I was just your average burnout. Now I’m a kobold in a dungeon where everything wants to eat me—and frankly, I get it. I look delicious.

Reincarnated as the weakest possible monster in the worst possible place, I start with nothing but panic, backward knees, and a skill called Civilization Mimicry—which is sealed. Because of course it is.

But survival isn't the story.

This is the story of what comes after.

Of finding meaning in the scraps. Of building law from ashes. Of kindling memory in a place designed to erase.

Because even if the world sees kobolds as nothing, I’ve seen what we used to be.

And I’m going to bring it back.

Firelight by firelight. Burial by burial. One fragile tradition at a time.

Because if the world wants kobolds to be nothing?

Then I’ll teach it what nothing becomes when it learns to dream.

The system woke me up with a single line of doom.


[Prepare An Official Ashring Escort Team.]


I sighed. Rolled over. Buried my head under the blanket. Waited for the message to go away.


"You volunteered me for what?" I growled.


Bitterstack stared at me, completely unrepentant. "A diplomatic expedition. You can't go alone."


"You were planning to wander into unknown territory with zero backup, no supplies, and no witnesses?"


Quicktongue leaned against the tent flap, arms crossed. "You're a sovereign now. Apparently sovereigns don't get to be dumb."


The volunteers were assembled at the south trench within the hour.


Chapter 49 - I Said I Wanted Help, Not A Traveling Circus