*One beatdown later*
When the ear-missing goblin's face slammed into the ground, the muffled thud sounded like a wet lump of mud hitting a stone slab.
Kurzadh didn't let go. Clenching its sparse tuft of green hair, he pressed its head into the ground again—blood mixed with mud plastered its face, its nose was crooked, its once-slanted eyes were now half-open, and a soft, gurgling "ho-ho" sound escaped its throat. All the viciousness it had shown moments ago was gone.
The five goblins nearby immediately froze.
They stood rigid, claws suspended mid-air, staring at the whimpering ear-missing goblin by Kurzadh's feet. Then they looked at the wound still seeping blood on Kurzadh's arm—a fresh scratch that was deep enough to show bone.
Yet, the man didn't even flinch. Instead, he gripped the ear-missing goblin's hair and pressed down with deadly force. That sheer ruthlessness was more terrifying than any starved wolf in the forest.
"What are you looking at?!" Kurzadh cursed inwardly, though all he could utter was a low, "hissing" growl.
He raised a claw, pointed at the ear-missing goblin, and then pointed to the ground. The message was unmistakable: either submit like this one, or continue the fight.
In the world of Green-Skins, there was no tradition of "hesitating" for long.
With their leader beaten to such a state, the remaining goblins had lost their nerve. Under Kurzadh's fierce glare, the last vestiges of their hunger-driven aggression instantly vanished.
The goblin on the far edge, missing a finger, moved first. It backed up slightly, then flopped onto the ground with a "thud," burying its head in the mud and sticking its rear end high in the air, shaking it vigorously—this was the most blatant posture of submission among Green-Skins, signifying, "Boss, I yield, don't hit me."
The first one was quickly followed by the others.
The remaining four goblins also dropped, each burying their head tightly, not even daring to sneak a look.
Only then did Kurzadh finally let go.
He retreated two steps and slumped onto the dry grass, feeling as if all the strength had been sucked out of him. The wounds on his arms and legs were throbbing. He had held back any sound of pain earlier, but now that he relaxed, his vision started to swim.
Scarface quickly darted out from the corner. It first rushed to Kurzadh's side, cautiously touching the wound on his arm, then it "squeaked" and bared its teeth at the goblins lying on the ground—its back was perfectly straight now, giving it the air of a "second-in-command."
Kurzadh patted Scarface's head, signaling it to calm down.
He looked at the seven goblins on the ground—Scarface made exactly seven—and felt no sense of victory, only a heavier heart.
He had subdued them, yes, but all seven were starved wretches; their stomachs were so concave their ribs were visible, and their eyes were still glued to the cave entrance. Clearly, they hadn't moved past the thought of "finding something to eat."
He was hungry himself.
Since arriving in this world, he hadn't touched a morsel of food, and the recent fight had left his stomach hollow, causing waves of faintness.
He couldn't lead this band of famished creatures to wait for death in the cave; they needed to find food.
Kurzadh braced himself to stand, walked to the cave entrance, and pushed aside the vines to look outside.
The day was still bright, the mist had cleared slightly, and he could see a small creek nearby. The water flowed gently, the reflections shimmering.
His eyes suddenly lit up—there were fish in the water!
In his previous life, he had lived in the countryside for a few years, joining the village elders to fish in the river, and he knew there would definitely be something in the creek at this time of year.
Furthermore, he knew skills like weaving fishing nets and making fire by friction. Although his hands were a bit clumsy now, it was certainly better than letting this group of goblins stumble around blindly.
He turned back into the cave, pointed outside, and made a "let's go" gesture.
The goblins who had been lying down looked confused, but Scarface was quick to react, immediately "squeaking" as it stood up and followed Kurzadh out.
The others also scrambled up, following close behind, though they dared not get too near, trailing Scarface like a crooked string of green beads.
Upon reaching the creek, Kurzadh first squatted down and drank a couple of mouthfuls of water.
The water was quite cool and had a slight earthy smell, but it was far preferable to the musty odor of the cave.
He wiped his mouth and pointed to the dense hemp grass growing by the creek—this type of grass had wide leaves and sturdy stalks, making it perfect for weaving rope.
He pulled out a handful of the hemp grass and demonstrated while squatting on the ground.
He gripped the grass stalks in his left hand, using his right to twist several strands in one direction. Once twisted sufficiently, he reversed the motion to add new grass. His movements were slow but deliberate.
In his previous life, he had helped his family weave straw ropes to bundle firewood, and the skill remained with him.
Scarface came closer and watched for a while, then imitated him, pulling out a handful of hemp grass and clumsily twisting it.
Its claws were nimble, but it lacked technique. The strands kept unraveling, causing it to "squeak" in frustration.
Kurzadh ignored it and continued weaving—Green-Skins learn through imitation; if they watched long enough, they would naturally figure it out.
Sure enough, the other goblins followed suit and started pulling grass.
Some copied Kurzadh's twisting motion, while others mimicked Scarface's random rubbing. After some time, one ear-missing goblin (not the previous leader) actually managed to weave a short, crooked segment of grass rope. Though loose and flimsy, it held together.
Kurzadh nodded and handed over the finished grass rope he had made.
The ear-missing goblin quickly took it, learned how to add new grass by copying him, and its weaving steadily improved.
Seeing this, the remaining goblins followed suit, and before long, several segments of grass rope were piled up by the creek. Although they varied in length and thickness, they were just about enough to weave a fishing net.
Next came finding sticks.
Kurzadh pointed to the nearby low bushes, signaling them to collect sticks about the thickness of a wrist and of similar length.
