After what felt like minutes turning into hours of zigzagging through the forest—under torchlight that painted everything in restless yellow-orange hues—the goblins finally slowed.
The woods had grown denser the deeper we went. Shadows clung to tree trunks like old regrets. Smoke from the torches drifted low, stinging my eyes. Twigs snapped beneath uneven goblin feet. Every now and then one of them glanced back at me and Kala, as if checking whether we'd suddenly changed our minds and decided to massacre everyone.
Fair.
Then the trees parted.
We stepped into a small clearing.
In front of us stood a makeshift gate built from heavy logs and uneven planks lashed together with rope and vine. A large fire pot burned in front of it, flames roaring and spitting embers upward. The light illuminated a barricade of sharpened poles angled outward like a warning.
Beyond the gate, I could make out the silhouette of a watchtower rising above the walls.
The walls themselves were made of vertically planted logs—sharpened at the top. In some areas, broken planks left thin gaps where warm light seeped through from inside. It wasn't pretty, but it was functional.
As we moved closer, I saw three goblins stationed at the barricade in front of the gate. Smaller. Leaner. Wearing ragged, torn clothes. They held sharpened sticks and a bow that looked like it had seen better decades.
My awareness tagged them.
Adolescent goblins.
Adolescent?
Like high school kids? Angsty. Rebellious. Probably think they're invincible.
The elder barked something sharp.
The three stiffened, looked at each other in visible dismay, then reluctantly stood down—shaking their heads in protest.
As we passed the barricade, I noticed charred sections along the outer wall. Blackened wood. Burn scars climbing upward like claw marks. Dark stains soaked into the dirt and wood—unmistakable.
Blood.
The adolescent goblins stared at us with tight jaws. Not playful hostility. Not bravado.
Serious.
My earlier anxiety slowly shifted into something heavier.
Pity.
The gates creaked open.
We stepped inside.
And my chest tightened.
The huts behind the walls were wrecked.
Not one. Not two.
A lot.
Some were partially burned. Others had gaping holes punched through them. Roofs collapsed inward. Walls slashed open like paper. There was a stone walkway cutting through the camp—not mason-made, just irregular slabs laid down with effort and hope.
Craters dotted the ground.
Blood stains marked nearly every direction.
It looked like an apache helicopter with infinite ammunition had flown overhead and decided this was target practice.
Goblins—young and old—moved slowly through the camp.
Some limped.
Some used crude crutches.
Some were missing limbs.
Bandages wrapped around torsos, heads, eyes. A few goblin children peeked from behind broken doorways before being pulled back inside by trembling hands.
They stared at us.
Blankly.
Some angrily—but restrained.
The mob that followed Urkap gradually dispersed, peeling away toward their homes and families. One by one. Until only Urkap, the limping elder, Durbab, Kala, and I remained.
We stopped near the center of the camp.
A broken structure stood before us—a mess hall, I guessed.
Near it was a makeshift stage built of planks and stacked wood. On top of it stood a large chair.
A throne.
Torn leather armor rested on it.
A horned helm hung from the backrest.
A broken axe lay across the seat.
Beside the throne knelt a female goblin.
Her head rested against the chair. Her eyes were swollen and distant. Tears ran silently down her face.
"Get your mother home, Durbab," Urkap said softly.
"How you?" Durbab asked.
"I am going to be fine. Go get some rest."
Durbab hesitated. He looked at me one last time—nervous, uncertain—then shuffled toward the throne.
"Ma… we go home," he murmured.
She didn't respond.
Tears simply kept flowing.
Durbab gently lifted her into his arms and carried her away.
Urkap watched them leave.
"Arikap. My daughter."
"The chieftain's wife?" I asked quietly.
"Yes… yes she was."
She placed a hand on the shoulder of the limping elder beside her.
"Old friend, can you get us food in the mess hall?"
The elder nodded silently and limped away.
"Durak," she said, eyes returning to the throne. "Our late chieftain. Not the brightest. Rowdy. Strong. Proud. And most of all… he loved my daughter."
Her voice wavered.
