“Not yet.” I answered, crouching behind a bush.
The two of us lay in wait, deep within the forest, our eyes fixed on a small pack of what appeared to be five goblins. Green and small in stature, the bald little creatures—each wearing tattered rags around their waists—crept through the trees with crooked grins and sharp, yellow eyes. They moved in a loose line, led by a slightly larger, meaner-looking goblin wielding a makeshift bone club. Leading with deliberate steps, this goblin was the hunting leader.
“Now?”
“No.”
Back at school, we had a few lessons on the monsters of the world, with some focusing specifically on those that roamed the land around us, such as goblins.
Goblins are a weak and primitive race of monsters, known for their strength in numbers and their ruthless treatment of prey. Lacking magic and relying only on heightened senses like smell, goblins depend heavily on their numbers and crude, caveman-like intelligence. That’s why they’re one of the few so-called “lower races” capable of crafting their own weapons. Another indication of their intelligence is the hierarchy within goblin packs—or snarls, named after the snarling sounds they use for communication.
A typical snarl consists of around fifty goblins, all ruled by a goblin chief, who is chosen for both his strength and intelligence. Within this main snarl are the hunters, periodically sent out to scavenge the area for food and resources. Naturally, such groups require leadership, and that’s exactly what this goblin is meant to be.
“Okay, now!”
“Heel.”
Shade whimpered mid-dash and returned to a lying position.
“You’re supposed to go when the Master says so.” Rogue said as he appeared from within my shirt.
“He’s just like you.” Nightclaw said from above in the skies. “Eager to run, but so slow.”
“Yet I’m faster than you.” Rogue shot back.
“That’s crazy.” Jittear added from a bush nearby. “But hey, hasn’t Rogue lost the race already? And Nightclaw still hasn’t given a rematch?”
“First of all, he cheated, and he knows who’s going to win if we rematch.” Rogue grumbled.
“Sore loser.” Nightclaw answered with a small laugh.
“Cheater.”
“Crybaby.”
“HEY-”
It’s like taking care of bickering kids at a daycare.
I’m glad they speak telepathically. If they spoke out loud, this entire plan would’ve already been doomed.
Anyway, it’s thanks to school that I know so much about things in general now. Due to it having been two years since I attended this school, now that I’m seven—and with everything I’ve learned about goblins—Sys has decided I’m finally ready to start absorbing them.
Level 70:
- Strength: 175
- Speed: 181
- Stamina: 193
- Endurance: 202
- Durability: 176
- Mana: 206
- Soul Rank: Tarnished
- Soul Color: Blue
Progress has been slower compared to previous years, but that’s mainly because my focus has shifted to school. I’ve become more interested in learning about Zarvendia, which is why I haven’t had Nightclaw hunt as often. With winter approaching, I don’t want to deplete the village’s food supply, which is why I’ve set up a hunting rotation for the seasons.
If you’re wondering how Beric already has a blue soul, while Elder Walden does as well, yet their stats are so drastically different, it’s due to several reasons.
- Age. This happens to nearly everyone. As the body deteriorates, so does the soul. Think of it like this: if there’s a diamond inside a box and the box gets damaged, the diamond will likely suffer too.
- Core Resets. If someone fails their Core Reset, not only will they experience excruciating pain and shortness of breath, but their soul will also degrade, dropping a few ranks.
- Battles. If a person is struck by a spell that targets their soul, or even just grazes one, their soul will weaken and become extremely vulnerable, leading to a gradual degradation in rank.
There are other potential causes, but in short, these are the most common ones.
The head goblin raised a hand, signaling the others to halt. He then snarled an order, prompting the rest to brandish their jagged sticks and wooden clubs. They began searching the trees and bushes, their keen ears and noses alert to any sign of movement. It was only a matter of time before they either moved on or discovered our presence.
“Looks like I’m up!” Jittear called out as he scampered to the side. Weaving through the bushes, he leapt out and landed near the goblins. The goblins turned at the sound of his arrival, and upon spotting him, they immediately began swinging their weapons wildly. Jittear effortlessly dodged their strikes with his agility, slipping between their legs and causing several to trip and crash into each other.
……..Are you……..sure you want to absorb them?
