My Goblin System : Levelling up with my SSS Class Devouring skill-Chapter 327

Sylvara faced her ten opponents in the western section of the restricted library, using the tight space between bookshelves to control engagement angles with practiced precision. The hunters had spread out immediately upon emerging from concealment, moving with the coordinated precision of people who’d trained together extensively.

The leader—a scarred veteran with gray streaking his dark hair and the kind of careful movements that spoke to decades of surviving dangerous combat—called out as they formed their initial positioning: "A skilled assassin. This one’s dangerous. Stay coordinated and don’t underestimate her!"

Sylvara’s response was to attack immediately, closing the distance before they’d fully settled into their formation. Her opening move was a masterful feint toward the leader that drew defensive reactions from three hunters, followed instantly by a genuine attack from a completely different angle targeting the youngest member of the group who’d overcommitted to defending his commander.

Her poisoned blade found the young hunter’s throat before he even realized he’d been misdirected, the Whispering Death coating on her dagger entering his bloodstream through the cut. He tried to cry out, tried to warn his companions, but the paralytic poison worked faster than speech. His vocal cords froze mid-sound, his muscles locked completely, and he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings—conscious and terrified but utterly unable to move or call for help.

He’d die from suffocation in about three minutes when the paralysis reached his diaphragm, but for combat purposes, he was already eliminated.

Nine remaining.

The other hunters reacted with professional discipline, shock at losing a teammate instantly but not letting that shock paralyze them tactically. They adjusted their formation immediately, tightening gaps, becoming more cautious about overextending.

"Faster than expected," the leader admitted, his eyes tracking Sylvara with the focus of a predator watching equally dangerous prey. "But speed won’t be enough. Formation Epsilon! Contain and eliminate!"

They came at her more cautiously now—two approaching from the front to draw her attention, three circling to flank from the right, two holding the left approach, and two more hanging back for support and to plug any gaps that opened. It was textbook small-unit tactics for dealing with a high-skill single target: contain, pressure from multiple angles, don’t give them space to maneuver, force them to make mistakes through overwhelming coordination.

Against most opponents, it would have worked perfectly.

But Sylvara had been trained by one of the best assassins in the demon realm, and years of brutal practice had perfected the art of killing people who had every advantage. She knew how to fight groups. Knew how to use terrain. Knew how to exploit split-second openings that trained fighters created without even realizing.

She threw a knife at one of the flanking hunters—not aiming for a kill shot but targeting his weapon hand. The hunter blocked with his shield, exactly as Sylvara had anticipated, and in that moment of distraction, she rolled under the bookshelf to her left, coming up behind a different hunter who’d been holding the left approach.

Her blade found his kidney before he could react, the Whispering Death poison causing instant paralysis. He collapsed silently, joining his teammate in conscious but immobile terror.

Eight remaining.

"She’s using the terrain!" one hunter shouted. "Don’t let her get vertical clearance!" 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

But Sylvara was already climbing, her hands and feet finding holds on the bookshelf with practiced agility. Years of training had made vertical movement as natural as walking horizontally.

From her elevated position, she could see the entire battlefield, could identify tactical priorities, could spot the hunter who was coordinating the others through hand signals. That was the leader—kill him and the coordination would suffer.

She threw three knives in rapid succession, each one a different attack angle. The first two were intercepted by hunters with shields who’d been specifically positioned to defend their leader from projectiles—exactly as she’d expected. But the third knife, thrown at a steep downward angle that the shield positioning couldn’t effectively cover, found its mark in the leader’s shoulder.

Not a killing blow, but the Ghostcap neurotoxin would make him progressively less effective over the next two minutes as his nervous system began shutting down. Leadership compromised.

But while she’d been focused on the throw, one of the hunters had circled behind her position. A blast of fire magic hit the bookshelf she was standing on, and suddenly wood that had stood for centuries was burning.

Sylvara leapt before the flames could spread to her position, twisting in mid-air with acrobatic grace to land on her feet. But the drop was awkward—she’d been forced to jump at a bad angle to avoid the fire—and her shoulder hit stone hard enough to bruise despite her attempt to roll with the impact.

The hunter who’d used fire magic followed up immediately, confident that the fall had disoriented her. He rushed in with his sword raised for a decapitating strike, already envisioning the kill.

Sylvara went low instead of high, sliding under his guard with a move she’d practiced thousands of times. Her blade found the femoral artery in his thigh, and blood sprayed in a crimson arc that painted the nearby books. The man stumbled, his sword dropping from nerveless fingers as blood loss began draining his strength. He’d die from exsanguination in under a minute.

Seven remaining.

But Sylvara had taken damage now. The fall had injured her left shoulder, making that arm less effective. And fighting seven professional hunters—even with three already eliminated—was a war of attrition she’d eventually lose if this dragged out.

She needed to change tactics. Stop fighting defensively, stop trying to survive through superior skill and maneuvering. She needed to become the aggressor, needed to take risks, needed to make the hunters react to her instead of executing their careful formation tactics.

Years of training echoed in her memory: when cornered, when outnumbered, when conventional tactics meant slow death—that’s when you go on full offense. Attackers expect prey to run or defend. They don’t expect prey to charge straight at them with absolute commitment.

Sylvara charged.