I'm not a goblin Frankenstein's monster.

Chapter 98 Ruth

Deep in the Loran Forest, the light was fragmented and distorted by the layers of tree canopy, casting mottled shadows. The air was filled with the scent of humus, and a faint, unsettlingly sweet, briny aroma.

A human adventurer was running for his life, his leather armor torn open by thorns along the way, his face etched with primal fear. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, threatening to shatter his ribs.

Not long ago, he and his team were still hoping for the best, exploring deeper into the area while whispering about the potentially huge gains this "search and rescue" operation might bring.

The association's rewards, unclaimed equipment in the forest, and perhaps even the treasures left behind by the church knights—

The captain's voice was especially excited, as if he could already hear the gold coins jingling in his pocket.

Then, that "thing" appeared.

It seemed to seep directly from the deepest shadows. In a single glance, truly just a single glance! The sword light was faster than the eye could perceive, the captain's rambling abruptly ceased, and the head that was still dreaming of the future was suddenly sent flying, a trace of a lingering smile still on its face.

The sound of hot blood splattering onto the moss was terrifyingly dull.

The remaining two teammates, a warrior wielding a shield and a ranger who had just raised his longbow, didn't even have time to scream before their defenses were torn apart by the equally swift and ruthless sword light that followed, ending their lives.

He, the only wanderer in the team, was perhaps driven by an almost instinctive sensitivity to danger brought about by his profession, or perhaps simply terrified by the sight of his captain's instant death.

In short, at that moment, he did not choose to fight or rescue, but instead poured all his potential into his legs to escape!

He fled without looking back, leaving his teammate's dying groan and the sound of his body falling to the ground far behind.

He couldn't remember how long or how far he had run. His lungs were burning, and his legs felt like lead, but the will to survive overwhelmed everything.

Is it far enough? That monster—shouldn't be able to catch up, right? This thought had just surfaced, bringing a faint glimmer of hope.

Suddenly, his sprint stopped.

It wasn't because he was exhausted, but because an unusually strong, pungent smell of blood had suddenly entered his nostrils. The smell wasn't coming from behind him, but rather—from ahead?

He rolled his eyes in horror, catching only a fleeting glimpse of an eerie red light, seemingly made of congealed blood, in the dim forest.

Thoughts stagnate.

Gurgle————

A head, its face filled with astonishment, rolled onto the ground covered with fallen leaves. The headless body stood frozen in place for half a second before collapsing with a thud, blood gushing from its neck cavity and quickly soaking the dark soil beneath its feet.

The footsteps were heavy and steady, approaching as they trod on blood-stained fallen leaves.

It was a tall figure, wearing tattered but still recognizable standard armor.

The original exquisite silver arrowheads and flame patterns on the armor were now covered by a large amount of splattered, dark red blood of varying ages, making them almost unrecognizable.

He held a standard knight's longsword in his hand, the blade also covered in sticky blood, which was slowly dripping down.

Judging by his attire alone, he resembles a church knight returning from a brutal battlefield, or a paladin who held fast to his beliefs until the very last moment.

The premise is that we ignore his eyes.

There was no trace of the perseverance, pity, or weariness that belonged to human knights; only a chaotic, pure, and cold killing intent, like the hungriest beast.

On his forearm, where he gripped the sword, and in the gaps of the armor around his neck, the exposed skin was not human skin, but covered with a layer of rough, dark red, strange scales that looked as if they had been forcibly grafted on!

These scales were roughly fitted into the edges of the armor.

He was more like a scaly monster, a haphazardly pieced-together mass of flesh and metal, barely bound by humanoid armor, than a human being.

The Crimson Knight—perhaps that's how we should call him for now—looked down at the corpse at his feet that had just stopped convulsing. His chaotic eyes, filled with murderous intent, flickered with an extremely rare and faint tremor.

who am I?

What am I doing?

Chaotic thoughts, like fragments, assaulted his already shattered consciousness without warning. The deep pool of memory was murky, with only a few blurry images floating on the surface.

A deafening roar from the dragon, followed by the agonizing screams of its dying companions as they were consumed by claws and flames—

It's too blurry, like looking through a layer of murky blood mist.

But at this moment, after completing yet another killing and briefly escaping the "will" that was driving him, a completely different fragment of a name, warm and distinct, suddenly crashed into his mind like a piece of driftwood a drowning man clung to.

Warmth—a smile—seemed to soothe the boiling rage and painful screams within him.

A strange "hoarse" sound came from his throat, his tattered lips moving as he tried to retrieve the complete syllables of that name from the swamp of empty memories. He unconsciously raised his hand and covered the cold breastplate.

A small pendant slipped out from beneath a thin chain soaked in blood around her neck.

The pendant reflected a faint silver light in the dim sunlight filtering through the leaves. It was a simplified emblem, symbolizing some kind of sacred flame.

On the back of the emblem—by the faint light, he seemed to "see," no, it was the fragments of memory that made him "remember"—a line of delicate engravings, a name.

"Ruth—"

A dry, hoarse, almost inhuman syllable finally escaped his lips. The name seemed to possess some kind of magic, causing his murderous eyes to momentarily lose focus, and even the ferocious scales on his body seemed to calm down slightly.

Ruth ————

Just as he was immersed in this sudden, strange yet familiar warmth, "Awooo—!"

A distorted, shrill howl, filled with impatience and urging, suddenly came from the depths of the forest!

At first glance, the sound was somewhat similar to the roar of the "mad dragon" that attacked the town a few days ago, but it was shorter and sharper, and seemed to be mixed with the howls of other wild beasts and some kind of grinding sound as if gnawing on bones, making it sound eerie and distorted.

The voice was like a cold awl, instantly piercing the slight ripple of humanity that had just surfaced in the Crimson Knight.

The master is urging us on.

This thought did not originate from thought, but rather, like the most primal instinctual command, exploded directly in his chaotic consciousness.

It is beyond question and cannot be defied.

The slight confusion and reminiscence in his eyes were instantly replaced by a deeper chaos and violence.