Kicking the lazier ones who struggled to stand, the chief stumbled toward the front of the cave, eager to begin the day with a hefty meal. As for the others, they would have to fight amongst themselves for whatever scraps they could get their grubby hands on. Most of the food was reserved for the chief, as he was the biggest and strongest among them. Though he hadn’t yet reached the level of a hobgoblin, his raw strength surpassed that of the rest of his snarl. It was precisely because of his size, power, and ruthless nature that he had been chosen to lead. His shoulders were broader than any other goblin in the den, his arms thick with corded muscle, and his green skin stretched taut over the ragged clothing he had scavenged for himself.
Shielding his eyes from the harsh light, the chief stepped out of the cave and scanned the surroundings. His scowl deepened at the sight of his snarl still lounging about. With a few sharp kicks to the head and some forceful yanks, he pulled several of them to their feet, barking harsh noises that echoed through the clearing. Only then did the entire snarl finally rouse. But from the look in the chief’s eyes, it seemed he took their sluggishness as a personal insult.
He grabbed the head of a random goblin and smashed it to the ground. The others merely watched as he began to severely beat the unlucky goblin. The chief kicked his mouth, then his eyes, then his nose, then his ears……….
You suck at narrating.
“How? What else am I supposed to say here? That’s all he’s doing……..Oh wait, now he’s kicking his shoulder. Is that good enough for you?”
You’d be a boring storyteller.
“Yeah well, it’s not my fault when this goblin doesn’t even feel like eating……….He’s still kicking him.”
A skilled storyteller would make any story enjoyable to listen to, no matter how mundane and boring the story might seem.
“You’re just talking now. No substance in whatever you said.”
Can you shut up and continue? The chief’s done kicking him.
Tch.
The chief was finally satisfied with his beating. He looked proud of what he had done—his chest puffed out and chin high—as if he had proven not only to the onlookers but to himself that he was the strongest, and that all were bound to obey him. It was an ego, a towering sense of dominance.
That ego was nearly shattered when the lumbering figure of Pickle stumbled into the clearing. Holding the carcass of Shade’s original body, Pickle made his entrance with heavy steps and an unceremonious announcement of his arrival.
“Rrghhh?”
“Hsshwwnnn!”
“Yjjkkkww.”
…….Yeah, you don’t need to narrate this part.
“Oh, so now you wanna switch up?”
Can you translate what they’re saying?
“That’s your job, my so-called personal system.”
Oh okay, here. *clearing throat* “Beric is a stupid dumbass.”
“Oh no, your translation seems to be off. You see, what I got is, ‘Sys is an annoying prick.’”
Ah, but I’m the system, so actually-
We were interrupted when the chief suddenly began aggressively hissing at Pickle.
Woah, what’s going on?
From the admiring figures of the rest of the snarl, and the jealous expression on the chief, I could think of an explanation.
“The chief probably feels like his position is being challenged.”
But, didn’t you tell Pickle to be respectful and to try to initiate a feast?
“Yeah well, the chief doesn’t exactly seem like the type to have a civilized conversation.”
The tension began to grow as the chief inched closer, now wielding a sharp bone club.
Uh, is the plan going to fail? I don’t think he means to be welcoming with that-
“Hold on.”
I was hiding within the treeline of the clearing, using the deep bushes and underbrush to mask my presence.
“Pickle, do you copy?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Remember how I wanted you to act civilized and respectful?
“Of course.”
“Throw that all in the gutter.”
“What? Then, what should I do?”
“You’re going to glaze him.”
“.....What?”
I observed the chief’s face. Though it was mostly twisted with jealousy and anger, there were faint traces of fear beneath the surface. And it was no wonder—after all, in the chief’s eyes, a random goblin had just appeared carrying the body of the very monster that had been tormenting the minds of the entire snarl. For someone so strong to show up out of nowhere, it was only natural that this egotistical chief would feel his position was under threat.
So, rather than let this ruin the plan, why not use it for the plan?
“Pickle, I want you to act tired and hungry. Using Shade’s body, ask for a feast so you can replenish your energy. Then, offer the entire carcass to him, saying it would be your honor for him to receive your spoils. Since you're pretending to be a goblin from another snarl, admit that you lied—that you actually hunted this beast with your entire snarl. Continue by saying they were all slaughtered, and you alone survived. The fight was won, but you dragged the body through the entire forest in search of another den. Mention how you’d heard of this particular chief through stories passed down in your original snarl, praising how strong and smart he must be. And make sure your words are loud enough for the entire snarl to hear.”
There’s no way that’s going to-
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Pickle followed my instructions and began his performance. He laid down the carcass and knelt in reverence. He exchanged a few words with the chief, whose expression slowly shifted—first simmering with hatred, then giving way to mild suspicion, until finally, it bloomed into a joyous smile. The rest of the goblins exchanged awkward glances. It was clear they didn’t fully believe Pickle’s story, but that hardly mattered. The chief was never the type to listen to his snarl. All he cared about was being respected and recognized as the strongest.
And after Pickle’s glaze, he definitely felt like it.
Now in a good mood, the chief barked at the goblins to hurry up and prepare a feast. The goblins grumbled as they headed to the food storage.
Looking back at Pickle, the chief grinned, his yellow teeth shining.
That…….worked?
“Goblins are simple creatures—selfish, filthy, and always starving. While they are more intelligent than many other beasts, their greatest accomplishments are little more than crude imitations of human culture. To deceive a goblin, all one needs to do is appeal to its ego and basic needs. As long as those are satisfied, they’ll remain oblivious. Then again, perhaps even this fragile ego of theirs is just another imitation of human nature.”
