The mechanical voice in his head had just finished speaking, and Henry hadn't even fully processed the clunky names "Gork and Mork, two warboss gods in warhammer fantasy," when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
When he was in the underworld in his previous life, he had heard the old timers talk about "ghosts and gods granting food," which he had dismissed as a scare tactic. But now, hearing this disembodied voice and seeing Scarface huddled on the ground, his heart suddenly skipped a beat—could this be the legendary "cheat code of the Transmigrator"?
[Gork and Mork, two gods in warhammer fantasy greatly appreciate you. They think you are savage enough. They have granted you the name Kurzadh]
"Gork and Mork, two warboss gods in warhammer fantasy... are they the gods of this place?" Henry now Kurzadh muttered internally.
He tried to think deeper, wanting to ask who these two "gods" really were, but the voice in his head didn't respond. Instead, a row of blurry, gray-mist-formed text popped up.
[Successfully subjugated one goblin subordinate.
Mission unlocked: Subjugate ten goblin and one hobgoblin.]
Mission? Subordinates?
Kurzadh looked down at Scarface.
This guy, who had been aggressive just a moment ago, was now scared stiff by the beating. He looked up at Kurzadh, his bean-like eyes devoid of their previous ferocity, replaced by a hint of fawning—his mouth stretched into a grimace, revealing a few crooked little teeth. He cautiously nudged a mud-caked mushroom he had picked up on the ground toward Kurzadh's feet, acting exactly like a tail-wagging dog.
"So this is 'subjugation'?" Kurzadh suddenly understood.
The beating he had just delivered didn't just subdue the little creature; it was actually recognized by this "System" as "taking a subordinate."
He looked at Scarface's obsequious behavior, then felt his own skinny, stick-like green claws, and suddenly felt that in this absurd situation, he had finally grasped something reliable to depend on.
No matter what kind of System it was, having a follower in this wretched place was better than being alone.
He lifted his foot and tapped the mushroom. Scarface immediately squeaked and pushed the mushroom closer to him again.
Kurzadh didn't eat it—the mushroom looked slimy and might be poisonous. He waved his hand, signaling Scarface to follow, and started moving toward the cave entrance.
Staying in this broken mountain cave wasn't a solution. He needed to figure out where he was and find something to eat.
Scarface was quite quick-witted; seeing him move, he immediately trotted along behind, following closely, terrified of displeasing him.
Emerging from the entrance, the fog outside was much thicker than inside the cave. A damp, cold wind, heavy with moisture, hit him, making Kurzadh shiver.
His physique was truly terrible. The ragged piece of burlap around his waist was useless; after just two steps, he felt the cold wind penetrating his bones.
The surroundings were packed with trees, their trunks wrapped in gray-green moss, their branches twisting toward the sky like skeletal hands, creating an atmosphere of indescribable dread.
"This wretched place..." Kurzadh frowned.
When he was young, he had stayed in the South and experienced the humidity of tropical rainforests, and he had sought refuge in the northern mountains, but he had never seen a forest this unsettling. Besides the smell of mold, the air carried a faint stench, like blood mixed with rotting flesh, making him nauseous.
He dared not walk fast, moving slowly with Scarface, one in front of the other, stepping on the thick layer of fallen leaves.
Beneath the leaves was slippery mud that swallowed his foot with every step, and occasionally he kicked something hard.
Kurzadh looked down, clarifying in the dim light—it was a bone, belonging to some unknown animal, still covered in fragments of meat and green skin.
Green skin?
His heart stirred as he remembered his current appearance. Were there many "kin" in this forest?
After walking just a few steps further, the "hard things" on the ground became more numerous.
Some were broken axe handles, the wooden splinters still stained with rust. Others were tattered leather armor with black, charred holes that looked like they had been burned by something.
Most conspicuous were several corpses lying beneath a nearby tree. They had green skin, thick limbs, and were several times sturdier than him and Scarface—the very "Big Greenskins" he had vaguely seen in the cave earlier.
These Big Greenskins had died miserably.
Some had large holes ripped in their chests, the blood soaking the leaves beneath them. Some had their heads twisted to the side, a clean cut on the neck as if struck by an axe. Another was even more horrifying: half its body was charred black, its hand still clutching a thick wooden club, its eyes wide open, suggesting it had suffered extreme terror before death.
Kurzadh's heart sank as he watched.
He squatted down and cautiously touched the skin of one of the corpses—it was ice cold and stiff, suggesting it had been dead for some time.