While this presentation did make my confidence waver, I was still adamant on absorbing goblins. “As long as the summons have better motor skills than what I’m seeing now, it’ll still be worth it.”
Jittear took this chance and quickly scurried up one of the goblin’s bodies. The other goblins, furious at the sudden movement, swung their weapons at him in a frantic attempt to strike. But once again, they missed entirely, their blows hitting the goblin instead. Enraged, the goblin let out a sharp snarl, swiping at its own attackers in frustration. In an instant, a small brawl erupted among the goblins, their focus now divided between their target and each other.
“Okay, maybe I should pursue a different-”
It was then that the head goblin snarled another sharp command, causing the fighting goblins to halt mid-swing. With a second, more menacing snarl, the goblins immediately quieted, their weapons now held with careful, deliberate hands. Jittear, recognizing the shift in their focus, knew it was time to make his exit. He darted off swiftly, using the moment of distraction to slip into the trees. As the goblins stood still, receiving a scolding from their leader, the head goblin’s eyes narrowed, and a low growl escaped his throat. He pointed a bony finger at two of the nearest goblins and commanded them to follow Jittear. Without hesitation, the two goblins took off after him, their clumsy, excited footsteps echoing like the carefree run of toddlers.
Jittear finished his role by luring the two further within the forest, leaving the remaining three goblins.
It was going well so far. “Go ahead, Rogue.”
Rogue leapt out from within my tunic and followed the same plan as Jittear. Distracting the three goblins, Rogue managed to lure a singular goblin away.
Perfect. This is what we were aiming for.
Riding upon Shade, I stayed close behind, my companion careful to hide his presence and make as little sound as possible. Using the shadows to cloak us, Shade weaved effortlessly between the trees, navigating the labyrinth-like forest with ease.
Eventually, we came upon the lone goblin, standing in the open, clearly confused about where Rogue had disappeared. The goblin's eyes darted around, searching for any sign of movement. It was then that a slight rustle from a nearby bush caught its attention. Cautiously, the goblin raised its club, inching closer. It seemed to think Rogue was hiding there, and, in its small-minded certainty, it was right.
But Rogue wasn’t the only presence nearby. While the goblin’s attention remained fixed on the bush, it failed to notice the silent, calculated footsteps creeping closer. It didn’t sense the slow, deliberate opening of a predator’s mouth behind it. Only when the warm, moist breath of Shade caressed its back did the goblin finally turn—too late. Shade had already torn off his head, resulting in the goblin’s body falling straight down.
Not wasting time, I got off Shade and prepared the process. While Shade and Nightclaw watched over my standing figure, I went into soul sense.
The goblin’s soul was green and murky, and it carried the scent of beggars that littered the rustling streets of a busy city. It was a familiar scent.
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I was born in a damp cave beneath the gnarled roots of a crooked tree. Cold, unwelcoming, and dark, it was a place that bore no warmth, no comfort. Thrust into a small, bitter war, I watched as my siblings fought over the few scraps that we had—spots closer to the poorly lit fire, the dwindling food, and the broken weapons they foolishly believed were toys. Green and ugly, they hissed and snarled, their tiny bodies desperately clawing for anything they could lay claim to.
I looked down at my own hand—stubby, fat, and repulsive. It was no different from theirs, holding the same desire and selfishness, grasping at anything within reach, desperate to call it my own. I didn’t fight the feeling. No, I welcomed it. I let it consume me. I joined the chaos, pushing my siblings aside in my search for anything I could find—rocks, sticks, scraps of leather, even seeds that a bird would eat. I wanted it all, and I wanted to keep it all, no matter the cost.
But I wasn’t strong. I didn’t have the blessings the others did—the size, the sharp teeth, the power of the hunters. All I had were two quick, stubby legs that could move at the slightest sign of trouble.
Most days were the same—scavenging, stealing, hiding. We weren’t fighters. We weren’t capable of fighting the other races on our own. Instead, we looted the remains of battles. We were the shadows that slipped through camps and stole bread while the humans snored. Once, I stole a gold ring off a sleeping man’s finger. I felt like a king until the chief took it and cracked my jaw for not giving it up sooner.
Seasons passed. Fellow goblins died. Some from beasts. Some from traps. A few from each other. I was close to being one of them.
