Grix woke to screaming.
Not unusual in the goblin tribe—fights broke out constantly, goblins killed each other over food, mates, or simple boredom. But this screaming was different. Panicked. Terrified.
He pushed himself up from the pile of sleeping younglings and scrambled toward the cave entrance. Dawn light filtered through, painting everything in shades of gray and orange.
"Adventurers! Adventurers come!" a goblin scout shrieked, stumbling into the cave with an arrow protruding from his shoulder.
The word sent the tribe into chaos.
Adventurers meant death. Not the quick death of internal tribe conflicts, but systematic extermination. Humans who came specifically to slaughter goblins for coin and experience. They were stronger, better equipped, and saw goblins as nothing more than vermin to be eliminated.
Gruk emerged from his personal chamber, already armed with a crude battle-axe. "How many?" he barked at the wounded scout.
"F-four, Chief! Two warriors, one mage, one archer!"
"Small party." Gruk grinned, showing his tusks. "We crush easy. Warriors, with me! Rest, guard cave!"
Twenty goblin warriors grabbed their weapons and rushed toward the entrance. Grix watched them go with cold calculation. A party of four adventurers against twenty goblins should be an easy fight for the tribe.
But Grix had read enough light novels to know better.
Four adventurers meant an organized party. They wouldn't attack a goblin tribe without preparation. They'd have potions, magic items, coordinated tactics. The goblins would fight with numbers and ferocity, but no strategy, no formation.
This is going to be a massacre. Just not the one Gruk expects.
Grix moved deeper into the cave, away from the main group. He needed to prepare. If the tribe fell—and he suspected it would—he needed insurance.
He found a shadowed alcove and closed his eyes, focusing on the thin thread of connection that still linked him to Rok's corpse in the disposal pit.
Wake up.
The connection flared to life. Through Rok's dead eyes, Grix could see the pit from a new angle. Bodies everywhere, the stench of decay, darkness broken only by dim light from phosphorescent fungi.
Come to me. Quietly.
The undead warrior rose smoothly from the pile of corpses and began moving through the cave tunnels with surprising stealth. Whatever combat instincts Rok possessed in life, death hadn't dulled them.
Outside, the sounds of battle began. War cries. Screams. The clang of metal on metal.
Grix waited, heart pounding, as Rok navigated the maze of tunnels. The undead warrior emerged from a side passage, his green-glowing eyes fixed on his master.
"Master commands?"
"Stay hidden. Protect me if enemies come. Kill anyone who tries to harm me—goblin or human. Understood?"
"Yes, Master."
Rok melted back into the shadows, becoming nearly invisible despite his size. Grix marveled at it—this was definitely more than a simple zombie. The warrior's skills had transferred into death.
What else can I do with necromancy? What are the limits?
The battle outside intensified. Through the cave entrance, Grix could see flashes of fire—the mage's magic. Goblins were screaming, dying. The acrid smell of burning flesh drifted into the cave.
Then the first retreat began.
Wounded goblins stumbled back into the cave, bleeding, burned, terrified. A warrior was missing an arm. Another had his face half-melted by acid. They collapsed just inside the entrance, groaning.
"Fall back! Fall back!" someone shouted.
More goblins poured in, a disorganized rout. Gruk was among them, his left shoulder sporting a deep sword wound that leaked dark blood.
"Defend cave entrance!" the hobgoblin chief roared. "Kill humans here!"
It was a decent tactical decision—force the adventurers to fight in the confined space where numbers mattered more. But Grix could see the fear in the goblins' eyes. They'd already lost.
Four figures appeared at the cave entrance, silhouetted against the morning sun.
The first was a tall man in plate armor, sword and shield ready. The tank. Next to him, a woman in lighter armor with twin daggers—the rogue. Behind them, a robed figure with a staff—the mage. And in the back, a young man with a bow—the archer.
They looked confident. Experienced. Like they'd done this a hundred times before.
"Standard goblin nest," the knight said calmly. "Mage, light it up. Archer, pick off any that run. Rogue, watch for ambushes."
"Got it, Kain," the mage replied, already chanting. Fire gathered at the tip of her staff.
Grix felt that cold tingle at the base of his skull—the death sense. Multiple goblins were about to die. A lot of them.
The mage released her spell.
A wave of flame roared into the cave, washing over the goblin defenders. Their screams were immediate and horrific. Flesh burned. Eyes melted. Goblins writhed in agony as the fire consumed them.
Gruk charged through the flames, his size and toughness allowing him to survive what killed the lesser goblins. He swung his axe at the knight with surprising speed.
Kain blocked easily with his shield, then countered with a sword thrust that punched through Gruk's chest.
The hobgoblin chief gasped, looking down at the blade protruding from his torso in disbelief. "How... strong..."
"You're just a mid-rank monster," Kain said coldly, twisting the blade. "Know your place."
He yanked the sword free and kicked Gruk's corpse aside.
The adventurers advanced into the cave, methodically killing any goblin they encountered. The younglings tried to scatter, but the rogue was fast, her daggers flashing in the dim light. Each strike was precise, lethal.
Grix pressed himself deeper into his alcove, making himself as small as possible. Through his connection with Rok, he could sense the undead warrior tensing, ready to strike if the adventurers came close.