The feast was well underway. Heaps of rotten meat and spoiled fruit on cracked, broken plates were brought to the center of the clearing. With Pickle in tow, the chief made his way to the front as well. It was interesting to see that not a single goblin dared sneak a bite beforehand—the chief was clearly feared.
Holding a filthy clay cup, the chief raised it high and bellowed to the snarl. After taking a sip, he began tearing into his food, which signaled that the rest were finally permitted to eat. The feast had officially begun.
And now we wait.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The chief was ecstatic. He danced and laughed as he ate and drank. There was something off about the meat’s taste, but he chalked it up to the usual spoilage. He washed it down with water and kept on dancing. The rest of the goblins joined in, encouraged by their chief’s sudden cheerfulness.
The chief felt incredible. The monster was gone, and the arrival of this newcomer had filled him with pride. Such great news—now the hunting parties could resume, and he would feast even more. No more spoiled meat. No more rotting fruit. He imagined eating like a king, like a hero. He felt so content that he didn’t even react when a goblin accidentally stepped on his foot. Perhaps things were finally turning around. Maybe he would even be nicer from now on. Why not? There was no longer a reason to stay angry.
After all, the real reason behind his vicious beatings was the lack of trust the goblins had in him—trust eroded by his failure to stop the goblin-eating beast. But now that it was dead, the goblins had placed their faith in him once again.
At least, that’s what he believed.
In truth, they trusted Pickle.
Still, it was a good day. Maybe the start of many more good days. The chief decided that from now on, he would be better.
Too late for that now.
The chief was startled by the cries of a goblin, but he was even more shocked when the goblin collapsed and began vomiting. The others rushed to help, but soon they, too, experienced the same pain. All around him, the chief watched helplessly as more goblins fell to the ground, retching violently. It was then that the chief felt it—his own throat burning with searing pain. Suddenly exhausted, he collapsed, horror filling him as vomit exploded from his mouth.
Dizziness overtook him, and his heartbeat slowed. Fear gripped him when the goblins around him began vomiting blood. A glimmer of hope flickered when the first goblins stopped vomiting—but that hope was short-lived. They had stopped because they had died.
With the last of his strength, the chief turned his gaze toward Pickle. Confusion clouded his eyes as he saw Pickle sitting on the ground, unfazed by the chaos. He was perfectly healthy.
Why?
Coughing up blood, the chief could no longer move. The only thing he could do was curse Pickle.
As his consciousness began to fade, he closed his eyes. One thought lingered in his mind before he let go of his spirit.
Was it really Pickle’s fault?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The interesting thing about wolfsbane poisoning is that, before death fully claims you, it first paralyzes you. This meant that, before the goblins died, my summons and I were able to transport them to the center with ease. And since they weren’t dead yet, I didn’t lose much time.
When we were done, I began the process. The souls, drawn to my presence, gathered into a massive conglomeration of pure mana. They allowed themselves to be slowly drained away by my spell.
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Level 78:
- Strength: 201
- Speed: 207
- Stamina: 233
- Endurance: 225
- Durability: 192
- Mana: 311
- Soul Rank: Tarnished
- Soul Color: Blue
Still Tarnished, even after 40 or so goblin souls.
After I transported all of the bodies into my inventory, I rode on Shade as I returned home……..Wait.
My mana’s at 311?????
Well, it’s to be expected. The rate at which your stats increase with each level is heavily influenced by how much you use them. Since you’ve been exceptional at mastering soul magic, and have frequently used it through your absorptions and the continuous summoning of your creatures, it’s only natural that your mana stat would grow at such a rapid pace.
Wow……..
Oh wait……oh no.
Yes. You’ll have to learn from him more if you want to increase your physical stats quickly.
Not him…….
Wait, what’s that?
The sounds of aggressive male voices piqued my interest. I had Shade slow down as I listened closer. It was definitely a group of 5, or maybe even more, male humans making a racket.
Rune?
“No, these voices are too deep to be them.”
Plus, we were way out within the forest. There was no way that Rune would be out here.
So?
“What?”
Are we going to investigate it?
Should we? We just finished the raid, and there’s honestly no benefit in risking our lives to investigate………Maybe it’s best if we mind our-
“I smell blood.”
I looked down at Shade.
“Human blood. Someone’s hurt.”
………..If someone is……then-
You’re not seriously thinking of actually going, right?
…….Yeah, I am.
Are you stupid? You don’t even know if it’s a trap. And if someone’s actually hurt, that means there’s a hostile force nearby. Why risk your life? You’ve already achieved your goal. Don’t play the hero—just go home. We don’t have time to waste on saving damsels in distress………unless that’s what you want?
Oh, my dear Beric. Do you want to be a white knight? Do you want some girl to fall in love with you?
Well, let me tell you right here, and right now. That’s never going to happen.
So don’t let this idiotic desire deter you from your real goal. Just go home.
You done?
Oh?
I’m not trying to be a hero or anything. I’m definitely not cut out for that. But, you don’t need to be a hero to help someone. I just want to go, since I feel like I can prevent something worse from happening.
Psh. That’s it? I was expecting something more fun. Whatever, Beric, go. Keep wasting time. Just be sure to not waste too much of it, before he appears again.
I know.
But hey, is it really that strange?
Is it really that strange for me to act like a hero?
Am I too weak and pitiful to try?
……Of course I am. The fact that I’m even thinking like this is proof I’m no hero.
But I’ll still try. I’ll investigate the noises and see what I can do.
I’m not a hero.
But I’m not going to ignore people who may need help.
I will be different.