I nicked a piece of silver from the body of a human soldier during a raid. I tried to hide it, but they always find out. Goblins have a special sense for hidden loot.
The chief’s punishment was simple yet cruel—he left me to drown in a lake. Goblins were never taught how to swim. In fact, we were never taught much of anything. The only lesson given to a newborn goblin was survival. It didn’t matter how you did it, just that you did. If it benefited you and the rest of your snarl, then the means didn’t matter.
As I sank deeper and deeper into the water, a quiet question echoed in my mind. Was this really necessary? Would my death serve the snarl? Would it hurt them, or would it somehow benefit them?
As the sunlight began to fade and the murky depths overtook my vision, I came to a grim realization. Both answers were wrong. My death wouldn’t hurt them. It wouldn’t benefit them.
It would do absolutely nothing.
With that thought, a small whirlpool began to form within the waters, its swirling force tossing my body out with unnatural strength. I was hurled through the air and slammed harshly into a tree, the impact knocking me unconscious almost instantly. It was pure luck that no one found me in that vulnerable state.
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One winter, the humans came too close—too damn close. They destroyed our burrow, leaving no survivors in their wake. My kin scattered like rats, desperate to escape, but they were all caught. I ran until my legs could no longer carry me. It was days before I stumbled upon another tribe. They didn’t kill me. They let me stay. I was appointed to a hunting group. My past experience with hunting in my previous snarl made it easy to prove my worth. It didn’t take long before I was useful again.
I grew older. Lost a few teeth. Gained some scars. Nothing glorious, nothing to speak of. Just surviving. Watching the world around us shift, while we remained forgotten, stuck in the shadows.
All we do is hunt and scavenge. Every day, all I see are the bald heads of goblins in front of me as we search for our next meal. All I hear is the constant shouting of the head hunter goblin, barking orders without mercy. All I smell is the putrid stench of them—their sweat, their filth, their musk. All I feel is the relentless abuse from the stronger goblins, pushing me down whenever they feel like it.
All I know is this: this is my life. This is the life of a goblin. This is what we all share. Even with my selfishness, nothing changes. I am just as ugly, selfish, abhorrent, and smelly as the rest of them. And that’s why I let it happen. That’s why I let them abuse me.
I am a goblin. A goblin whose life is as easily replaced as the newborns fighting for scraps back in the cave.
There’s a rat annoying the group. He orders me to follow it. I run as fast as I can, slashing my stick at whatever’s in my path.
It hides within the bushes. I wait for any sign, and that’s when I see and hear the rustle of bushes to my right. I carefully move, raising my stick for any sudden movements.
I feel the hot breath of something behind me. I can hear the slow grumble of a large being.
It’s unfamiliar. It’s never warm in the cave, and it’s never quiet.
I turn around, just as I feel my head being sliced off.
That’s new.
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I’m never going to get used to that.
As I leaned on Shade until my nausea went away, I let out a deep breath.
Well, thanks to the quest of absorbing your first goblin, you leveled up by one.
“How much mana does summoning a goblin take?”
Due to its size of being both bigger than most of your summons, while still being smaller than Shade, and its human-like capabilities, the mana required is 90.
“90, eh?” That meant that both Shade and the goblin would be the most I can summon at one time. If I want to include either Nightclaw or Rogue, I’ll have to recall one of them………..I ended up recalling Nightclaw, Rogue, and Jittear. Since Jittear was now gone, that meant that the other goblins would return. I had to act fast.
The thing about summoning is that you don’t always have to show it. For me, all I need is to think about what I want to summon, and it simply appears. But, I’ll admit, it feels a bit cooler if I hold my arm out when I do it.
Before I do, I’ll have to think of a name.
Ughhhhhhhhhhhh.
Green, bald, small……..well, it probably won’t look like that actually, but then again, it would if I enabled Toggle….
Just pick a name.
“Alright, alright.” Goblins are usually dumb and brutish, but they’re also scavengers and tend to flee from a fight.
I got it. Pickle.
How in the hell did you come up with Pickle?
“Come out, Pickle.”
As always, a small distortion rippled through the air, followed by the hiss of smoke. Gradually, the silhouette of a goblin took shape. As the fog cleared, the spectral form of Pickle emerged. With the same color scheme and markings as my other summons, the blank, white-eyed gaze of Pickle fixed on me, unblinking.
