My Goblin System : Levelling up with my SSS Class Devouring skill-Chapter 321
Satou considered the question seriously, taking a moment to formulate his thoughts before answering. This wasn’t casual conversation—Sylvara was asking something important, something she’d probably been contemplating herself.
"Every time," he said finally. "I think about who they are, who they might have been if circumstances were different, what killing them accomplishes in the broader scheme. But then I think about why I’m doing it—to protect people I love, to build something better than the current system, to stop those who would exterminate every monster in existence just for being different. And I accept it. I’ll carry the weight of these deaths if it means the people I care about survive."
He paused, organizing his thoughts.
"Jessica. Lyra. Everyone at the settlement. They depend on me to be strong enough, ruthless enough, effective enough to protect them from threats they can’t handle themselves. Richard Clay is one of those threats. He serves demon lords who want everyone I care about dead. So yes, I think about the fact that I’m about to kill him. And I accept that weight as the price of protecting what matters."
Sylvara was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "One of my father’s old companions said something similar once. He told my father that the cost of protecting what matters is being willing to pay in blood. His, theirs, didn’t matter—just that you were willing to pay the price when it came due. He said that warriors who weren’t willing to kill became victims. Warriors who killed too easily became monsters. The balance was in accepting necessity while retaining humanity."
"He sounds like a good friend," Satou observed.
"Yeah, he was," Sylvara replied, and her expression shifted to something sad, distant. The past tense wasn’t lost on Satou—another casualty of the brutal world they lived in, another warrior who’d paid the ultimate price.
She shook off the melancholy after a moment. "He also said that thinking too much before a mission was dangerous. Save the philosophy for after the work is done. Right now, we should be focused on surviving."
"He was a nice guy , I am sorry for your loss," Said Satou with compassion shown on his face.
After having some more conservation,they finished their meal and returned to their room. 7:00 PM now. Ninety minutes until departure. The light outside had faded from golden sunset to deep twilight, stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. Lamps throughout the city were fully lit now, creating islands of illumination in the gathering darkness.
They donned their dark cloaks and spent the remaining time in final mental preparation. Not reviewing the plan anymore—they’d done that exhaustively already. Instead, they entered that mental space that all professional fighters learned to access before combat: a state of calm focus where fear and doubt were acknowledged but not allowed to interfere with performance.
Satou sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, breathing deeply and regularly. He visualized the mission one final time, not as a series of tactical steps but as a flow of action: infiltration, approach, strike, kill, extract. He saw himself moving through each stage with perfect efficiency, every ability deployed at exactly the right moment, every decision optimal. This kind of mental rehearsal had been proven to improve actual performance—the brain didn’t distinguish well between vivid visualization and real experience, so practicing mentally could create the same neural pathways as actual physical practice.
Across the room, Sylvara was doing her own preparation. She moved through a series of stretches and forms—not full combat techniques but abbreviated versions that kept her muscles loose and her mind focused on movement patterns. Her father’s training showing through in every controlled motion.
At 7:10 PM, they came out of their meditation simultaneously, both operating on that internal clock that experienced warriors developed. Final equipment check: weapons secured, poisons applied, lock picks accessible, signal mirror in place, clothes adjusted for silent movement.
At 7:15 PM exactly, they stood facing each other in the dimming room, two predators about to hunt something far more dangerous than themselves.
"Sylvara," Satou said formally, his voice carrying genuine respect and gratitude, "thank you for coming with me on this mission. Your support means more than you know. You didn’t have to risk your life for this, but you chose to anyway. Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that I truly appreciate your courage and your faith in this cause."
"Lord Satou, I wanted to help you because of everything you’ve done for me. That’s why I chose to come. There’s no need for you to thank me," Sylvara said, a gentle smile gracing her face.
Satou returned the smile. He reached out and softly rubbed her head. "Still... thank you."
They pulled their hoods up, the deep fabric casting their features into shadow. Checked each other’s appearance with professional eyes—nothing distinctive visible, nothing that would draw attention, just two more hooded figures in a city full of people wearing cloaks against the evening chill.
And then they left the Silver Candle Inn
The evening streets of Valstrath were alive with activity as Satou and Sylvara emerged from the Silver Candle Inn. The city was in that transitional period between the honest business of day and the questionable activities of night—shops closing their shutters, taverns filling with workers finishing their shifts, street performers setting up in promising locations, pickpockets beginning to work the crowds, city guards making their evening rounds with expressions suggesting they’d rather be literally anywhere else.
Satou and Sylvara blended into the foot traffic perfectly. They’d adopted the casual gait of merchants heading out for evening business—purposeful but not urgent, direct but not suspiciously focused. Just two more people in a city of thousands, nothing remarkable, nothing worth a second glance.
Their route had been memorized from Cassius’s detailed maps: two streets north from the inn, then east toward the monastery district. The whole journey should take approximately twenty minutes at a normal walking pace, arriving at their destination right around 7:35 PM—perfect timing to begin the infiltration at 7:45 PM when Cassius would create his distraction.
The first street was exactly as busy as expected. The main commercial thoroughfare was packed with final shoppers trying to complete their purchases before everything closed for the night. Merchants called out discounted prices on goods they didn’t want to pack away, trying to move inventory before shuttering their stalls. Street food vendors sold skewers of roasted meat and hand pies to workers too tired to cook at home. A juggler performed for a small crowd, his colored balls flying through the air with practiced precision. Musicians played near a tavern entrance, hoping passersby would drop coins in their collection hat.
Normal city life. Peaceful, mundane, utterly unaware of the violence that was coming.
Satou’s enhanced senses catalogued everything automatically as they walked. The smell of cooking food mixed with less pleasant urban odors—horse manure from passing wagons, the sour tang of spilled ale, the acrid smoke from forge fires being banked for the night, the sharp scent of leather from a cobbler’s shop, the perfume worn by women heading to evening entertainment.
Sound: hundreds of voices talking, laughing, arguing, bargaining. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves. The creak of wagon wheels. The clang of a blacksmith’s hammer from somewhere nearby, working late to finish an order. The call of vendors. The music from multiple street performers competing for attention and coin.
People: dozens visible in the immediate area, hundreds more in peripheral vision down the length of the street. Most were human—this was a human city after all. But Satou noted a few other species mixed in: a dwarf examining metalwork at a smith’s stall, probably a traveling merchant specializing in quality assessment. An elf standing tall and proud near a bookshop, the distinctive pointed ears and refined features marking them as one of the rarely-seen First Race. Even what might have been a half-demon near a tavern entrance, though they were doing an excellent job of hiding their nature with concealing clothes and careful posture.
Valstrath was a cosmopolitan city, a trading hub where multiple species mingled for commerce even if they wouldn’t socialize otherwise. That diversity would actually help Satou and Sylvara blend in—in a city where unusual species were common, two hooded figures barely registered as worthy of notice.
They turned north onto the second street, and immediately the character of the area changed. This was more residential—narrower street, fewer shops, more apartment buildings and row houses. Families were visible through lit windows: mothers preparing evening meals, fathers returning from work, children being called inside for dinner. The peaceful domesticity of people whose biggest concerns were whether the food would be ready on time and whether their kids had finished his schoolwork.
It was this domestic peace that made Satou feel the first stirring of unease about what they were about to do. Not guilt—he’d made his peace with the necessity of killing Richard. But awareness. These people lived their quiet lives mere blocks from where forces would soon clash with enough violence to potentially damage or destroy property, injure or kill innocent bystanders, and generally shatter the peace they took for granted.
