After the incident of "consecrating" the shack, the goblins looked at Kurzadh with eyes practically glowing green.
Scarface took the lead, standing in front of Kurzadh every morning before dawn, carrying his stone spear and squeaking like a guard; Frirx was even more exaggerated, rushing to respond no matter what Kurzadh asked him to do.
When weaving grass ropes, his fingers rubbed so fast they nearly sparked Mars, and he constantly muttered, "What the God's Chosen One boss says must be right."
Kurzadh did not blindly misuse this surge of enthusiasm.
He squatted at the entrance of the valley, observed for a long time, and finally decided to build a fence first.
The system hadn't provided blueprints for a fence, nor did it mention any rewards for building one, but the area was open, and the riverside was a frequent watering spot for wild beasts. Without a barrier, sleeping at night would be uneasy.
"Frirx, take three goblin to cut wood, wrist-thick, and the longer the better!" Kurzadh pointed toward the forest, then turned to Scarface and said, "You take five goblin to move stones. Pick the heavy ones and pile them up on both sides of the entrance!"
Greenskins always relied on brute force when working; they just lacked method.
Frirx knew a few tricks. He directed the goblin to sharpen one end of the cut logs and drive them into the earth along the lines Kurzadh had drawn. They didn't care if they were crooked; the priority was getting them upright. Scarface, meanwhile, led the goblin in stuffing stones into the gaps between the logs. If a Kurzadh wouldn't fit, they hammered it with a stone spear, the clanging echoing throughout the valley all day long.
Kurzadh himself wasn't idle either.
He found the thickest log to serve as the "main post," tied several logs together with grass rope, and drove them into the narrowest part of the valley entrance—this was the "Gate" of the fence, and it had to be sturdy.
Seeing their boss start working, the goblin also exerted themselves. Some held the logs steady, others handed over grass ropes, and even the clumsiest goblin with a missing ear squatted on the ground, clawing at the dirt, trying to bury the log deeper.
Building a fence was more arduous than setting up a shack.
If they ran out of wood, they went cutting again; if they ran out of stones, they moved more from the riverbank. There were also many comedic incidents—one goblin inserted a log upside down, with the sharp end pointing up, and was chased and smacked on the head by Frirx; another goblin dropped a Kurzadh while moving it, smashing his own foot and crying out in pain, only to be kicked up by Scarface and told to get back to work.
That was the greenskin rule: pain was pain, but work couldn't stop.
For an entire week, the valley was filled with clanging and hammering every day.
By the evening of the seventh day, the fence finally took shape—it wasn't neat, the logs were crookedly stuck in the dirt, and the stones were haphazardly stuffed in, making it look like a broken palisade. But at least it firmly blocked the valley entrance. A person would have to bend over to squeeze through, and it would be even harder for a wild beast to force its way in.
Kurzadh patted the thickest main post and nodded in satisfaction. "Alright, tonight's watch will stand behind the fence. Shout if there's any movement."
The goblin were exhausted, sprawled on the ground and panting heavily, their green faces smeared with mud and sweat. Yet, they were all grinning—this was something they had built with their own hands alongside their boss, and it felt much more secure than hiding in the cave before.
Frirx came closer, wiping dust off the fence with his sleeve. "Boss, this fence is sturdy! We won't be afraid even if wolves come now!"
This week wasn't just about building the fence; Kurzadh also had Frirx take the goblin to scout the forest to see if they could find anything left behind by the former greenskin tribe.
After all, so many greenskins had died in the forest, perhaps they could salvage some usable weapons or tools.
However, every time the goblin returned, they only carried back junk—broken axe handles, heavily rusted iron scraps, and a few chipped clay pots. The most decent find was half a piece of leather armor that hadn't completely rotted, which Frirx carried back like a treasure, only for it to crumble to dust upon touch.
"Damn it, it's all garbage." Frirx threw the iron scraps onto the ground and cursed, "Those dwarves were truly ruthless; they didn't leave anything valuable behind!"
Kurzadh didn't pay it much mind.
Having something was better than nothing. The iron scraps might be sharpened into blades, and the leather armor could be torn up and wrapped around the stone spear handles for grip.
He had the goblin pile the junk next to the shack, planning to sort through it later when he had time.
Fortunately, food wasn't a worry.
Frirx was skillful. He learned to weave fishing nets from Kurzadh and was much better at it than the goblin. This week, he had woven seven or eight more nets, all placed in the shallow water near the riverbank.
Fish were plentiful in the river during spring. Every day they hauled in the nets, they caught ten or so fish, enough to feed over a dozen mouths. Edible wild mushrooms and herbs also grew by the river. Frirx knew which ones were safe to eat and took the goblin to gather them daily. They cooked them in fish soup, and although it lacked salt and flavor, it filled their stomachs.
That morning, just as the sun rose, Frirx grabbed his stone spear and led three goblin toward the river—it was time to haul in the nets.
He was now the self-proclaimed "second-in-command" of the Blackrock Clan, and hauling in the nets was a "respectable job" he felt he had to do himself. As they walked, he occasionally kicked the goblin next to him, showing off as he yelled, "Hurry up! If you delay the boss's meal, I'll break your legs!"