“What is your order?”
Right to business.
“Toggle.”
Pickle’s form shifted, transforming into that of a regular goblin. It now looked exactly like the goblin that Shade had just killed.
Transporting the body to my inventory, I decided to test out Pickle. “Jump 10 times.”
Like a robot, Pickle hopped up and down 10 times.
“Hop on one foot to that tree over there, and come back on the other foot.”
Pickle did exactly as I had ordered.
His motor skills look good.
“Yep.”
It looked promising. The only thing that I was slightly worried about was whether the other goblins would notice that there was something off about Pickle.
“Pickle, I want you to pick up that stick on the ground and to return to the head
goblin from back there. Then, act like a regular goblin, until I give you my next order. Do you understand?
“Roger.” Pickle responded as he went on his way.
A small thought crossed my mind as Pickle’s figure slowly vanished into the trees. He was incredibly obedient, even though this was my first time summoning him. For my other summons, I had to spend a great deal of time with each of them before they’d start following my orders. Was this just proof that I had grown since then?
Or was there another reason?...........I don’t remember much of the Original Insight. Besides from the birth, the punishment of drowning, the attack on the cave, and the death, I can’t remember the specifics. It’s actually the same for the previous ones. I can’t remember them as well as I used to.
It shouldn’t matter too much. You did summon Pickle after all. As long as it works, you’ll be fine.
“I guess you’re right.”
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“What are we doing now?” Shade asked as we watched Pickle walk with the rest of the goblins.
“We’re going to wait for a specific moment.”
This part of the plan relied on one specific mechanic of summoning: Recall. I was able to recall a summon whenever I wanted to, regardless of distance.
The group of goblins stopped as the head goblin stooped to his knees to check a fallen bird nest.
This was perfect.
“Pickle, strike the back of his head.”
In a flash, Pickle drove his stick into the neck of the head goblin.
The goblin howled in pain, and the rest froze in shock. I gave Pickle his next order. "Now, pull a goblin in front of you. After that, hand him the stick."
Without hesitation, Pickle yanked a goblin from the group and dragged him into the position he had just occupied.
Before the head goblin could turn around, I recalled Pickle.
Fueled by pain and shattered pride, the head goblin turned and attacked with no hesitation. In a fit of rage, he unleashed a brutal barrage of strikes on the innocent goblin. The others could only watch, paralyzed by fear. They were too weak to help, too scared to intervene, and too selfish to even consider offering assistance. They knew it was in their best interests to let someone else bear the pain, even though they knew exactly what had just happened.
“Is it time?” Shade asked as he got up.
“Just about.” I knelt down, preparing myself, and aimed a finger gun at one of the petrified goblins. Over the past two years, I had not only learned about history and the creatures of this world, but I had also received private tutoring from Elder Walden. One of the things I learned was the basic Arcane spell “Mana Missile.” Fired from a single point in the hand, it’s a small but lethal shot, much like a sniper's bullet, if aimed correctly. The spell deals more damage if charged up. Each use requires 25 mana, and since I had recalled Pickle, I had more than enough to spare.
I fired at the goblin, feeling a slight recoil as a burst of light shot from my fingers. The shot pierced straight through its head, killing it instantly. As the body crumpled to the ground, the head goblin, along with the other two, stared in horror.
“Leave the big one alive, and don’t let them die easily.”
Shade sprang into action with a howl, sending the goblins into a panic, causing them to fall back in terror. Without hesitation, Shade lunged at one of them, tearing off an arm. The goblin crumbled, screeching in agony, but Shade pressed on, using his claws to rip through its back. Blood spurted from the wounds as the goblin continued to scream.
Faced with the brutal spectacle and the looming threat of suffering the same fate, the head goblin was forced to make a decision. He would either stay and try to defend his subordinates, or flee like a coward.
I had observed him closely, noting how he treated his underlings and how fragile his ego seemed. The way he lashed out in anger without listening to them, driven by hatred and an abuse of power—it was all too human.
And I understood the concept of human desire all too well. I knew exactly what he would choose.
The head goblin let go of the goblin it was punishing, and with a grief-stricken face that screamed the words “Hell no!”, he took off.
“Follow him, Nightclaw.”
