The day had ended, and Slug and I found ourselves sleeping in the chief of the goblin camp's modest hut. The night had been quiet, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a nocturnal creature. I slept lightly, half-mindful of the new army we were building, half-dreaming of battles yet to come.
Morning arrived with a gentle warmth. Sunlight poured through the cracks in the hut's walls, illuminating the dust particles floating in the air. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, feeling the stiffness of sleep still clinging to my muscles. Slug was already awake, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings as if expecting trouble.
By the time I stepped outside, the goblins were already assembled. They stood in neat rows—ten lines of ten each—attention fixed and weapons at their sides. At the front stood the old chief, a goblin whose armor was worn but clean, and whose presence demanded respect.
He stepped forward and finally introduced himself. "I am Ez," he said, his voice steady, carrying the weight of years spent leading his people. There was an unspoken understanding in his tone: he had seen enough battles to know when someone was meant to lead, and he had decided I was that person.
We spoke for a while, exchanging words carefully, learning names and roles, listening to what each side had to offer. There was a mutual respect in the air, a fragile trust beginning to form.
After our conversation, Ez led me to the treasury of the camp. It was modest—a small, weathered hut tucked away at the back of the settlement. The scent of earth and old wood lingered inside. While it wasn't grand, it was clear the goblins had protected it fiercely; within lay their savings, supplies, and whatever valuables they had managed to gather over the years.
I looked around, taking it all in. It wasn't just a store of material wealth—it was a symbol of their survival, their hard work, and their willingness to follow me. And I knew, with a certainty that tightened my chest, that I would protect this camp as fiercely as they had protected it.
Inside the treasury, a sturdy wooden chest sat in the center, partially open to reveal its contents: 25 gold coins and 90 silver. Nearby lay a small pile of iron goblin armor—worn, but still serviceable. I ran the numbers in my head. With the cost of five silver per armor set, we could outfit everyone properly and still have some funds left for new weapons.
"What weapons does everyone use, Ez?" I asked, stepping closer to the old chief.
He furrowed his brow, tapping a clawed finger against his chin. "Let's see… twenty-five use spears, twenty-five use swords, and forty use bows," he replied finally, his voice thoughtful.
"And the last ten?" I pressed, curiosity creeping in.
Ez's gaze softened, a spark of pride lighting his eyes. "The last ten… they wield magic. Not everyone can handle it. Some fire spells, some illusions, some call upon elements. They're our most unpredictable, our most dangerous. But they're loyal, and they've survived the worst."
I nodded, considering this. Versatility could be a massive advantage. If trained properly, those ten could act as elite support units, turning the tide of battles with skillful spellwork while the rest of the army held the line.
Then I glanced at the rest of the supplies—scraps of iron, bundles of arrows, and a few makeshift shields. It wasn't much, but it was enough to start building a proper army. I smiled faintly. This was the beginning, the foundation of something far bigger than a small goblin camp.
"I want to upgrade everyone's armor and make sure each fighter has a weapon that suits them," I said. "We're going to train, hard. Every goblin here should be able to face any enemy and survive. The ten magic users… I'll personally make sure they learn to control their power efficiently. Can you handle that, Ez?"
Ez's eyes gleamed with respect and determination. "We'll do it, Amos. We'll make your army strong, and your magic users will be ready for anything."
I let that sink in. This wasn't just about surviving the wars of the Seven Kingdoms. This was about building something new, something that could change the balance of power entirely. And with that thought, I felt a flicker of excitement I hadn't felt since awakening my class.
Slug stood beside me, watching the interactions with quiet intensity, ready to act at a moment's notice.
"This is just the beginning," I muttered under my breath, eyes scanning the room and the gathered goblins beyond. "By the time we reach Grimrest, they won't even know what hit them."
I left the camp not long after, the sun blazing overhead as heat shimmered along the dirt road. Slug followed a few steps behind me, silent but alert, his eyes twitching faintly as he scanned our surroundings.
We hadn't gone far—maybe a quarter of the way to town—when something ahead caught my eye.
A carriage stood in the middle of the road, stopped at an unnatural angle. One wheel was cracked. The horses were gone.
Five men lingered around it, pretending to look casual, but their hands hovered too close to their weapons.
Bandits.
The moment they noticed us, all five turned.
The man closest to us stepped forward, his lips curling into a sneer. "Mind your own business, you fool."
He drew a knife and slashed the air in front of him, the blade catching the sunlight. A threat. A warning.
I didn't slow down.
Slug glanced at me, then down at the ground.
A beetle crawled across the dirt near his foot—thick-shelled, black, its back ridged like layered armor.
Slug bent mid-stride and crushed it in his palm.
The insect dissolved instantly, dark energy flowing into his skin.
I felt it before I saw it.
Slug's forearms thickened, his skin hardening and darkening into a glossy, chitin-like sheen. Jagged ridges formed along his arms, and his fingers sharpened into hooked claws.
"Carapace beetle," he muttered. "Defense and strength."
Then he smiled.
We charged.
Slug moved like a battering ram. The first bandit barely raised his sword before Slug slammed into him, armored forearm crashing into the man's chest. I heard ribs snap as he was thrown backward into the carriage hard enough to splinter wood.
I went for the knife-wielder.
He swung wildly, fear replacing arrogance. I stepped inside his reach and drove my katar into his side, twisting as blood spilled down my wrist.
Another bandit rushed Slug from behind.
Bad choice.
The man's blade bounced uselessly off Slug's hardened skin with a metallic screech. Slug turned and grabbed him by the head, claws digging in.
Crunch.
The body dropped.
The remaining two hesitated.
I felt the pull of my class and let blood reinforcement surge through my legs.
–5 HP–
Pain flared, but my speed doubled. I slashed one across the throat before he could react.
The last man tried to run.
Slug bent low and leapt.
He crossed the distance in a single bound and slammed the man into the dirt, his armored knee pinning him down. One sharp strike ended it.
Silence returned to the road.
Slug straightened, his beetle armor slowly cracking and flaking away as the absorbed power faded. He looked at his hands, flexing them once.
"Insect abilities don't last long," he said calmly. "But they're enough."
I wiped blood from my katars, staring at the bodies scattered around us.
"They were slavers," Slug added, nodding toward the carriage. "Or bandits pretending to be."
I looked at the broken wheel, the empty harnesses.
"Either way," I said, turning back toward the road, "they chose the wrong target."
As we continued toward town, one thought lingered in my mind.
Slug wasn't just strong.
He was adaptable.
And together, that made us dangerous.