Not yet. Let them pass. We're not strong enough.
The archer paused near Grix's hiding spot, nocking an arrow. For a terrifying moment, Grix thought he'd been spotted. But the young man was looking elsewhere, scanning the shadows.
"Clear here," the archer called out.
"Good. Let's check deeper. Sometimes they hide valuables in the back tunnels," the rogue said.
The party moved past, heading toward the disposal pit and storage areas. Grix waited, barely breathing, until their voices faded.
Then he moved.
Rok, follow me. Stay close.
The undead warrior emerged from the shadows and fell into step behind his master. Together they crept toward the cave entrance, stepping over burned and butchered goblin corpses.
Grix tried not to look at their faces. Some he'd known. His "mother" was among the dead, her body split nearly in half by the knight's sword. He felt... nothing. No grief. No anger. Just cold acceptance.
She never cared about me anyway.
They reached the entrance just as a sound came from behind—footsteps. The adventurers were returning.
"Wait, I saw something move!" the archer shouted.
Grix's blood turned to ice. He looked at the bright sunlight outside, then at Rok.
Can we make it?
An arrow whistled past his head, missing by inches.
"Goblin! There's one escaping!"
Decision time. Fight or flight.
Grix chose flight.
"Run!"
He bolted for the exit, his small legs pumping desperately. Rok followed, moving with surprising speed for a corpse. Another arrow flew, this one catching Rok in the back. The undead warrior didn't even slow down.
They burst into the sunlight. The forest was fifty yards away. If they could reach it—
"Fireball!"
Grix dove left on instinct. The explosion hit where he'd been standing, throwing dirt and rocks everywhere. He rolled, scrambled to his feet, kept running.
Rok was hit by the blast but remained upright, his body smoking. The undead warrior positioned himself between Grix and the cave, buying time.
"What the hell? That goblin's already dead!" the mage exclaimed.
"Necromancy?" Kain sounded surprised. "In a goblin?"
"Forget the zombie, kill the live one!" the rogue snapped.
Grix reached the tree line and plunged into the forest without looking back. Branches whipped his face, roots tried to trip him, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
Through his connection with Rok, he felt the undead warrior engaging the adventurers. Felt the sword strikes that hacked into dead flesh. Felt Rok's body being systematically destroyed as he bought his master precious seconds.
Then the connection severed as Rok's body was damaged beyond function.
Grix stumbled but kept running, tears streaming down his face. Not from grief for Rok—he barely knew the goblin in life—but from frustration, fear, and fury.
I was too weak. Too slow. Too unprepared.
He could hear pursuit behind him but didn't dare look back. His lungs burned. His legs screamed. His infant body wasn't made for this.
But he pushed harder, driven by pure survival instinct.
The sounds of pursuit faded. Either he'd lost them or they'd given up. Adventurers probably didn't think one goblin youngling was worth chasing through dangerous forest.
Grix finally collapsed against a tree, gasping for air. His whole body trembled. For the first time since his reincarnation, he truly felt the terror of mortality.
I almost died. Again.
He looked back toward where the cave should be, though he couldn't see it through the trees. His tribe was gone. Everyone he'd known for the past three months—dead or soon to be.
He was alone.
No. Not alone.
Grix closed his eyes and focused on his death sense. The forest was full of it—animals that had died, their corpses rotting in the undergrowth. Old bones. A deer carcass from a wolf kill.
And closer, much closer, something bigger.
He followed the sensation to a small clearing. There, half-buried under leaves, was the skeleton of what looked like a large wolf. Mostly intact, dead for maybe a month.
Not ideal, but it'll do.
Grix placed his hands on the skull. His mana reserves were dangerously low after maintaining Rok, but he had enough for one more raising.
Rise.
The dark energy flowed. The skeleton shuddered, then assembled itself, bones clicking together with supernatural precision. A wolf skeleton stood before him, hollow eye sockets glowing with faint green light.
It was weaker than Rok, less intelligent, but loyal and tireless. And most importantly, it wouldn't question orders.
"Guard me," Grix commanded.
The skeleton wolf positioned itself between him and the direction of the cave, ready to attack anything that approached.
Grix leaned back against the tree, exhausted but alive. The sun was climbing higher. He needed to find shelter, food, water. Needed to figure out his next move.
The tribe is gone. Gruk is dead. I'm a goblin alone in a forest full of things that want to kill me.
He should have been terrified. Should have been despairing.
Instead, Grix smiled.
But I'm also free. No one to hide my powers from. No one to hold me back.
He looked at his skeletal guardian, then at his small green hands.
This is my chance. My real beginning.
The adventurers had destroyed his tribe, but they'd also freed him from the limitations of goblin society. Now he could experiment openly. Could raise as many undead as his mana allowed. Could grow strong without fear of being discovered.
They wanted to exterminate the goblins. Fine. I'll show them what happens when you leave one alive.
Grix stood on shaky legs, determination replacing fear.
I'm weak now. But I won't be weak forever.
He touched the skeleton wolf's skull, feeling the connection between them.
This world made me a monster. So I'll become the monster they fear most.
The forest stretched before him—dangerous, unknown, full of death.
Perfect.