He looked again at the charred corpse, recalling the bone he had kicked and the stench in the air, and suddenly realized—this forest had suffered a great calamity.
"Was it massacred?" he wondered.
To kill so many greenskins, and so brutally, the perpetrators were certainly not to be trifled with.
He recalled the gunshots he heard when he first transmigrated, and the dwarfs carrying firearms... could they have done this?
He stood up and scanned the surroundings.
Along the way, the corpses and debris grew more frequent. In some spots, several bodies were piled haphazardly, as if they had been casually tossed there.
It seemed that not just this small area, but the entire greenskin tribe in the forest had likely suffered.
"Good thing I'm just a goblin..." Kurzadh secretly rejoiced.
He glanced at Scarface beside him, then looked at the corpses of the the big greenskins. These greenskins were sturdy and capable fighters, making them prime targets for "cleanup." But goblin like him and Scarface were short and weak, probably viewed by the dwarfs as little more than roadside weeds, insignificant enough that killing them or not didn't matter, thus saving their lives.
But despite his relief, he felt even more panicked.
If even these capable big greenskins were completely massacred, how were he and Scarface, two goblin wandering the forest, any different from lambs waiting to be slaughtered? If they encountered those dwarfs, or any other ruthless characters, they probably wouldn't even have a chance to fight back.
"I need to find a safe place to hide first." Kurzadh made up his mind.
He pulled Scarface's arm and pointed toward a small cave not far away. The cave was hidden between two large trees, its entrance obscured by vines. It was easily missed unless one looked closely, making it a good place to rest.
Scarface immediately squeaked in response, followed him through the vines, and entered the cave.
The cave was small, cleaner than the previous dilapidated one, with dry grass piled in the corner, and the smell of mold wasn't as strong.
Kurzadh let out a breath and sat down on the dry grass. Just as he was about to relax, he heard the vines at the entrance rattle loudly.
His heart tightened instantly. He sprang up from the grass and pulled Scarface behind him—his underworld instincts from his previous life were still sharp, and this noise was definitely not caused by the wind.
Scarface was also startled, shrinking behind him, craning his neck to look at the entrance, emitting a low Damn, as if warning something away.
Immediately after, the vines were violently pushed aside, and several small green-skinned creatures scrambled inside—they weren't big greenskins, but goblin, just like him and Scarface.
There were six in total, all skin and bones, their skin wrinkled. Some were missing ears, others fingers, looking even more wretched than Scarface.
But their eyes were frighteningly bright, staring intently at Kurzadh and Scarface, especially the pile of dry grass Kurzadh had been sitting on, as if they were looking at prey.
Kurzadh's heart sank.
He saw it clearly: the look in the goblin's eyes wasn't curiosity, but malice—the kind of malice that makes a starving creature want to pounce and bite anything it sees.
He suddenly remembered the greenskin corpses in the forest.
The big greenskins were all massacred. Without protection and unable to find food, these goblin were likely starving mad.
In the world of greenskins, there was never any concept of "kinship." When the boss was around, rules could maintain some order, but now that the boss was gone, cannibalism among the desperate was perfectly normal.
These six goblin probably saw him and Scarface as "rations" to fill their stomachs.
Sure enough, the six goblin exchanged glances, and their throats simultaneously let out low, sharp, urgent squeaks, as if cheering each other on.
The leader of the goblin—missing half an ear, with squinted, fiercer eyes—stepped forward, scraping its claws against the stone floor, producing a grating "shasha" sound.
It tilted its head and bared its teeth at Kurzadh and Scarface, seeming to challenge him while also urging them to "know their place."
Scarface shrank behind Kurzadh in fright, yet couldn't tear his eyes away. He still stuck out his neck and Hissed at the six goblin, though his voice trembled slightly, lacking the confidence he had earlier. He might dare to try a one-on-one fight, but with six opponents and only two of them, they were completely outnumbered.
Kurzadh's heart sank. He clenched his claws tightly, his knuckles white from the effort. He knew there was no escaping this fight.
He wasn't Henry, who could solve problems with money, nor was the old gangster Henry, who could conquer the world with his fists. He was just an unarmed goblin, skinny as a stick.
Facing six starving kin, if they fought, he and Scarface probably wouldn't even leave bones behind.
But he couldn't back down. In his previous life, he had climbed out of the streets relying on three words: "fearless of death." Even if he only had a steel pipe against ten men armed with knives, he would dare to rush forward and stab first. Now that he was reduced to this state, surrendering wouldn't guarantee survival; he might as well fight for it.
