The sun slowly dipped below the horizon, casting long, blood-red shadows over the settlement as the hunting party led by Korgath emerged from the thick mists of the marshes. Their return was anything but quiet - wounded goblins groaned in agony, while the survivors dragged heavy, slime-dripping hides of the Hydras behind them. Of the thirty adult goblins that had set out that morning, twenty-two returned. Eight had remained in the bellies of beasts or drowned in the muck.
The village they entered was a picture of primitive yet remarkably organized life. Contrary to common myths, goblins didn't just fight. Most of the inhabitants - women, the elderly, and weaker individuals - bustled around fields of underground tubers and pens holding fat, hairless cave-pigs.
The sight was fascinating.
Small groups of goblins crouched by the riverbanks, rinsing the roots of edible ferns. Rows of enormous, venomous insects dried on moss-covered roofs, a local delicacy once desiccated. At the center, a gargantuan bonfire burned, supporting a cauldron full of thick, brown mush.
In the very heart of the village, on a throne molded from dried mud and deer skulls, sat Chief Graaz. He was an old, wrinkled goblin with one ear, his skin resembling cracked tree bark. While Graaz wouldn't win any academic awards, he possessed "rat-wisdom" - he knew how to survive in a world that wanted to eat him.
When Korgath tossed the bloodied head of a Hydra before him, Graaz did not smile. He looked at the thinned ranks of his hunters and stood, brandishing his bone staff.
"Again?!" Graaz rasped, his voice carrying through the village. "Eight sons of this village did not return for supper! Korgath, you great fool! Hydras do not run away, and Hydra meat is bitter! Why risk the lives of my people for this green trash you haul?"
Korgath spat at the chief's feet, his Hero's eyes burning with disdain. "Their death is the price of progress, old man. We brought hides that will reinforce our armor. Hydra teeth are arrowheads that no bark can break. Your people died because they were weak."
"Weak?!" Graaz struck the ground with his staff. "'Weak' is what they'll be when they're dead! Who will tilled the earth for tubers? Who will guard the pigs when all the young bleed out in the marshes for your whims? We have lived here for generations because we know when to run, but you look for trouble! The forest sees us, Korgath. The forest will remember!"
The other four heroes - Skitter, Vrak, Grul, and Mila - stood in the back, exchanging bored glances. To them, this argument was a waste of time. They looked at Graaz like a bug in the game's code, a redundant piece of the landscape.
"Listen, Gramps," Grul spoke up, clenching his stone-like fists. "We don't care about your tubers or your stinking pigs. We want power. In four days, we move on the Demon King's territory, and we'll take enough gold to pave this entire shithole of a village."
A single thought burned in the Heroes' eyes: escape. They hated the stench of goblin waste; they hated sleeping on wet straw and eating grubs. Every monster slain, every drop of sweat was merely a step on the stairs leading away from this disgusting place. They wanted to become strong enough to leave Graaz and his primitive farming in the dust of history.
Graaz looked at them with sadness and fear. He knew these five were no longer "his" people. He felt an alien, cold aura emanating from them - one that didn't care for the tribe's survival, only its own glory.
"Go then," the chief muttered, sitting back on his mud throne. "Go and die for your gold. But if the forest devours you, do not return to my pens to beg for tubers."
Korgath only laughed, turning his back on the chief. "In four days, Graaz... in four days, you'll see who the real god here is," he whispered, not looking back.
The village plunged into the darkness of night, the only sound the rhythmic scraping of the Heroes sharpening their weapons, drowning out the peaceful grunting of the pigs.
***
Three more days of intensive hunting passed. When Korgath's squad emerged from the thicket, an unnatural silence fell over the village, which moments later erupted into a joyful cacophony. This time, everyone returned. Not a single goblin had died, and their sacks were bulging with rare materials and meat. Chief Graaz let out a sigh of relief so profound he slumped onto his mud throne, wiping sweat from his brow.
Korgath walked past him, casting only a contemptuous, ironic glance. "See, old man? They've learned to run faster than Hydras can bite. Maybe they'll be useful for something after all," he tossed over his shoulder before leaping onto a high, flat boulder used for gutting game, making sure everyone could see him.
The Hero waited for hundreds of yellow eyes to focus on him. He knew the time for diplomacy was over. Tomorrow, the Demon Kings' safety period would end, and that would be the moment for the Heroes to shine.
"Listen up, you green-skins!" he roared, his voice amplified by his stats, silencing the entire settlement. "You sit in this mud, afraid of every rustle in the woods! You fear the 'Great Beings' from the depths of the valley as if they were gods! But do you know what they are? They are fat usurpers sitting on piles of food and baubles while you eat roots!"
the dim-witted goblins began to murmur, tilting their heads. Korgath didn't use complex terms like "Demon King" or "Hero," as they would be completely incomprehensible to these creatures. He spoke in images that hit their primitive stomachs.
"That being that moved into the Ruins... it's just a big, fat cave-pig guarding the biggest trough in this valley!" he continued with passion. "Do you want to keep rotting here, or do you want to come with me, rip open that pig's belly, and bathe in its riches? Do you want to be masters of the forest, or its dinner?!"
