From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties! Chapter 134: Evolve Or Die!

Byung’s resolve hardened in the suffocating void of his mind, the warped hall closing in like a living tomb. The Goblin King’s colossal sword lood above, its descent a harbinger of finality, the air shrieking as it cleaved downward. Ti seed to stretch, each heartbeat a thunderous echo in his ears—fading, faltering, with only four minutes until his heart stopped beating. But in that mont of despair, sothing ignited within him: the core of his half-blood mutation, that enigmatic fusion of human and goblin biology, stirred like a dormant awakening. It wasn’t a deliberate choice; it was instinctual, a survival chanism etched into his very essence. The mutation, sensing he was on the brink of annihilation—the bleeding brain, the failing organs, the encroaching death—initiated an upgrade. A radical reconfiguration.

The process began as a faint hum in his veins, building to a crescendo of searing heat that radiated from his core. It wasn’t painful; it was purifying, a forge’s fire tempering flawed steel into sothing unbreakable. Every affliction he suffered suddenly vanished.

The blood pouring from his eyes—thick, viscous streams that had blinded him monts ago—evaporated in an instant.

The vise-like pressure in his skull released with an audible pop in his ears, the internal hemorrhage knitting itself shut as if ti had reversed. His lungs expanded freely, the toxic air now breathable, invigorating even, filling him with a vitality that chased away the choking decay.

The searing pain that had splintered his nerves faded to nothingness, replaced by a euphoric rush, as if his body had been reborn.

But this wasn’t the only change; his form began to shift, bones lengthening with a series of subtle cracks, muscles reorganizing beneath his skin in a symphony of transformation. He grew slightly taller, his stature stretching to 3 feet 11 inches—a height that towered over the average goblin’s hunched 3-foot fra. The grotesque appearance that had defined him—the wrinkled, leathery skin, the bulbous nose, the jagged fangs—shed away like a serpent’s old skin. Layers of ugliness sloughed off in ethereal flakes that dissolved into the air, revealing smoother, more refined features beneath. His green-tinged epidermis softened to a vibrant, even hue, free of the warts and blemishes that marked his kin. His posture straightened naturally, shoulders broadening slightly, limbs proportioned with a symtry that evoked grace rather than grotesquery.

If anything, he now resembled a human child—perhaps eight years old in appearance—with wide, inquisitive eyes and a youthful face, albeit retaining subtle goblin traits: pointed ears that tapered elegantly, sharp canines that hinted at ferocity without overwhelming his features. He had transcended the goblin archetype, evolving into a hybrid paragon, taller and more commanding than his kin, his presence now radiating an innate authority.

The Goblin King recoiled, his erald eyes—flecked with gold—widening in unfeigned shock, the regal composure shattering like fragile glass. Confusion etched deep lines into his scarred visage, his crown of twisted iron and fangs tilting as he staggered back a step.

"This... this cannot be," He stamred, his resonant voice cracking for the first ti, laced with disbelief and a hint of fear. No goblin in the annals of their kind had undergone such a transformation.

Byung’s golden eyes—now gleaming with an otherworldly luminescence—narrowed, piercing through the king’s facade. There was no hint of fear in him now; he understood what this was—a test, perhaps by the system itself.

Was this entity opposing him because of this specific skill he possessed—the half-mutation? This was a possibility, a glitch in the hybrid frawork viewing his evolution as a threat to equilibrium.

"You’re not what you claim," Byung accused, his voice steady, laced with accusation.

"If you’re the system, why sabotage your own vessel?" Byung knew it was impossible for this to be the goblin king.

Power coursed through his veins, a torrent of strength that made his limbs vibrate with untapped might, every cell alight with an electric vitality that banished weakness.

He felt stronger than ever, as if the mutation had unlocked reservoirs of potential he hadn’t known existed. He felt invincible, the upgrade not just nding him but elevating him beyond goblin limits. This was no longer the Goblin King’s domain; it had beco his. The runes on the floor pulsed in sync with his heartbeat, the shadows retreating as if in deference.

The king’s sword—the legendary blade forged by dwarven hands—slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground with a resonant thud, as if it had suddenly weighed a ton, embedding itself hilt-deep in the stone as if gravity had intensified tenfold. The king lunged for it, his armored fingers scrabbling at the hilt, but it refused to budge, anchored by an invisible force. Surprise creased his face.

Byung raised his hand, palm outward, and the sword obeyed instantly, propelled toward him telepathically. It flew into his palm, the hilt fitting perfectly, as if crafted for him.

The runes along its edge ignited with brilliant light, amplifying his will, turning his newfound strength into dominion. He was worthy—the blade’s ancient magic, designed for a true unifier, recognized him as such, bonding irrevocably.

"Kneel," Byung commanded, his voice booming with authority that shook the foundations of the hall. The king resisted for a heartbeat, his body quaking, but the shifted domain overwheld him; he dropped to one knee, then both, bowing his head in submission, fangs gritted in humiliated defeat.

The system was forcing him to evolve, Byung realized, because he teetered on the brink of death in the real world—the pumling from Kraghul, the internal bleeding, the exhaustion. This whole thing was the system’s way of forcing an evolution because he was on the brink of death, a trial by fire.

The mont he claid the sword, everything dispelled—the hall fracturing into luminous shards that cascaded like falling stars, the king’s form unravelling into swirling shadows that dissipated into nothingness. The afflictions, the twisted environnt, the oppressive air—all vanished, leaving Byung in a void of pure, radiant light. He had no idea what this ant—the king’s opposition, the sword’s allegiance, the evolution’s implications. It would take more than this to wake him ; his body was beyond repair after all.

"None of this was real," Byung muttered under his breath with a smirk but his new form brought him imnse satisfaction.

"Ti to wake up," Byung knew whatever happened here must be happening with his real body.