Final Life Online

I didn't head straight into the next region of the Black Forest.

Not yet.

There was still work to be done—and plenty to claim.

With the Orc Lord and Troll Lord both dead, their camps were leaderless. Scattered. Broken. Their warriors either slain or too wounded and disorganized to pose a threat. And that meant one thing:

Loot rights were mine.

I veered off the warpath and made my way toward the charred remains of the Orc encampment first. Smoke still curled from burnt canvas, and the air was thick with the scent of scorched meat and blood. I passed through rows of shattered barricades and overturned weapon racks, stepping over corpses as I moved toward the main war tent—the one where the Orc Lord had originally emerged.

Puddle bounced along behind me, softly humming as it absorbed residual magic from the battlefield.

"Check everything," I muttered. "This place was stockpiling for a full regional invasion… there's bound to be more than just rusty axes."

And I was right.

Inside the central tent was a crude stone chest—rune-locked, but partially damaged from the earlier battle. With a little effort, and a well-placed Swift Cut at the hinge, I pried it open.

[You have obtained: Orcish War Medallion ×2]

[You have obtained: Greater Stamina Elixir ×3]

[You have obtained: Skill Book – Blood Roar (Rare)]

[You have obtained: 3,250 Gold Coins]

[You have obtained: Enchanted Bone Ring – "Fangtooth"]

"Not bad," I muttered, already pocketing the skill book and coins. Blood Roar wasn't something I could use directly—it was more of a berserker skill—but it would fetch a good price on the market. The enchanted ring, though, caught my eye.

Fangtooth – Enchanted Bone Ring

+5% Physical Attack

+3% Critical Chance

Grants Minor Life Leech (3% of damage dealt is returned as HP, every ten minutes)

Equippable. Efficient. Blood-soaked. Perfect for someone like me.

I slid it onto my left hand.

Then came the side tents—barracks, storage, even a shaman's hut half-collapsed near the edge of the camp. I picked my way through each, grabbing everything of value:

Poison glands harvested from old beast kills.

Raw mana crystals meant to power siege talismans.

Tribal gems, engraved and still glowing faintly with enchantments.

And beneath one broken ceremonial altar, I even found a Tarnished Silver Key, marked with a three-headed wolf crest.

"Interesting," I murmured, turning it over in my hand. "That's… not Orc-made."

[ You have acquired a Special Item ]

The system notification flashed, followed by more detailed information.

A soft pulse radiated from the object—an obsidian badge etched with silver veins forming a sigil I didn't recognize. It shimmered faintly, like it carried old weight.

The moment I touched its center, a ripple passed through the air.

[ Hidden Quest Acquired: "Echoes of the Broken Banner" ]

– Deliver the Emblem to the 2nd War General of the Ragnar Empire

That was all the system showed. No reward listed. No extra details.

I glanced down at the badge again.

So… just a delivery? Seemed simple enough. Though anything tied to the Ragnar military was rarely straightforward.

Still, if the system flagged it as a quest, I'd hold onto it.

Without a word, I flicked my wrist and stored the emblem in my inventory.

[ Warbound Sigil of the Fallen – Added to Inventory ]

No need to overthink it. I'd decide what to do with it later. For now, there was still plenty of looting left to do.

Once I had swept through every usable stash, I made my way toward the second prize:

The Troll encampment.

It was deeper in the woods, nested between sharp ridges and misty ravines. Trolls didn't live in tents like the Orcs—they carved out dens. Caves. Stone hollows covered in glyphs.

I approached the jagged mouth of their camp, the earth still cracked from the Savage Quake the Troll Lord had unleashed earlier. Bones littered the entrance—remains of beasts, humans, maybe even fallen adventurers who had gotten too close before.

I activated Night Vision from the Magic Swordsman Crown and stepped inside.

"Let's see what you hoarded down here."

Trolls weren't stupid. Primitive, yes. But they prized power—raw materials, rare metals, and anything they could eat or forge into weapons.

Inside their cavern were piles of beast pelts, iron chunks, rough-cut jewels, and bone talismans. I looted systematically, only grabbing the valuable ones—anything with magical traces, unspoiled gems, or clean inscriptions.

At the back of the cavern, half-buried beneath a pile of skulls, I found a crude vault-stone sealed with elemental runes. Troll shaman work.

I traced a Light Spear through the air and hurled it into the seal.

BOOM.

The barrier cracked open.

Inside?

[You have obtained: Elemental Core Fragment – Fire]

[You have obtained: Giant Troll Hide – Reinforced (Crafting Material)]

[You have obtained: Skill Scroll – Earthrend Slam]

[You have obtained: High-Rank Jewel – "Crimson Basilisk Fang" (incomplete Jewellery) ]

[You have obtained: 6,400 Gold Coins]

"Now that's the real rush of gaming," I muttered, nodding to myself with a grin tugging at my lips.

The weight of the loot, the scent of victory still hanging in the air, and the sweet, undeniable clink of virtual currency adding to my total—it was the kind of satisfaction you could never fully explain to a non-player.

Off to the side, Puddle jiggled contentedly, gurgling as it consumed the decaying bodies of poisoned Trolls, one after another. Bones melted, flesh dissolved, and with every corpse absorbed, the little slime grew just a bit brighter, a bit stronger.

"You good?" I asked, glancing down at him.

Kyuu~! he chirped back, glowing faintly blue with absorbed mana traces and passive toxicity.

I gave him a quick pat on the head. "Thought so."

With both Tribe Lords down, the path ahead was becoming clearer—and narrower.

"Now only the Goblin Twin Lords and the Direwolf Alpha are left," I whispered, voice low and thoughtful. "And unlike the others, those two won't wait for me to come knocking—they move."

I glanced at my map again. Their territories were marked, but vague. The goblins were always relocating camps, burrowing into hills, setting traps along routes. The Direwolves roamed the mist-heavy northern pines, never staying in one place for long.