He let out a strangled growl and charged at , his bare feet slipping slightly on the frost-covered ground.
The sight might have been almost admirable if it weren’t so painfully naive.
Before he could even reach , I moved. A single, controlled kick to the chest—nothing more than a reflex—sent him flying backward.
He hit the tent wall with a dull thud and crumpled to the ground, groaning but alive.
For a mont, I thought that would be enough to stop the others. But it wasn’t.
Another youngling scrambled to his feet, face contorted in anger and fear, and rushed . Then another followed, shouting sothing incoherent.
It was chaos—raw, desperate defiance.
They didn’t stand a chance. Each movent was predictable, untrained. I sidestepped the first, my leg snapping out again in a restrained motion that sent him tumbling. The next one barely made it halfway before eting the sa fate.
One by one, they fell, landing in the dirt with pained gasps and broken courage.
I lowered my leg slowly, the tension in my body easing as I took in the rest of them.
None of the others moved. The fight, if it could even be called that, had already drained what little courage they had left.
Then I heard it—a step from behind , deliberate but shaky, followed by a voice.
"She’s not a Chosen."
I turned, instinctively ready for another attack, but it wasn’t one of the younglings this ti. It was the female goblin who had tried to stab earlier.
Talia—yes, that was the na I’d heard shouted in the chaos.
Her breathing was uneven, and one of her arms hung limp at her side, but her gaze was steady:
"She’s not a Chosen," she repeated, louder this ti. "I am."
I studied her in silence, narrowing my brow.
Her posture was tense but not reckless; there was a strange calm about her now, a quiet acceptance that made pause.
"You can use [Analyze] if you want," she said.
The ntion of that word gave pause. [Analyze].
It wasn’t sothing ordinary goblins should’ve even known about, let alone used with such casual confidence.
I decided to verify her claim.
I activated [Analyze], focusing it on her first.
And a familiar pulse of mana swept through my vision as the information appeared before .
Na: Talia
Title: Drugar’s Chosen
Class: Goblin Craftsman | Level: 20
Innate Skill:Threadbare
Threadbare?
The na alone gave nothing to work with. It didn’t sound like a combat ability, and judging from her build and stance, it probably wasn’t. A craftsman’s class aligned with it—support-based, maybe sothing that enhanced creation or repaired materials.
Definitely not the type that belonged on a battlefield.
If it had been a fighting skill, she wouldn’t have been hiding behind tents or throwing half-hearted strikes. She’d have been up front, alongside the others, or she’d have tried to use it on already.
I turned my attention toward the one still kneeling on the ground:
Na: Zivra
Title: Chief’s Daughter
Class: None | Level: 15
Innate Skill:Mindbreaker
My brows furrowed.
Mindbreaker?
The mont the word registered, a faint pressure blood behind my temples again, a ghost of the earlier pain.
I hissed under my breath, fingers brushing against the side of my head as if that would stop it.
"Mindbreaker..." I muttered. "That doesn’t sound terrifying at all."
The sarcasm left my mouth on reflex, but the truth was—whatever that ability had done to before, it had been strong enough to bring down to my knees. If she’d been stronger, she might have actually killed .
The thought alone sent a shiver crawling down my spine.
Also, was she the daughter of the clan’s chief?
A chosen offspring, just like Zarah and Narg.
The thought lingered as I crouched in front of her.
"What are you going to do to her?"
The question ca from behind .
It was Talia, her voice sharp but trembling at the edges.
When I turned toward her, I found her standing awkwardly, her weight shifting between her legs as if her body couldn’t decide whether to flee or fight.
"If you do anything to harm her," she said again, louder this ti, "the chief is going to be mad."
I studied her for a long mont. Her words weren’t a threat—they were a plea dressed up as courage. T
"You..." I said slowly, straightening to my full height.
"How long have you been in this world?"
She froze at the sudden question.
Her eyes darted to the side, avoiding mine, before she finally answered in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Days," she said, swallowing hard.
I rose slowly to my feet:
"Days?" I repeated, my voice low but edged with disbelief. "How many exactly?"
She hesitated, her eyes flickering between mine as though searching for the right answer.
"I can’t tell," she murmured, her tone uncertain—like she genuinely didn’t know if it had been two days or twenty.
I took a slow step toward her:
"What do you know about the chief’s plan?"
Her breath hitched, and she instinctively began to back away.
"Nothing," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I don’t know anything at all."
I didn’t stop.
My boots pressed lightly against the frozen dirt as I continued forward, closing the distance between us.
"Goblin King," I said softly, watching for even the slightest reaction. "Ring a bell?"
"None," she replied almost instantly, her voice cracking.
Her back hit one of the wooden pillars supporting the tent with a dull thud.
She flinched, glancing briefly over her shoulder as though hoping for a way out, but there wasn’t one.
I leaned in slightly, close enough to see the faint sheen of sweat gathering along her temple. She turned her face away, her jaw tightening, her breath uneven.
"You," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
"What exactly have you been doing for this chief?"
She gulped:
"Making garnts and armors."
Armor? That word alone caught my attention.
I tilted my head slightly, the corner of my mouth tightening with interest:
"You can make armor?"
"Not...
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