This time, no teaching was necessary. The goblins quickly scurried into the bushes and soon dragged back a pile of sticks. Some still had leaves, which Kurzadh stripped off with his claws.
He selected four sticks of similar length, arranged them in a square shape (like the character well), and tightly bound the intersections with grass rope—this formed the frame for the fishing net.
He then tied all the short grass ropes together into one long strand, which he wrapped around the square frame, tying knots at intervals to create diamond-shaped mesh openings.
This task was time-consuming.
Kurzadh's hands ached from the weaving, and the grass stalks had rubbed blood blisters onto his claws, but he couldn't afford to stop.
The goblins squatted nearby watching, their eyes wide and round. Scarface, in particular, was quite nimble, handing him grass rope one moment and steadying the sticks the next.
The sun slowly began to set in the west, and as the sky started to darken, three crude fishing nets were finally complete.
The mesh holes were inconsistent in size, and the grass rope was loose in places, but when lowered into the water, they could at least scoop up something.
Kurzadh instructed Scarface and two other goblins to each take a net. They went to the shallow part of the creek, pressed the nets into the water, held the sticks on both sides, and waited for fish to swim in.
He himself did not remain idle.
Since night was approaching and it would surely be cold, he needed to make a fire.
He instructed the remaining four goblins to gather firewood—dead branches and fallen leaves were acceptable, the more the better.
The goblins took their assignment and immediately scattered, returning shortly with a pile of firewood, which they stacked on the cleared ground by the creek.
Next was starting a fire by friction.
Kurzadh found a piece of dry softwood, dug a small depression in it with his claw, and then found a straight piece of hardwood.
He knelt on the ground, inserted the hardwood stick into the depression in the softwood, pressed down on the top of the stick with both hands, and rubbed it back and forth.
"Squeak—squeak—" The stick grated against the softwood, producing a harsh sound.
But after rubbing for a long time, aside from grinding out some wood shavings, there wasn't a single spark.
Cold sweat beaded on Kurzadh's forehead, not from exhaustion, but from anxiety—he remembered the village elders saying that friction fire required speed and dry leaves for kindling.
He sent Scarface to collect some dry birch bark and fine leaves, piling them next to the softwood.
Then he took a deep breath and increased the speed of the rubbing.
His hands ached so much he could barely grip the stick, and his claws were rubbed raw, but he dared not stop—if he couldn't get a fire going, and the mountain beasts came at night, this group of goblins wouldn't have any means of resistance.
The goblins nearby were growing frantic, circling and "squeaking." Some even tried to reach out and help, but Kurzadh stopped them with a look—this particular task was easier done alone.
After rubbing for what felt like an eternity, just as Kurzadh was about to collapse, a tiny spark suddenly appeared in the wood shavings in the softwood depression!
"It's done!" Kurzadh cheered internally. He quickly stopped, carefully scraped the spark onto the birch bark, and gently blew on it with his mouth.
His current mouth couldn't generate much air, so he could only fan it slowly, his cheeks reddening with effort.
The spark grew larger, and with a soft "poof," the birch bark ignited, producing a small flame.
Kurzadh quickly placed the burning birch bark into the firewood pile and added a few thin, dry twigs on top.
The flame "crackled" a couple of times, slowly crept upward, licking at the dry branches, and soon a small fire was blazing.
A wave of warm heat washed over them, instantly driving away the damp chill.
Kurzadh sat beside the fire, watching the dancing flames, and let out a long sigh of relief. Only after relaxing did he feel the pain in every bone in his body, yet his heart was finally at ease.
The goblins beside him, meanwhile, were completely dumbfounded.
They stared wide-eyed at the fire, then back at Kurzadh, their mouths gaping.
Scarface cautiously stretched out a claw, tried to touch the flame, and quickly withdrew it, having been burned. Yet, it wasn't afraid. Instead, it "squeaked" and jumped up, circling the fire excitedly.
The other goblins also grew excited.
Some clapped their claws, some ran around the fire, and one even mimicked Kurzadh by adding a small twig to the flames. After doing so, it looked back at Kurzadh, its eyes shining—a light of pure adoration.
In their eyes, fire was something truly miraculous. When they had followed the Great Beastmen before, only the shaman could produce fire, and they had to chant incomprehensible spells for ages.
But their new boss, without chanting a single spell, simply rubbed two broken pieces of wood together and brought forth fire. He was even more powerful than a shaman!
The goblins grew more excited the more they thought about it. They ran to Kurzadh's side and adopted the previous posture of submission, lying on the ground and vigorously shaking their heads. Only this time, it was no longer out of fear, but willing allegiance.
Kurzadh watched this group of goblins dancing excitedly around the fire, then looked toward the creek where Scarface was walking back, hefting a fishing net—the net in Scarface's hand was heavy, clearly indicating a catch—and suddenly felt that life as a Green-Skin might not be so miserable after all.
At least now, he had seven minions, he had fire, and he had fish that would soon be dinner.
The fire crackled, casting a red glow onto the faces of the little Green-Skins.
The sky was completely dark. A few unknown beast roars echoed in the forest, but the goblins weren't scared at all. They huddled close to Kurzadh, warming themselves by the fire, their eyes sparkling—with the boss and the fire present, it seemed there was nothing left to fear.
Kurzadh added a piece of wood to the fire, watched the dancing flames, and cracked a small smile.
Although he was still in this short, ugly form, and still stuck in this perilous forest, he knew that he could survive anywhere, and even thrive better than anyone else.
After all, he was the man who had hustled his way from the streets to nearly launching a legitimate business. What was this little situation compared to that?