Chapter 17 - 16

Chapter 17: Chapter 16 After destroying the hanging snare trap, the goblins—who should have retreated—attacked from all sides, including their leader. Once again, Lumberling couldn’t sense their presence until they revealed themselves. The cowardly creatures, who should’ve fled after witnessing his strength, had instead prepared a second ambush. Lumberling blocked the goblin leader’s sword and dodged the spears that came flying toward him—but not all of them. One spear slashed across his left leg, drawing blood. The goblin leader barked for another retreat. But this time, Lumberling didn’t allow it. He hurled his spear with precision. The goblin leader turned mid-run, trying to deflect it with his blade—but the force behind the throw was too much. The spear pierced clean through its side. The goblin, still standing, screamed an order for its subordinates to charge. It assumed Lumberling had no weapon left. It was wrong. Lumberling drew the sword from his waist and cut the remaining goblins down, beheading them one after another. He walked slowly toward the goblin leader, who lay bleeding on the ground, glaring at him with fierce, unyielding eyes. Even in its dying state, it showed no fear—only defiance. "You’re the most badass opponent I’ve faced so far," Lumberling said. He raised his sword to finish it, but then the goblin spoke. "L...l...let me l...live, hu...man," it stuttered in a coarse, gravelly voice—but unmistakably in the Pentaline language. "Oh? You can speak human?" Lumberling blinked in surprise. This goblin had already defied everything he knew about its kind. His curiosity deepened. "And why should I let you live?" "I... I c...can se...rve y...you." No false morality, no excuses about self-defense—it simply offered itself. Lumberling could see the fire in its eyes. A desire to live. "How can I trust you? I just wiped out your subordinates." "D...doesn’t ma...tter. I’ll s...wear to the G...God Shuth’raal th...that I’ll s...serve you." It didn’t hesitate. But Lumberling wasn’t so trusting. He stared at the goblin for a moment, then took out the iron collar from his pack. "If you really mean it, swearing isn’t enough. Prove it. This collar will bind you to me as a slave. Put it on, drop your blood on it, and say: ’I want to be Lumberling’s slave.’ Do that, and I’ll let you live." He tossed the black iron collar onto the ground. The goblin grabbed it immediately, fastened it around its neck, smeared its own blood onto it, and spoke: "I wa...nt t...to be Lu...mber...ling’s sla...ve." Dark smoke rose from the collar, forming a black thread that connected to Lumberling’s chest. A prompt rang in his head: Slave: (Goblin) – Leader of the Goblins Lumberling quickly went to work, pulling the spear from the goblin’s side, cleaning the wound, and applying herbs. He wrapped it with clean cloth. Its vitality was remarkable—by nightfall, the wound hadn’t worsened. While they rested, Lumberling reflected. Fighting solo had its perks, but also serious limitations. With subordinates, he could fight smarter—deploy tactics, coordinate, adapt. "How can you speak human language?" he asked. "I was... b...born from a hu...man... female. A Knight... one stage... from what I know." Lumberling blinked in shock. "How?" was all he could say. "My kin... found her half-dead. One mated with her. She didn’t die—even after three months without eating. She was unconscious the whole time... only her breath showed she was alive." Lumberling clenched his jaw. He wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or curious. "When she finally died... they tried to eat her. But found me in her womb instead." Skitz continued. "I was born different—grey skin, more human features. Stronger. Smarter." "The ones who ate my mother’s flesh died. They called her cursed. Said I carried that curse. But it made me strong." "I see..." Lumberling paused. "You don’t have a name, do you?" "No. Only those who evolve are worthy. But now... you’ve given me one." "From now on, you’re Skitz." "Thank you, my Lord." Lumberling questioned him further—especially about Shuth’raal, the god he’d sworn by. It was the second god he’d heard of since arriving in this world, aside from the cultist deity. Skitz explained that monsters had six main gods: Zathog, the Ever-Hungering Morvagoth, Father of Beasts Nyzorrak, the Flesh-Twister Shuth’raal, the Night Terror Ghorvash, the World-Breaker Ul’Zaroth, the