The throne is cold. I sit on the looted caravan crates, Grishnak's great axe resting at my feet. The cavern is silent. A fearful silence.
After killing Grishnak, I returned to the cave. I did not enter stealthily. I walked in through the main entrance, the Hobgoblin's blood still fresh on my dagger. The two sentries saw me, their eyes widening in horror. They did not attack. They dropped their spears and fled into the night.
The news of their king's death spread through the nest like wildfire. When I arrived in the great cavern, the dozens of goblins did not charge. They backed away. They prostrated themselves.
In their primitive culture, the logic is simple and brutal: whoever kills the king becomes the king.
And so here I am, Reinhardt Valdios, seventeen years old, former slave, Steel-ranked adventurer, and now, the unlikely king of a goblin tribe. The situation is so absurd I want to laugh, but the weight of exhaustion and the night's violence stifles any hilarity.
I am not interested in the throne. I am interested in the inheritance.
I stand up and begin to explore the cavern, under the fearful gazes of my new "subjects." They part for me, making themselves small.
The loot from their raids is piled in a corner. There are sacks of grain, barrels of wine, soiled silk fabrics, and chests filled with worthless trinkets and a few coins. I find about fifty silver pieces and a handful of gold. It is a considerable sum, but the true reward of this night is not monetary.
My self-appointed quest was to eradicate the threat. The chief is dead. The threat is decapitated. But the tribe is still here. If I leave, they will find a new, perhaps even worse, leader, and the raids will resume. I must dismantle the nest.
I turn to the group of goblins. There are a hundred of them, maybe more. To kill them all would be a massacre, a waste of time and energy. And a part of me, the part that was crushed for so long, recoils at the thought of inflicting such violence on creatures who are only following the strongest.
I must use my new status.
I return to the throne and strike the floor with the pommel of my dagger. The sharp sound gets their attention.
"Grishnak is dead!" My voice echoes in the cavern. "This territory is no longer yours. Take what you can carry and leave. Scatter. Return to the mountains. Never gather again. The next time I hear of a goblin tribe in these hills, I will return. And I will leave no survivors."
It is a bluff, but a bluff backed by the aura of the one who killed their chief.
They hesitate, looking at each other. Then, one of the goblins, clearly older and smarter, bows deeply. "As the Great Slayer wills," he says in broken Common.
That is the signal. An organized panic begins. They throw themselves at the supplies, each trying to grab a piece of meat or a sack of grain. Within minutes, they begin to leave the cavern in small groups, melting into the night. They will no longer be a unified threat. They will go back to being what they were: small, isolated pests.
The problem is solved. The quest is complete.
I remain alone in the empty cavern. The silence is now one of abandonment. I am exhausted. I sit on the throne again and take a moment to take stock.
Name: Reinhardt Valdios
Level: 7
Experience: 155/1000
Status: Fatigued
HP: 75/75
MP: 35/35
Skills (Active):
Devour (Lvl. 1)
Analyze (Lvl. 1)
Precise Strike (Lvl. 1)
Berserker Charge (Lvl. 1): Temporarily increases your Strength and Speed by 20%, but decreases your Defense by 10%. Cost: 10 MP. Duration: 1 minute.
I examine my new skill. Berserker Charge. It is a double-edged sword, a burst of power at the cost of my defense. Combined with my agility and stealth, it could allow me to end fights before they even begin.
I spend the rest of the night in the cavern, resting. It is the safest place in the region now. No monster will dare approach a place imbued with the smell of a Hobgoblin's death.
The next morning, I do a final inventory. I take the gold and silver. I fill my satchel with supplies. And then there is Grishnak's axe. It is too big, too heavy for me to use. But it is a masterwork weapon, despite its brutish appearance. It must be worth a fortune. And it is the proof of my victory.
Strapping it to my back is an ordeal, but I manage. I look like an ant carrying a leaf ten times its size.
I leave the hill, leaving behind an empty cavern and a silent throne.
The journey back to Kryndal is slow, weighed down by the axe and exhaustion. When I finally arrive at the city gates two days later, I am a sight to behold. Covered in dust, with dried blood on my armor, and with that monstrous axe on my back. The guards at the gate stare at me as if I were an apparition.
I do not stop. I go straight to the Guild.
The hall is half-full. When I enter, conversations die down. All eyes turn to me, then to the axe. They recognize it. Descriptions of Grishnak's weapon must have circulated among the groups preparing for the expedition.
I walk to the counter, ignoring the whispers and stunned looks. Lena is there. When she sees me, her jaw literally drops for a second before she resumes her stoic expression. But I see the disbelief in her eyes.
I unstrap the axe from my back and place it on the counter. The heavy, dull thud echoes through the hall.
"The threat in the Howling Hills has been eradicated," I say in a calm voice. "The chief is dead. The tribe is scattered. I've come to claim the bounty."
The silence in the Guild is total. You could hear a copper piece drop.
Lena looks at the axe, then at me. She asks no questions. The proof is there, undeniable. She pulls out a ledger, writes a few lines, then goes to a safe behind the counter.
She returns with a heavy purse. "The bounty from the Merchant's Guild. Fifty gold pieces."
Fifty gold pieces. It is a life-changing sum.
She then takes my Steel-rank plate. She places it on the magical anvil. This time, the light that envelops it is brighter, a bronze color.
"For completing a higher-ranked quest alone and eliminating a major threat to the region, by the authority of the Guild Master, I promote you to the rank of Bronze."
She hands my plate back to me. The sword symbol is now bronze-colored, and a second, crossed sword has been added.
I am a Bronze-ranked adventurer.
I take the purse and my plate. I have what I came for. But as I turn to leave, an adventurer, a massive man in plate armor who must be Silver-ranked, blocks my path.
"Hold on a minute, kid," he says, his voice a low rumble. "You can't just walk in here, throw an axe on the counter, and walk out like nothing happened. Nobody kills a Hobgoblin of that caliber alone. Tell us the truth. Who helped you? Where's the rest of your team?"
The hall hangs on my every word. It is a challenge. He is questioning my achievement. He is questioning my honor.
I look him in the eyes, my face expressionless.
"What team?" I ask. "I was alone."
I walk around him and leave the Guild, leaving behind a hall filled with doubt, jealousy, and a new, fearful respect.
My name, Reinhardt, is just beginning to be whispered in the shadows of Kryndal. But it is no longer the name of a victim.
It is the name of a monster.