I kept a wary eye on the rest of the tribe while King Goper droned on, enamored with the sound of his own voice as he exclaimed his virtues as a ruler. The shaman's message, however, remained at the forefront of my mind: for some cryptic reason, he wanted me to dethrone the King. Why? I hadn't the slightest clue.
I shifted my focus back to Goper. He was morbidly obese, a physical disadvantage that, in theory, should have made him an easy target. But the numbers told a different story. He was three levels higher than me. It wasn't just the raw stat disparity that worried me, it was what those levels represented. In this world, I'd learned that the only currency for growth was death. My jump to Level 2 had been bought with the life of the Goblin Brute. Three additional levels meant Goper had a significant body count behind him. Even if he lacked refined technique, he possessed the one thing I couldn't ignore, seasoned experience in slaughter.
A prickle of unease crawled up my spine. Beside me, the shaman was staring with the wide-eyed intensity of a fanatic watching a superstar. It was pathetic, and deeply uncomfortable. I had no intention of being the shaman's puppet, but I needed to play the long game. I had to read the room, map out this world, and understand the tribal hierarchy before making a move.
"Oh, my loyal soldier! I see you have claimed a... relic!" King Goper exclaimed. His eyes weren't on me, though, they were anchored to the knife gripped firmly in my hand.
I raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the blade. A relic? Goper was leaning forward now, his greedy expectation palpable. It took me a heartbeat to realize the game he was playing. This cunning bastard. He's not admiring it; he's claiming it.
The realization shed a new light on the tribe. Goblins were inherently dumb, and as the proverb goes, in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Goper was that one-eyed man, just clever enough to manipulate the idiots around him. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't an idiot.
"Indeed, my King," I replied, tilting the blade so the bioluminescent mushrooms cast a cold glow across the steel. I made sure the faint, dark stains of blood were visible to everyone. "I tore it from the hands of an invader. As you can see, it still carries the marks of our enemies' demise."
Goper licked his fingers, his gaze hungry. "Excellent... most fitting for our tribe. Step forward. Let your King... inspect your prize."
I didn't step forward. Instead, I took a fluid step back, pulling the knife to my chest in a defensive crouch while mirroring his feigned surprise.
"But my King," I projected my voice so the surrounding goblins couldn't miss a word, "this is my trophy, the reward for spilling blood to defend this... glorious kingdom."
It was a gamble to provoke him over a mere piece of steel, but in this place, a weapon was the difference between a warrior and a corpse. If I let him disarm me now, I'd be at his mercy.
The mask of the "Magnanimous Ruler" shattered instantly. Rage twisted his bloated features into something grotesque.
"Are you insinuating that your King would steal from you?!" He tried to roar, but his voice cracked, turning into a shrill, undignified screech. I expected the tribe to laugh at his weakness, but to my dismay, the other goblins recoiled in terror. Cowards. This was going to be an uphill battle, but the opening was there. I just had to widen the crack.
"Steal? Who mentioned stealing, my King?" I asked, widening my eyes in mock innocence as I drifted another step back. "I simply assumed a ruler as great as yourself would never dream of taking a soldier's only means of protection..."
He snorted, a wet, guttural sound. "And who would dare attack you in my kingdom? Do you suspect me, warrior?" His eyes locked onto mine, a silent dare. He was baiting me, waiting for a single word of defiance to justify crushing me where I stood.
The King appeared unarmed, or so I hoped, but I couldn't look away. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I'd thought I was playing him, but I'd only managed to corner myself. In the human world, a tantrum like this would have cost a leader his credibility; here, in the brutal hierarchy of the goblins, it was a display of absolute power.
I was out of room to maneuver. As the silence stretched, Goper took a heavy step toward me. I had two choices: fight or fold. Folding meant looking down, handing over the knife, and praying for mercy. I suppressed a sigh. That wasn't an option. Even if he didn't kill me now, he'd hunt me down later for the mere sin of having a spine. He couldn't afford to have someone clever lurking in his shadow.
My decision was made.
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, drawing a deep, steadying breath. When I opened them, they were cold with resolve.
"You are right, my King..." I said, bowing my head in mock submission. "This belongs to you."
"Of course it does. I am the King. I am the only one worthy of relics." He was still fuming, but the ego-stroke worked; his posture relaxed just enough.
I took a step toward him, extending my right hand. "Here. Take it." I held the knife horizontally, offering it like a ritual gift.
He took the bait. The moment he stepped into my reach and his hand moved for the hilt, I struck. I lunged, my left hand snapping onto his waist to jerk him off balance, pulling him into the blade. My right hand blurred in a clean, savage arc across his throat.
His eyes went wide, but to my horror, he reacted with veteran instinct. He planted his feet with more grace than his bulk suggested. I'd hoped he would slump to the floor and bleed out in silence, but instead, his massive fist whistled through the air, catching me square in the chest with the force of a battering ram.
The impact shattered my grip, and I was thrown backward, gasping for air. I'd never been punched in my life, and this felt like being hit by a car. At least I still had my knife. He must have dumped every single stat point into Strength. Unfortunately for him, he wouldn't live long enough to use them again.
"Treachery!" Goper bellowed, clutching his throat. I clicked my tongue in annoyance, if he could scream, he could breathe. I'd missed the vitals. I was a novice at killing, and it showed.
"Guards! Guards!" he shrieked, frantic eyes darting around the cave.
The tribe remained frozen, trembling in the shadows. Only one other Level 2 goblin looked at me with open defiance. I couldn't handle a two-on-one. I had to pivot.
"This is between the King and me," I snarled, injecting as much venom into my voice as possible. "Do you really want to die for a dying fat King?"