Soaring into the skies, Nightclaw let out a caw sound and flew off.
“Shade, finish the two.”
When Shade killed them, I quickly got out and began absorbing them.
There’s a simple reason I let the head goblin escape. I knew it would try to flee, and yet, I didn’t stop it. Clearly, there was something I could gain from letting it run. But what?
Well, think about it like this—if you were the head goblin, and you just watched your entire hunting group get torn apart by a wolf, where would you run?
You can’t hide. A wolf would sniff you out eventually.
You can’t outrun a wolf for long either.
So, what’s left?
You’d be forced to run somewhere, anywhere that offers a false sense of safety. Somewhere you can bury yourself among others. Somewhere with enough meat shields to throw under the claws in your place. Maybe you’d even try to rally a bigger group, thinking numbers could help you kill the wolf and restore what little pride you had left.
When I finished absorbing the souls, I checked up with Nightclaw. “Where did he end up?”
“It’s as you said, boss. He’s currently at the mouth of a large cave-like structure, and there’s close to 40 goblins walking around the place. I see several small fires, traps, cages, and plenty of goblins for you to absorb.”
“Well done.”
I’ve marked the spot on the map.
“Thanks.”
It’s obvious. There’s only one place that the goblin would end up: his own home.
But to us, it wasn’t some large cave that housed disgusting, smelly goblins.
It was an xp farm.
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It’s going to be hard to take care of them all at once though.
“Yeah, I’m going to have to think hard on what to do next.”
I rode Shade back home as the sun began to set. I wasn’t ready to raid the goblin snarl just yet—not on their own turf. I needed more time to think. They were probably on high alert now, anyway, after a wild wolf suddenly tore through their ranks. Best to wait for the heat to die down.
While we neared my home, I heard quiet voices conversing to the side.
“Slow down.”
It was noticeable. There were people out in the forest here.
But who else would be out here? No one really had a reason, aside from Father, who came for lumber. I was only allowed because Elder Walden believed it would help strengthen the bond between Shade and me. My parents were skeptical at first, but after seeing Shade’s strength—far beyond that of a normal wolf—and my ability to cast barriers and mana missiles, they gave their consent.
So then, who could it be?
After Shade got near enough, I peeked around the trees. It was then that I found out that it was Rune and Orion.
What were they doing out here?
“5 more reps.” Orion said, standing over Rune.
Rune let out gasps of exhaustion as he finished a set of pushups.
Why was he working out here? Matter of fact, I’ve never seen him work out in the village. Does he do this in secret?
Rune got up and leaned on a tree. “It’s time-” He paused to regain his breath. “For meditation.”
Without fully regaining his stamina, Rune went into a meditating position. Orion joined, and the two sat next to each other as they closed their eyes. I could feel a slow stream of mana emanating from them.
The entire class had recently learned how to form barriers from Ms. Lonnie, though only Rune, Orion, and Matthias had actually formed them.
Since none of them had yet undergone a Core Reset, I assumed they were just lazing about.
It’s actually surprising—Rune’s been laying low lately. He still messes with Matthias now and then, but he generally leaves me alone and doesn’t interrupt class anymore. He’s quieter, less rowdy, though the tension between him and Arthur still hasn’t gone anywhere. That grudge is carved too deep to fade just because Rune stopped throwing punches.
I’m guessing Elder Walden had a serious talk with him after finding out what Rune did. Maybe scared him straight. Or maybe Rune’s just biding his time, waiting for everyone to lower their guard.
It’s nice, sure—not being the target anymore. I can focus. Breathe a little. But honestly? I still don’t forgive him. You don’t forget someone like Rune. You don’t forget the sneers, the cheap shots, the way he made you feel like you didn’t matter.
He’s still the same bully who hurt me. He’s just been quieter about it. Matthias still gets dragged into his games, and Arthur…….Arthur’s relationship with him can’t be fixed. The world would end before they make up.
Rune’s still that cocky, rich snob who does whatever he can to make sure the hitchhikers follow him. He still plays king of the hill like it’s the only thing he knows.
So, no—I don’t trust the silence. And I don’t think I ever will.
But enough of that. I still gotta come up with a plan for the snarl. Like Sys said, it’s not like I can just take care of them all at once…………..actually……….I might be able to.