Chapter 767: The Box of Blood (Patreon)

Luke stared at the goblin’s interface. Three race skills. Two of them were Ultra-Rare. Pip was anything but ordinary.

Name: PipRace: GoblinRank: FDark Rank: SoldierSkills: [Coward’s Reflex (Common)], [Pack Nerve (Ultra-Rare)], [Far-Seer Eye (Ultra-Rare)]Soldier Skills: [Trajectory Eyes (Rare)]

“Pip, my son, are you all right?” Boggy hurried toward him, his face tight with fear.

“Pip, what happened to you?” Merrik asked.

The little goblin blinked several times, getting a feel for his changed body. Then he looked at Luke, glanced at the other goblins, and broke into a crooked grin.

“I’m fine, everyone.” He touched his face. “Damn... I need something to throw.”

Pip walked over to Luke and bowed his head. “Thank you, Demon King! I’ll put this power to good use.”

“Sure...” Luke replied, not entirely sure what the goblin was so excited about.

While the others crowded around Pip with questions, Luke opened the descriptions of his race skills.

[Coward’s Reflex (Common)]: The goblin’s survival instincts react quickly to danger. When threatened, he dodges, retreats, or throws himself aside almost without thinking.

The second skill had an unimpressive name, but its rarity was another matter.

[Pack Nerve (Ultra-Rare)]: Alone, a goblin is weak. In a group, he becomes far stronger. The presence of other goblins suppresses his fear and makes him more willing to attack. The better armed and prepared the group is, the more damage they can inflict together. A single goblin is pathetic, but an army of goblins can become a catastrophe. This skill scales with level and the number of goblins present, granting an increasing bonus to power.

Hmm... that has potential.

The third skill, at least, explained why Pip had become an explorer.

[Far-Seer Eyes (Ultra-Rare)]: This goblin’s bloodline carries a rare ocular mutation. His eyes can focus on objects at extreme distances, naturally magnifying his vision. He can see creatures, structures, movement, silhouettes, and simple details far beyond the range of an ordinary goblin.

“So what changed, Pip? Are you really stronger?” Ribbo asked, circling his friend and inspecting him from every angle.

“I feel stronger.” Pip opened and closed his hands. “And I got a new power.”

The Soldier Skill was where things became interesting.

[Trajectory Eyes (Rare)]: The goblin’s unusual eyes allow him to judge distance, speed, and position with extraordinary precision. When throwing or firing a projectile at a visible target, his body instinctively adjusts the force, angle, and timing of the attack.

So it builds on his eye mutation.

A scout who could actually kill what he spotted would be far more useful than one who could only report it.

“What does it do? What does it do?” Ribbo asked, practically bouncing with excitement.

“That doesn’t matter,” Boggy said.

The old goblin approached Luke. Fear showed on his face, but so did a strange determination, especially for someone with such a bent and weary body.

“Demon King, I don’t know what happened to my son. But if there’s a price, make me pay it too. Don’t make him bear it alone.”

Luke studied the old goblin. Boggy was afraid. Terrified, even. But he did not step back. Pip had only changed. Boggy was old, scarred, and missing an arm. Luke had no idea what the transformation would do to him.

“I already told you,” Luke said. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

He placed a hand against Boggi’s forehead and activated the relic.

[Boggy has become a Soldier of the Dark Lord!]

Boggy began to glow. Light spread across his wrinkled body, wrapping around him like a living layer. When the radiance faded, his spine was no longer as hunched, his long beard had shortened, and his skin looked less worn by age. He did not look young, exactly, but it was as though decades had been lifted from his shoulders. Even so, that was not what made everyone hold their breath.

“By the Great Spirit!” the goblins cried almost in unison.

“My arm...” Boggy raised the newly formed limb. His fingers trembled as he slowly closed them into a fist. “I have my arm back.”

Boggy’s arm was whole again, unscarred, as though it had never been torn away. For several seconds, the old goblin simply stared at his own hand, opening and closing it as though he feared it might disappear.

So becoming a Soldier can heal old injuries. Good to know the forces of darkness come with health benefits.

Luke filed that away.

Name: BoggyRace: GoblinRank: FDark Rank: SoldierSkills: [Coward’s Reflex (Common)], [Pack Nerve (Ultra-Rare)]Soldier Skills: [Ugly Harvest (Rare)]

Boggy’s two race skills were the same as Pip’s. His Soldier Skill, however, was not meant for combat.

[Ugly Harvest (Rare)]: Crops tended by this goblin may not be beautiful, but they are hardy. Fungi, roots, and herbs cultivated by him are more resistant to drought, shade, poor soil, and neglect.

[Soldier Slots: 62/64]

Ten Soul Energy per Soldier. Filling the remaining sixty-two slots will cost me six hundred and twenty. I can afford that. There’s more than five thousand stored in the Core, not counting the thousand I gained from slaughtering the orcs.

[Soul Energy: 980/1000]

The nine hundred and eighty in my relic is plenty for now. But a real army is another matter. A hundred thousand Soldiers would cost a million Soul Energy. Yeah. That’s a lot.

