Chapter 30: POV: Chloe

Chapter 30: POV: Chloe My name is Chloe. Before, I was just Val’sharah, a creation of the System. I was a tool, a C-Rank unit with a price tag of 50 Creation Points. I was loyal because it was my programming. Now, I am Chloe Vhagar, Bloodkin to Lord Ragnar. I am loyal because it is my soul’s only purpose. The difference is everything. I stand in the shadows of the Throne Room and I watch my master. He paces. He schemes. He complains to himself about the uncomfortable design of his throne, a fact with which I secretly agree, though I would never say so. His mind is a beautiful, chaotic storm of strategy and cynicism. He sees the world as a game to be won, and I am his sharpest, most trusted sword. It is the greatest honor I could ever know. My Lord has other servants. There is the pixie, Pixia. She is small and nervous, but her knowledge of the System is vast. She is a living library. Lord Ragnar finds her useful, so I find her tolerable. She is a valuable asset. Then there are the others. The Orcs, like Smashy, are hammers. You point them at a wall, and they will smash it. They are simple, effective tools. The Ghouls are... messy. They are like rabid dogs, useful for sowing terror but a nightmare to control. And the kobolds... I watch Gary the kobold, my master’s strange favorite, as he attempts to "help" clean the floor by licking a spot of dried blood. He bumps his head on a bookshelf and whimpers. He is a distraction. But he makes my Lord sigh in a way that is almost a smile, so I will protect him with my life. Today, Lord Ragnar has given me a new task. I am to take my squad, the newly evolved Goblin Archers, and step outside the Domain for the first time. We are to be his eyes and ears in the world he will one day rule. The moment I step past the invisible line of the dungeon entrance, the world changes. The air inside our home is cool and still, filled with the hum of magic. The air out here is warm, humid, and smells of dust and decay. The sky is a dull, gray sheet. This is the world my master has been taken from. It is ugly. I will help him burn it down and build something beautiful in its place. My five Goblin Archers follow me, their movements silent and disciplined. They are not like the other goblins. They have seen real battle. They have survived. Evolution has sharpened their minds as well as their arrows. They understand orders. They understand purpose. Our mission is to scout a nearby ruin, a place my master suspects another, weaker Demon King is hiding. But Lord Ragnar has also given me another, secret order: "Engage any targets of opportunity." He trusts my judgment. I will not fail that trust. We move through the ruined streets like ghosts. After an hour, we find what we are looking for. A small group of five goblins, not our own. They are scrawny, dirty, and armed with broken sticks. They belong to another master. They are an enemy. I give the signal. My archers raise their bows in perfect unison. There is no sound but the whisper of five arrows leaving five bowstrings. The arrows fly, silent and true. Five enemy goblins fall to the ground, surprised looks on their ugly faces, arrows sprouting from their throats. It is over before it began. It is efficient. It is perfect. One of my archers, Zix, makes a soft noise. I turn. He is pointing. From behind a pile of rubble, a single, terrified goblin is running away. It is a witness. "No witnesses," I whisper, and the command travels through my mind to theirs. I do not even draw my bow. I move. BOOM! The ground cracks under my feet as I push off, transforming from a still shadow into a blur of impossible speed. The wind shrieks past my pointed ears as I close the distance in a single heartbeat. The fleeing goblin turns, its eyes wide with terror as it sees me upon it. It is too slow. Everything is too slow. BOOM! My fist, clad in dark leather, shoots forward. It is not a punch; it is a focused point of destruction. A sharp sonic boom, a loud CRACK!, explodes from my knuckles as they connect with the goblin’s head. A visible shockwave of force, a white ripple in the air, blasts outwards from the point of impact. The goblin’s body doesn’t just fly backward; it explodes into a red mist. The force of the blow travels up my arm, but I stand my ground, unmoved. The mission is complete. We continue our scouting. We map the area. We count the enemy’s patrols. We gather the information our Lord requires. Later, as we return to the safety of our Domain, my master’s voice echoes in my mind. Not a command, but a simple thought, a whisper of approval. Good work, Chloe. It is all the reward I will ever need. I am his sword. And his sword is hungry. The source of this content is freew(e)bn(o)vel