The day was hot. Really hot. The kind of hot that even rocks start to sweat. But inside the cave, it was cool, dark, quiet. And that's just how Gribul liked it. Lying on his back, face turned to the stone ceiling, he would just lie there thinking. Not about important things, of course. Goblin stuff. Like whether mushrooms fry better with rat fat or if dwarf butter was really as good as they said. That kind of philosophy.
He was actually doing fine. Almost happy. Until...
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
The ground began to shake. Just a little at first. Like when a bear walks by far away. But then it got stronger. Closer. And then came the noise.
"ATTENTION, VERMIN!" shouted a deep voice that sounded like it was spitting stones.
Gribul jumped so high he hit his head on the cave ceiling. He just stood there, dazed, not understanding a thing. But he didn't even have time to ask anything. A giant figure appeared at the entrance.
It was a demon.
Huge.
Wearing red armor that shone way too much.
Horns twisted back like horseshoes.
And a face that didn't look very friendly.
"By order of the Demon King, everyone taller than 80 centimeters has been recruited!
You are now soldiers!
Long live war!"
Gribul froze.
He knew how to measure things. He was good at that.
He knew, for example, that his cave was two meters wide.
He also knew that he, Gribul, was 82 centimeters tall.
Which was a problem now.
He tried to crouch. Bend his knees. Suck in his belly. Stretching his ear upward didn't help, but he did it anyway. It didn't work.
"You there, the green one with the scared face. How tall are you?"
Gribul hesitated.
"Seventy… seventy-nine… and a half?"
It sounded like a question.
And it was.
The demon started walking. Each step was a hammer blow on the ground. When he stopped in front of him, Gribul was already sweating more than he should.
"Stand up."
He stood up.
"Straighten that hunch. Stand properly."
He tried.
The demon measured him with his eyes. Scowled.
"Hmm. Eighty-two exactly.
Congratulations. You're a soldier now."
Gribul tried to argue.
"But I'm weak! I don't even kill flies! I tried once, but it flew away… and I let it."
The demon laughed. That deep laugh that sounds like it hurts.
"Even better. The weak ones die first. And the ones who die first become legends faster."
Gribul didn't really get how that made sense. But he didn't have time to think about it. Someone tied a rope around his waist. Like a goat. Like a sack of potatoes. And pulled.
"Forward, little goblin. Today's your lucky day."
He went. One foot after the other. Tripping sometimes. Trying to look back, at the cave, at the stone where he used to sleep. But the rope pulled hard. And the demon didn't stop walking.
The village appeared after a while. Small, dirty, just how he knew it. But now it was full of big demons. Some with horns, others with wings, others with tentacles Gribul preferred not to know where they came from.
"General recruitment! Let's take these little treasures to the battlefield!" shouted another demon, this one with only one eye. "Today's the day to harvest fresh goblins!"
Gribul wanted to run. But where to? His foot was tied, the rope was tight, and his hands were shaking. He looked around. Other goblins were being dragged. Some cried, others tried to look like warriors. One even held a stick like it was a spear. It was ridiculous. It was sad.
When the line started to move, Gribul realized it was serious. It wasn't training. It wasn't a joke. It was real war.
"Where are we going?" he asked softly.
"To the Hell Camp, of course," replied the earlier demon, laughing. "Where dreams die and legends are born."
Gribul didn't like that sentence.
In fact, he didn't like it at all.
The path was long. Dry land, foul wind, the smell of dead animals in the air. Sometimes a cart full of weapons passed by. Sometimes another with bodies. He pretended not to see.
As they walked, Gribul tried to think of good things. His mom frying mushrooms. The silence of the cave. That little corner where he kept the smooth stones he found pretty.
But every time he thought of that, a war cry came, or a deep laugh, or the rope yanked him, reminding him that no, it wasn't mushroom-thinking time anymore.
The world out there was too big.
Too loud.
Too dangerous.
And Gribul?
He was just a small goblin.
Eighty-two centimeters tall.
Who just wanted to go back to his cave.
But the world doesn't care what we want.