Chained Horror Shuth’raal was the god of nightmares and unseen horrors. It was said to lurk in the corners of reality, whispering to those who crave monstrous power. "When you ambushed me, how did you hide from my senses? Normal goblins can’t." "I have a skill. Whispering Veil. It erases sound and presence—as if the group never existed. It works on up to twenty, but weakens with more users and drains my mana." "You amazing freak," Lumberling muttered. "Wait—mana?" "Yes, my Lord. I could see and use mana since birth." Lumberling was stunned. Only Knight One Stages and high-tier monsters should be able to wield mana. "And that explosive trap from earlier—was that your doing too?" "Yes, my Lord. It’s my other skill. Detonation Seal. I can store explosive magic in objects. They explode on impact or trigger. The magic lasts three days before it fades." "You..." Lumberling’s jealousy was immediate. Two overpowered skills? He half-considered devouring him on the spot. "Those are my only skills, my Lord." Even so, Skitz was a jackpot. Like some kind of overpowered protagonist. Lumberling was glad to have him on his side—better to learn from him than destroy him. They reached the goblin den. The village was hidden within a dense forest, huts made from sticks, leaves, and animal hides. Some were treehouses camouflaged by branches. If viewed from afar, the village would be nearly invisible. Only twenty-six goblins remained: two guards, three elders, eight females, and thirteen children. Only three—including Skitz—could still hunt. When the goblins saw their leader return with a human, they snarled and shrieked like rabid dogs. "Guageee chee!" "Gue cheee ge!" "Guee chee—Silence!" Skitz barked. The goblins fell silent. "Gue chee, guee... (From now on, we serve this human. He is our new leader. Disobey, and I’ll punish you myself.)" Lumberling watched. He didn’t understand a word, but Skitz clearly had control. ’I’ll have to ask him to teach me goblin language later.’ "Guee che gue... (Show respect!)" Skitz barked again. Though confused, the goblins obeyed. Skitz was their idol—his strength, intelligence, and leadership had been absolute. If he served this human, then so would they. They bowed. Lumberling nodded. Skitz had delivered. He’d instructed Skitz to transfer leadership to him earlier—monsters followed hierarchies. Now, he could command them properly, even if Skitz would act as co-leader for now. In the first week, Lumberling observed. He didn’t interfere. The goblins avoided him. He asked Skitz to teach him their language, but progress was slow. Only Skitz and two goblin hunters could provide meat. Lumberling joined their hunts and began building rapport. "Skitz, do they have names?" he asked one day, carrying a deer. "No, my Lord. Only evolved goblins earn names." "Then why didn’t you have one?" "There was no one worthy to name me. Until you." "Yeah, yeah," Lumberling muttered. He looked at the two goblins. "You two." Skitz translated. The goblins looked alarmed. "You don’t have names, right?" They nodded. "Alright. You’re Gobo1. And you’re Gobo2." The two looked at each other in surprise. "Gue chee gue... (Be honored, the leader has named you!)" Their eyes lit up. Receiving a name gave them identity—it was more than just a word. An unnamed goblin is just another monster, but a goblin with a name has a sense of "self," which separates it from the rest of its kind. Lumberling had learned this from Skitz and would use it to gain loyalty. He now understood goblin society: males hunted and guarded, females gathered food and birthed young, elders taught. They were survival-driven, opportunistic, cowardly unless emboldened, chaotic yet playful, weak but adaptable. They’d begun to accept him. And he had begun to accept them in return. ’They’re weak. Aside from Skitz—he’s at Knight Page level—the rest are barely threats.’ "How long until the children mature?" "Three to four months, my Lord. They’re two months old now." "So one more month. Then we begin training." "What about the females? Any pregnant?" "Five, my Lord." "Good. Any other pressing issues?" "Only one, my Lord—our numbers are too few, and I fear an attack from other monsters." "Like who?" "Kobolds. A clan to the east. Over a hundred strong. I couldn’t deal with them alone." "A hundred... that’s a lot." Lumberling rubbed his chin. "For now, tell that eagle pet of yours to keep watch on the kobolds." "Yes, my Lord."