"He was a goblin with a big heart. Rare for our kind."
"What happened here?" I asked, pulling my focus away from the weight pressing on my lungs.
Kala floated close, his tentacles resting lightly against my shoulder.
He was quiet.
That worried me more than anything.
"Come," Urkap said gently. "Let us talk over dinner."
Dinner.
Right.
The mess hall looked like it had been sliced horizontally by a massive sword. The front doorway and wall were mostly gone—burned and collapsed inward. Broken long tables leaned against the sides. Yet somehow, despite the destruction, the interior had been cleaned.
Spotless.
Like someone had scrubbed the chaos away.
She led us to a long table rebuilt with planks and spare wood. On it sat bowls of soup, roasted meat, fresh fruits, rolled stuffed cuts of something that smelled incredible.
Female goblins scurried away quietly after placing the food, eyes downcast.
The hall wasn't lit by torches.
Instead, glowing rocks were tied to wooden candelabras along the walls. Soft, steady light filled the space.
Then the smell hit me.
Roasted.
Savory.
Sweet and smoky.
My stomach growled violently.
"Please sit," Urkap said.
We sat on low benches. Awkward but manageable.
There was more food than I expected.
Like a small banquet.
Kala unwrapped himself from my shoulder and hovered over the table like an oversized, very judgmental fly.
Waiting.
"Poisoned?" Urkap asked before I could.
She tapped the limping elder.
The elder stood, reached for each dish, and methodically took a bite from every single one.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Sat back down.
Voila.
Not poisoned.
"Now can I?" Kala asked.
I nodded.
He went feral.
Food vanished at alarming speed.
"Ah," Urkap chuckled softly. "A young beholder with a good appetite."
I grabbed a leg of some unknown avian creature and bit into it.
Whoa.
Barbecued. Tender. Marinated. Smoky and sweet.
Not like Tony's cooking—but still amazing.
I swallowed and noticed the two elders weren't eating.
"Uhhh… sorry. Why aren't you eating?"
"Do not worry, young one," Urkap smiled faintly. "We have had our fill earlier. And eating too much at our age leads to indigestion. Also… cholesterol is not good for us."
"Cholesterol?" I blinked.
Do they have House MD here?
"Anyhow," I said, pouring soup into my clay bowl. "What happened?"
"Right!" she clapped softly.
"As you see, we are a village of goblins. Not by nature—but by design."
She gestured around.
"You know our kind dwell in caves, dense forests, tents. Hunter-gatherers. Tribal. You do not often see… this."
She waved at the stone path. The rebuilt hall.
"We built a community. Stayed out of adventurers' way. When they wandered too close, we used diplomacy. Sometimes… we even gave extermination missions to them."
That tracked.
Game logic confirmed.
I sipped the soup.
Warm. Creamy. Herb-infused. Meaty.
Incredible.
"A few days ago," she continued, "three adventurers entered our village. A magician. A knight. And a naked masked human."
I froze.
SmileyX's crew.
No doubt.
"We tried to communicate," she said. "But the masked naked man laughed. 'Look—goblins that could talk,' he said. Then attacked."
My jaw tightened.
"The knight followed. Large sword. Brutal swings. The mage watched… and when we used arrows to deter them, he rained fire spells upon us."
My appetite slowed.
"Durak and our best fighters confronted them. But the knight and the naked one… they were too powerful. We heard laughter through it all."
Her hands trembled.
"When Durak fell… they stopped. Said, 'That was it? Boring.' And left. They took nothing."
Silence filled the hall.
Then—
"We killed them!" Kala announced cheerfully, mid-chomp.
I choked violently on my food.
He continued casually, "What is this yummy meat? I have never tasted anything like it."
The limping elder's jaw dropped.
Blood trickled from beneath his bandaged eye as his good eye snapped toward me in shock.
Urkap's hands flew to her chest.
"Is this… true?" she whispered.
"Uhh," I coughed, wiping my mouth. "Kinda. But not all of them though."
The glow rocks flickered slightly.
And every eye in the room locked onto me.