The Level 2 goblin hesitated, glancing at Goper, who was still leaking blood through his fingers.
"What are you waiting for, you fools?" the King spat, his voice gurgling. "Kill him!"
I smiled. The blood was pouring now. I'd done real damage.
Just as the Level 2 goblin hesitated in his choice, the Shaman intervened, the slow clap-clap-clap of his hands echoing through the chamber.
"It seems we have a challenge for the throne," the Shaman said, his voice eerily calm.
"What are you babbling about, you senile bone-waver?" Goper roared. "I am your King! I command you to slaughter this bastard!"
The Shaman simply shook his head. "I am sorry, King Goper. But no. You must defend your crown. We shall wait to see which of you the gods favor today."
A wave of relief washed over me. I had a chance. My odds against the whole tribe were zero, but against a bleeding glutton? I could work with that. I stepped toward him, watching the fear finally take root in his eyes. He was stronger, yes, but he knew the tide was turning.
"You damned Shaman... I should have burned you years ago." Goper backed away toward his throne, snatching up a heavy wooden club that leaned against the stone. "I don't care what that fool says. I'll kill this traitor, and then I'll kill anyone who dares look at me sideways!"
Despite his size, he charged with terrifying speed. I sidestepped, the wind of the club's passage whistling past my ear. My chest burned from his earlier punch; I knew I wouldn't survive a direct hit from that wood.
My problem was reach. My knife was superior for killing, but his club kept me at a distance, compensating his lack of mobility.
I began to circle him, forcing him to pivot. My only edge was Agility; I didn't have the stats to overpower him, but I had the body to outrun him.
He was slow on the turn. After two laps, I saw my opening. I lunged at his back, aiming for the kidney. He swung the club blindly in a lateral arc; I tried to roll under it, but the heavy wood clipped my left arm. A white-hot flash of pain blinded me, but I pushed through, dragging my blade across his belly as I passed.
I ground my teeth, cradling my throbbing left arm. Please don't be broken.
Goper howled, clutching his new wound with the same hand still trying to plug his neck. "You'll pay for that, you rat!"
"Don't you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?" I mocked, hoping to goad him into another reckless move.
I was holding my ground. He was losing blood. If I could just drag this out, the win was mine.
He charged again like a wounded bull. I leaped out of the way, but this time, I saw a faint, golden flash on the club just before it hit the ground. CRACK. Dirt and stone sprayed everywhere from the impact.
A skill? My heart sank. Of course there are skills. This is a game world. Why wouldn't he have a 'Smash' ability?
I adjusted my stance, my eyes narrowed. One more thing to dodge. But Goper was wheezing now, his chest heaving like a bellows. He wasn't use to long fights.
The King's breathing was a ragged, wet whistle. He was slowing down, but that "Smash" skill had leveled the playing field. I couldn't afford a single mistake.
"Die!" King Goper screamed, swinging the club in a wide, desperate horizontal arc.
I dropped to a low crouch, the heave wood passing inches above my head with a low hum. As I rose, I drove the knife into his thigh, twisting the blade before pulling it out. He roared, his leg buckling for a second. I didn't stop. I danced around his blind side and carved a jagged line across his lower back.
I need to cut him down. Piece by piece.
The King was a canvas of red now. His green skin was slick with blood, making it harder for him to grip his weapon. But a cornered animal is the most dangerous. Sensing his end, King Goper stopped chasing me. He planted his feet, his eyes bloodshot and bulging.
"Enough of this... dancing!" He roared.
He raised the club with both hands. It didn't just flash this time; it glowed with a dull, menacing light. He wasn't aiming at me, he was aiming at the ground between us. I tried to leap backward, but I was too late.
The club hit the stone floor with a localized shockwave. The ground erupted. A jagged shard of stone, kicked up by the force of the skill, sliced deep into my right shoulder. I cried out as the impact threw me off my feet. I hit the ground hard, my vision swimming.
I looked down. My shoulder was a mess, a deep, gushing wound that made my right arm feel heavy and cold. The knife was still in my hand, but my fingers were trembling.
King Goper was staggering toward me, coughing up dark blood. He looked like a demon from a nightmare. He raised the club one last time, his face contorted in a triumphant, murderous grin. He was exhausted, but he had enough strength for one final, crushing blow.
"I am... the King..." he wheezed, bringing the club down.
This was it.
Instead of rolling away, I lunged in. I ignored the screaming pain in my shoulder and used the last of my stamina to propel myself forward, sliding under his raised arms. It was a suicide move, but his reach was his weakness now.
As the club descended, hitting the dirt where my head had been a millisecond before, I buried the knife to the hilt in the soft tissue under his chin.
The momentum carried me upward. I didn't just stab him; I used my entire body weight to drive the blade through the roof of his mouth and into his brain.
King Goper's body went rigid. The club fell from his lifeless fingers, thudding harmlessly into the dirt. His eyes rolled back, and for a moment, we stayed like that, a grotesque statue of a king and his killer.
Then, the weight of him collapsed. I tumbled back as his massive body hit the floor with a bone-shaking thud.
Silence smothered the cave. My chest heaved, every breath tasting like copper and dirt. Then, a familiar, cold chime echoed in my head, the sound of a world that only cared about results.
[You have killed Goblin Warrior – Lv. 5]
[Congratulations, you have reached Lv. 3]
[Congratulations, you have reached Lv. 4]
I lay there in the pool of the King's blood, staring at the glowing mushrooms on the ceiling. I was Level 4. My shoulder was screaming, and my arm was useless, but I was alive.
The "King" was dead.