The goblin dared not speak, scrambling to follow him.
Just as they approached where the nets were set, Frirx suddenly stopped.
He squinted toward the riverbank—a yellow figure seemed to be moving in the water, squatting right where they had set the nets, pulling on something. Wasn't that their fishing net?
"Damn it! Which bastard dares to steal my net!" Frirx's temper flared instantly.
He had spent half a day weaving that net, and they had only set it yesterday; it must have caught a lot of fish! Just as he was about to charge, he suddenly restrained the goblin next to him—greenskins might be fierce, but they weren't stupid. What if the thief had accomplices?
"You, go take a look!" Frirx pointed to the smartest goblin, lowering his voice. "See if there's anything else around!"
The goblin quickly crouched down, slipped into the nearby bushes, and peeked out through the leaves. After a long look, he came back, squeaked and shook his head at Frirx, then pointed toward the river—just one.
"Damn it, only one and he still dares to steal!" Frirx relaxed, rolled up his sleeves. "Follow me! Let's grab this bastard!"
He led the three goblin, creeping toward the riverbank like cats.
The fellow in the river hadn't noticed them. He was struggling to pull the net, humming an off-key tune. He was probably frustrated that he couldn't pull it free and was kicking the water with his foot.
"Now!" Frirx yelled in a low voice, and they charged out abruptly.
The fellow in the river jumped in surprise and spun around—it was a goblin, about the same height as Frirx but thinner. He was wrapped in rags, his face was smeared with mud, and he was desperately clutching a corner of the fishing net.
Seeing Frirx and the goblin charging, his eyes widened instantly. He let out a gasp, forgot about the net in his hand, and turned to jump deeper into the river.
"Trying to run?" Frirx ran faster than the goblin. He lunged forward and kicked the goblin right in the butt—*thump*—a solid hit.
The goblin was unprepared and stumbled forward, falling into the river with a splash, water spraying all over his face.
The river wasn't deep, only reaching his knees. As he struggled to get up, Frirx rushed over, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and dragged him onto the bank like a small chicken.
"Damn it, daring to steal from the Blackrock Clan!" Frirx threw him onto the ground, stomped his foot onto the goblin's back, and pointed the stone spear at his head. "Speak! Which tribe are you from? How dare you steal my net!"
The goblin yelped under the pressure. He struggled twice but couldn't break free. He looked up at Frirx, then at the goblin holding stones nearby, his eyes filled with panic.
He opened his mouth, about to speak, but Frirx stomped again, making him swallow his words.
Frirx was about to curse again when he suddenly noticed the fishing net clutched in the goblin's hand—sure enough, there were fish caught in the mesh, three or four small ones, flopping around.
He grew angrier. He jabbed the stone spear into the ground: "You dared to steal the fish too! If I don't beat you into submission today, I'm not Frirx!"
The goblin nearby also squeaked in agreement, raising their stones, ready to smash the goblin.
"Wait!" Frirx suddenly shouted.
He stared at the goblin for a moment and suddenly felt he looked familiar—this goblin was missing a small piece of his left ear. Wasn't that like the "Wreelx" other goblins had mentioned? He heard that guy was a wild goblin, with no tribe, who lived by stealing.
"Are you Wreelx?" Frirx kicked his butt.
The goblin froze, looked up at Frirx, and nodded, his voice trembling: "Y-yes... so what?"
"So what?" Frirx chuckled. "You stole from your grandpa, and you ask 'so what'? Come back to the tribe with me! Let's see how our boss deals with you!"
He grabbed Wreelx by the back of his neck and dragged him toward the valley like a dead dog.
The three goblin followed behind. One carried the net, one carried the fish, and the last held his stone spear, acting as a guard. They marched grandly, looking as if they had won a great battle.
Wreelx stumbled along, constantly looking back at the fish in the net, sighing painfully—he had been starving for two days, finally found a fishing net, and was caught before he could even secure the fish. He was utterly unlucky.
He looked at Frirx's back and then at the swaggering goblin beside him, wondering—how was this yellow-skinned fellow mixed up with goblin? And acting so arrogant? Was he the leader of some goblin tribe? But even a leader wouldn't make goblin this obedient, would he?
The deeper into the valley they walked, the more panicked Wreelx became.
He heard movement ahead, along with clanging sounds. When they reached the valley entrance and he saw the crooked fence, his eyes instantly widened—Was this... a tribe being built? A tribe built by a hobgoblin and goblins?
"What are you staring at? Move!" Frirx shoved him and dragged him inside the fence.
Wreelx stumbled as he was pulled in and looked up—inside the valley, several straw huts were set up, a fire was burning in the center, and over a dozen goblin were standing around one greenskin. That greenskin had his back to him, seeming to hold a sharpened stick, and looked significantly sturdier than the other goblin.
"Boss! I caught a net-thief!" Frirx yelled toward the greenskin.
The greenskin turned around at the sound, meeting Wreelx's eyes directly.
The moment Wreelx clearly saw the greenskin's face, he was stunned—it was a goblin?! This hobgoblin and goblins were actually following a lowly goblin?!