Furthermore... He glanced at Scarface shrinking behind him, then remembered the mission in his head: "Subjugate ten goblin."
Although these goblin were crazed with hunger, they were still just goblin, lacking any organized fighting style.
His combat experience from his previous life worked against Scarface; perhaps it would work against these guys too. If he could subdue these six as well, wouldn't the mission be more than half complete?
Thinking this, the fear in Kurzadh's heart gradually subsided, replaced by a surge of vicious determination.
He stepped forward, fully shielding Scarface behind him, raised his claws, and gave a fierce Damn at the six goblin—he was imitating Scarface. Whether it worked or not, he needed to strike a posture first.
The leading goblin with the missing ear paused, apparently not expecting these two "prey" to dare resist.
It tilted its head, as if amused, then suddenly lowered its head and lunged toward Kurzadh.
The five goblin following behind immediately charged forward with howls. Six skinny, bony claws simultaneously reached for Kurzadh, the gaps beneath their nails filled with mud and unknown grime, a sight that made his skin crawl.
Kurzadh took a deep breath, his gaze instantly sharpening.
His fighting experience from his previous life flashed through his mind: facing a crowd, don't panic. Find the weakest target first, scare the leader into submission, and the rest will be easy.
He ignored the goblin lunging from the sides, focusing intently on the leading goblin with the missing ear. He shifted his body sideways, narrowly avoiding the creature's grasping claw, and simultaneously raised his hand, slamming his own claw right into the side of the goblin's face.
"Smack!"
The blow landed squarely on the missing-eared goblin's face.
It stumbled, crashing into the nearby stone wall with a dull thud.
But before Kurzadh could follow up, two goblin from the side had already pounced. One grabbed his arm, and the other bit his leg.
"Damn—" Kurzadh gasped in pain. His arm was throbbing from the scratches, and his leg felt searing hot; he guessed the skin had been broken by the bite.
Seeing him attacked, Scarface found courage from somewhere and suddenly darted out from behind him, pouncing on the goblin holding Kurzadh's arm, sinking his teeth into the goblin's neck.
"Squeak!" The goblin shrieked, instinctively releasing Kurzadh's arm to push Scarface away.
Kurzadh seized the opportunity to break free, raising his foot and kicking the goblin that had been biting his leg. The goblin was knocked backward, falling to the ground.
But this was only temporary.
The remaining three goblin surrounded him again, swarming him densely, attacking his body with claws and teeth.
Although Kurzadh had combat experience, he couldn't counter the sheer numbers. Moreover, these goblin fought without any technique, purely relying on wild attacks, grabbing and biting anything they could. Soon, several bloody gashes appeared on his arms and back.
"Damn it!" Kurzadh cursed silently, abandoning all technique and going all out.
Just like when he used to fight rival gangs in his previous life, he adopted the mentality of "killing one is breaking even, killing two is profit," and began wildly swinging his claws.
Ignoring the pain, he focused only on the nearest goblin, attacking viciously—clawing faces, kicking bellies, twisting arms. He also let out a fierce, urgent Damn, which actually stunned the goblin for a moment.
In the chaos, he noticed the missing-eared goblin he had previously stunned was getting back up, glaring fiercely at his back.
Kurzadh's heart tensed. He spun around sharply, just avoiding the missing-eared goblin's grasping claw, and simultaneously grabbed its hair—or rather, the sparse tuft of green fuzz on its head—and slammed it hard into the ground.
"Thud!"
The missing-eared goblin's face hit the ground solidly, its nose bleeding, and it immediately passed out.
Perhaps the blow was too brutal, or perhaps seeing their leader knocked unconscious, the surrounding goblin suddenly froze.
They looked at the motionless missing-eared goblin on the ground, then at Kurzadh, who was covered in injuries but still glaring, and at Scarface, who was still stubbornly biting the arm of another goblin nearby. The ferocity in their eyes gradually faded, replaced by hesitation and fear.
Kurzadh gasped for breath, not daring to move. He knew this was the critical moment; if he relaxed, the goblin might pounce again.
He stared fixedly at the goblin, his claw still gripping the missing-eared goblin's green fuzz. If they dared to move, he would slam the leader again.
The cave instantly fell silent, leaving only the ragged breathing of Kurzadh and Scarface, and the hesitant squeaks coming from the throats of the goblin.
The smell of blood and mold hung thick in the air. Kurzadh looked at the goblin, only one thought in his mind:
Today, he either beats them into submission, or he becomes their meal.