Hearing this, Graaz turned so pale his skin became almost grey. Terrified, he ran to the boulder and grabbed Korgath's leg, trying to pull him down. "Have you lost your mind?!" the old chief shrieked. "You are challenging fate! Those powerful beings will crush us! For generations, we have stayed away from the depths of the Valley of Darkness - death lives there! You mustn't..."
Korgath didn't let him finish. With a single, careless shove charged with superhuman strength, he pushed the old man away. Graaz flew through the air like a rag doll, his back hitting the trunk of an old tree with a dull thud. A group of elder goblins immediately rushed to him, squealing in terror.
Korgath looked at the crowd, expecting a mutiny. But in this world, morality did not exist. Only Strength mattered.
Instead of outrage, he saw in their eyes pure, primal fear mixed with boundless admiration. Before their very eyes, one of their own had humiliated the chief who had ruled them for years, and he had done it without the slightest effort.
"Look at him!" Korgath pointed a finger at the moaning Graaz, who writhed in the mud under the tree. "He is weak! Weakness in this forest is a death sentence! He wants you to tremble at every shadow for the rest of your lives and settle for the scraps the larger predators leave behind!"
Korgath leaned down low, sweeping the goblin crowd with a wild, feverish gaze. He knew exactly which strings to pull. He struck his broad chest with his fist, the sound hollow and powerful like a drumbeat.
"For generations, other races have spat on us!" he bellowed, his voice vibrating with a hatred that stirred the goblins' dormant instincts. "They thought we were just fodder! They thought a goblin only knew how to run and hide in holes! But look at us now!" He gestured to the four companions standing behind him. "We do not run! We take what we want! We killed the Hydras your fathers shat themselves over!"
He paused, letting the words sink into their primitive minds. He saw their small, yellow eyes begin to gleam with a new, dangerous light.
"There, in the Valley of Darkness, are beings who think themselves masters of this valley. They sleep on golden beds, eat the finest meat, and think no one dares raise a hand against them. They think we are just worms beneath their feet!" Korgath laughed throatily, a sound full of cruelty. "Imagine it... You, the despised and mocked, entering there as masters. Imagine your knives slicing the throats of beings who thought themselves powerful. Imagine the juices of their best fruits dripping down your chins while you sleep in their soft nests!"
A fever took hold of the goblins. The imagination of these simple beings, usually limited to surviving the next night, suddenly rocketed toward visions of power. They saw themselves not as fleeing rats, but as a wolf pack lunging for a lion's throat. They saw themselves trampling other races, their small feet standing on the heads of defeated enemies. A hunger ignited in their eyes - not just for food, but for a dominance they had never known.
"We are Strength!" Korgath screamed, raising his club toward the sky. "With us, you won't just be goblins from a muddy village anymore. You will be the kings of this valley! Every beast, every 'great being' will cower before your roar! Whoever wants to eat roots with Graaz, stay in the mud! Whoever wants blood and gold - follow me!"
"The valley will be ours!" howled one of the younger goblins, and a moment later, the entire village answered with a roaring, raspy echo. The sound of hundreds of spears clashing and fists thumping chests carried for miles through the black woods, haring the coming slaughter.
Korgath smiled predatorily. He knew he had just created an army of stupid, green fanatics.
Chief Graaz clutched his aching back, his single ear twitching convulsively as he watched the madness possessing his people. Beside him, three elder goblins - equally wrinkled and life-hardened - crouched in the shadows, their yellow eyes reflecting the bonfire's glow with expressions of the deepest despair.
Unlike the young, they knew their place in the world's hierarchy. They knew that a goblin was a creature made to live in the cracks of reality. Their strength did not lie in open war, but in being unnoticed, in eating what others despised, and in surviving where the powerful bled out in fights over pride. To them, the world was a vast, hungry maw, and the only way not to vanish within it was to stay far from its teeth.
Graaz closed his eyes, a heavy, wheezing sigh escaping his chest. "It is too late..." he rasped, his voice echoing the resignation of someone watching an approaching avalanche with nowhere to run. "That madman has poured poison into their heads. He gave them dreams, and a goblin with dreams is a dead goblin."
He looked at the elders beside him. One of them, an old stooping shaman named Droog, shook his head as he watched the cheering crowd. "Korgath does not understand," Droog whispered. "Those beings living in the Valley of Darkness... they are not pigs to be carved. They are predators waiting for the prey to come to their doorstep."
Graaz straightened with difficulty, ignoring the pain in his spine. His gaze rested on the goblin women, who were fearfully clutching squealing young to themselves on the edges of the plaza. "Let us at least try to pull the women and children away from this madness," the chief muttered to his advisors. "If he takes everyone capable of fighting, our village will cease to exist before winter sets in. There will be no one to hunt, no one to defend the pens from wild wolves."
In Graaz's mind, a terrifying image appeared: a deserted settlement, burned huts, and the skeletons of his people whitening in the sun, all because one goblin decided to challenge destiny. He saw the slaughter that would follow when these naive warriors struck the territory of a powerful being, and he knew the blood that would flow there would belong to his sons.
"If Korgath dies, he takes our future with him," Graaz whispered, looking at the Hero's proud silhouette on the rock. "We are only goblins... why does he want to force us to play at being dragons?"
While the village roared with war cries, the chief and the elders began to quietly withdraw, desperately trying to save at least the remnants of the tribe before the suicidal march toward the Valley of Darkness that was to take place tomorrow.