The group moved behind the castle. Outside, the goblin elders stared at Boggy as though he were some kind of twisted miracle. The old goblin moved with more energy and no longer dragged his feet. Even his once-sluggish voice sounded firmer. It was like watching an eighty-year-old turn forty again.

Meanwhile, Pip tested his new power against makeshift targets. They started at ten paces, and Pip struck the first apple dead center. At twenty, he did it again. By thirty, Ribbo had stopped cheering and simply stared. Pip did not miss once.

“Your aim is really good,” said Mina, Fenn’s daughter and Ribbo’s sister.

“Can you hit something moving?” asked Boko, Merrik’s son.

They found out quickly. A few goblins took off with apples in their hands, and Pip let the stones fly. They cut through the air with absurd precision, hitting every apple even when the goblins changed direction without warning.

Ribbo ran over to Luke. “Demon K—”

He stopped when Luke looked at him.

“I mean... Lord Moon. I want to be your soldier too.”

Luke turned to Fenn. “Are you all right with that?”

Fenn hesitated, looking from his son to his daughter.

“I’m still a little uneasy, but... even Elder Boggy was healed.”

Luke approached the four young goblins chosen to become the next chiefs and made them soldiers. All four possessed the same two race skills as Pip and Boggy. Pip alone had a third, confirming that he truly was different from the others.

Rilo, Chief Gim’s son, awakened a Soldier Skill.

[Sharp Ears (Common)]: The goblin’s large ears can pick up faint or distant sounds. He can detect footsteps, breathing, simple mechanical traps, and creatures attempting to approach unseen.

Luke had barely finished reading when Rilo’s ears twitched.

“Someone dropped a knife in the kitchen.”

The others looked toward the castle. A metallic clatter reached them a moment later.

Boko’s Soldier Skill was better suited for ambushes.

[Ambush Instinct (Rare)]: When attacking first or striking from concealment, the goblin receives a major bonus to speed and accuracy. This ability is especially effective in forests, caves, dark alleys, and other environments suited for ambushes.

Luke looked up from the description.

Ribbo, Fenn’s son and the most enthusiastic of the group, gained a power that clearly delighted him.

[Determined Fist (Uncommon)]: The goblin channels stamina into his fist and delivers a simple, brutal punch. The greater his determination, the stronger the impact, allowing even a small body to generate surprising force for a brief instant. It is not a refined technique, but it works remarkably well when the goblin fights through stubbornness, desperation, or the need to protect something.

Ribbo punched the nearest wooden post. The impact cracked the surface and sent him stumbling backward, clutching his hand.

“That worked!” he shouted.

His sister, Mina, awakened a skill as well.

[Scrapfire Spark (Uncommon)]: The goblin gathers mana between her fingers, creating a living spark that can grow into a small flame. This simple ability can light campfires, ignite tinder, or set prepared projectiles aflame.

A spark danced between Mina’s fingers. Ribbo leaned closer, and she immediately shoved his face away. The young goblins were different now. More alive, stronger, and far more dangerous. They ran, jumped, and tested their new limits.

Before long, the other elders wanted to become soldiers too. It was not glory or ambition that drove them. It was guilt. They wanted to protect their children, share the burden, and endure whatever they had endured. With every transformation, Luke’s Soldier count climbed. Once the transformations were complete, however, sheer astonishment overwhelmed everything else.

“I can’t feel that damned pain in my back anymore,” Merrik said, rolling his shoulders.

“Know how long it’s been since I could jump like that?” Gim bent his knees, almost laughing. “More springs than I can count.”

Luke watched them celebrate until a notification flashed across the Core’s screen.

[A Warrior slot has been unlocked!]

Luke focused on the new entry.

[Warrior]: An elite Soldier who has fought for their lord and proven their loyalty. Advancing a [Soldier] to [Warrior] strengthens them and unlocks an additional Soldier Skill.

[Advancement Requirements: Loyalty, battlefield achievement, latent potential.]

[Soldier Slots: 54/64]

[Warrior Slots: 0/1]

Luke fell silent as the meaning of the notification settled in. Through his connection to the Core, he understood the power instinctively. This was about more than turning weak creatures into useful subordinates. He could take an ordinary goblin and make him a soldier. Then he could take that soldier... and turn him into a general.

What happens if I use that Warrior slot on Norn?

***

“Lord Moon was one of my subordinates,” Baron Vessel declared.

Maeve resisted the urge to sigh. A week after the failed invasion, Nyvma was still trying to decide who deserved credit for surviving it. The baron had apparently decided the answer was himself.

Maeve stood in Baron Edrien Vessel’s manor, surrounded by nearly every important figure in the city. Several military officers had arrived prepared to provide reinforcements. Or rather, to listen to reports and pretend there was anything left to reinforce.

Two days earlier, representatives from the other kingdoms had left Nyvma, including Sir Garen Voss. Most of the orcs had died in the attack. The survivors had fled into the forest, only for search parties to find their corpses two days later. Someone else was hunting them. That had led Maeve and several others to the same uncomfortable conclusion. A powerful group was operating in the region, but they did not want to reveal themselves.

