military-issue swords to crude clubs. Not regular army. Mercenaries, maybe, or bandits pretending to be patrol.

"Can we stop soon?" a third voice whined. "My feet are killing me."

"Another hour, then we circle back to camp. Stop complaining."

"Easy for you to say. You’re not the one whose boots are falling apart."