They were probably connected to the masked adventurer from the battle. James Baumann. Maeve had told no one she recognized him. To everyone else, he was Lord Moon. She alone knew the name he used as an adventurer.

“And after the battle, I personally kept watch over these lands until I was certain not a single one of those orcs was still prowling around,” the baron continued.

“I heard a powerful figure turned the tide of the battle by himself,” one of the officers said. “Someone called Lord Moon.”

The baron cleared his throat. “You see... Lord Moon was one of my subordinates.”

“Your subordinate?”

“Yes.”

Maeve glanced at John. He had suddenly become very interested in the floor.

“Where is he now?” the officer asked.

“Taking care of... other matters. He’s tracking down more orcs for me.”

The baron was getting carried away with his lies.

Again.

“Gentlemen... ah, knights.” The baron spread his arms. “When you report to the Crown, do not forget to mention that our losses were minimal and the city walls didn’t suffer so much as a scratch.”

“Did the man really fly?” another officer asked.

“Fly? Well, you know how these stories get...”

The truth was simple: the baron had not even seen the battle. He had fled the city in a carriage.

That night, a new figure arrived in Nyvma. A carriage entered the city escorted by a group of mounted soldiers, carrying Marquis Percival Blackwell. He was no minor noble. Marquises were responsible for guarding the borders, though Maeve would have said they did so by staying as close to Rosehall as possible. After dinner, the baron and the marquis gathered in a sitting room, exchanged formal pleasantries, discussed the state of the city, and reviewed a few basic reports.

“Is what they’re saying about that mysterious man true?” the marquis asked.

“That depends, Marquis Blackwell,” the baron replied. “I believe the story has become somewhat exaggerated.”

“Has any kingdom claimed responsibility for the victory? Solvar or Marlow?”

“Not that... I’m aware of.”

The marquis considered that for a moment.

“It doesn’t matter. If those orcs had been a real threat, none of you would be sitting here.” He shifted in his chair. “I should inform the capital that the kingdom of Duskridge failed to report that the coastal orcs had sent a military force into these lands. But the force was so small that perhaps they never even noticed.”

“In your report to the Crown, perhaps you could say that...”

“Enough about that,” the marquis cut in.

He never raised his voice. He did not need to. Everyone in the room measured their words around him.

“I want to hear about the shipment, Baron Vessel.”

“The shipment? Of course...”

Both men looked toward Maeve and John.

“You may leave. The marquis and I need to speak in private.”

Maeve and John obeyed. Once they were outside, John exhaled through his nose.

“It’s quiet, Maeve. Get some rest. Knowing the baron, he’ll drink until he passes out on some couch. Go check on your sister.”

Maeve agreed, but not before warning him not to follow the baron’s example and drink himself senseless. Even so, she did not rest. She continued her patrol through the manor’s halls, courtyards, and surrounding grounds, her senses alert.

That was when she noticed something strange. One of the marquis’s men emerged from a cellar carrying a crate, while a carriage belonging to the marquis stood open nearby. Maeve started to turn back toward the manor, but one of the baron’s servants spoke before she could leave.

“We kept everything secured, just as instructed.”

Maeve stopped. At first, she thought she might be witnessing a theft, but then she noticed the servant directing the marquis’s man toward the waiting carriage. That was when she saw the symbol stamped on the crate: a crown dripping blood.

Weeping Wine.

She should have gone for John, but the crates might be gone by the time she returned. Instead, Maeve activated her stealth skill and moved closer. The mark of one of Rosemark’s most dangerous criminal operations had no legitimate reason to be on a crate from the baron’s cellar. They trafficked people, extorted villages, kidnapped victims, and killed without hesitation. Among their most profitable products was Weeping Wine, a potent drug disguised as ordinary wine. For some, a single sip was enough to cause addiction.

Rumor had it the operation was controlled by corrupt nobles with enough power and influence to make problems disappear. Am I reading too much into this?

Maeve crouched low and used the manor’s shadows as cover. She knew nobles had ugly secrets. During her time working for them, she had seen nearly everything: hidden mistresses, illegal fights held in underground cellars, and deals that should never have been put in writing. This was different, though. This was Weeping Wine.

Then a woman stepped out of the carriage. She moved casually, but every instinct Maeve had told her not to be seen. Maeve retreated at once, disappearing into the shadows. The woman never looked her way, and Maeve let out a silent breath.

“Is everything all right?” a voice said beside her.

Maeve nearly jumped out of her skin. The woman was there, far too close.

Maeve had not seen her approach. She had heard no footsteps, no breathing, no rustle of clothing. Nothing. It was as though the woman had simply appeared at her side.

“Why are you here?” the woman asked with a smile that held no warmth.

“I’m just... securing the manor grounds,” Maeve replied, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“Then secure them somewhere else. The marquis doesn’t care for snoops.”

Maeve nodded and turned to leave.

“One more thing.”

“What is it, my lady?”

“Drop your stealth.”

The woman turned and walked away as though nothing had happened. Maeve kept moving until she was well out of sight, and only then did she breathe.

She was terrifying.

No one has seen through my stealth since I became an adventurer. Now, in the span of a few days, two people have done it without even trying.

That woman.

And James Baumann.

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