Goblin

It was the crisp, refreshing season of autumn. Little Borne sat in the carriage, gazing out the window, while the Earl sat beside him with his eyes closed, meditating. Though Borne had some memories from his previous life, they had not fully awakened. For someone leaving the castle for the first time, it was only natural that he felt a little uneasy.

Seeing that the Earl remained unmoved, Borne gradually calmed down and silently set his "ki" in motion.

The lingering heat of autumn still hung in the air. As midday approached, the temperature slowly rose. The distant fields had begun to turn yellow, and a breeze rippled through the wheat like waves across the sea.

The caravan traveled west. By cutting straight through Nosef Forest, they could reach the kingdom's highway. From there, they would turn north along the main road and cross the Standing Stone Plains to reach the royal capital, Seventon.

At the edge of Borne's vision, the castle's silhouette was gradually obscured by dense woods. He could just make out the flag fluttering atop its tower. Knights guarded both sides of the caravan, and his grandfather, a high-ranking Arcanist, was right there beside him. Borne had no reason to worry about his safety.

In truth, the countryside castle wasn't far from Seventon. The caravan would get there in two or three days. Last time, the Earl had used magic to speed up the journey and arrived in half a day.

Now that there were more people traveling, they obviously had to proceed at a normal pace.

Seeing Borne gradually settle into the rhythm, the Earl nodded to himself and began explaining some things to keep in mind in Seventon.

The Art of the Arcane had only just begun to flourish. Netheril was still a small country, and the Arcane Empire existed only in the "novels" of Borne's previous life, and even then, only as a backdrop. All he knew was that Netheril would become a superpower, and that for thousands of years afterward, the entire continent of Faerûn would live under the shadow of Netheril's Floating Cities!

But the specifics remained hazy.

Yes.

"Hazy"!

It seemed that some mysterious force was affecting his memories. After Borne gained control of "magic," he gradually began to understand this strange force!

Gaia? The will of the world?

Borne couldn't help silently grumbling. He was a transmigrator, just like all the others, but he had no system or cheat. That would have been bad enough, but even his memories that could give him an edge were being "sealed." What was the point of that?

Fortunately, Borne had a hunch that as his power grew, the world's influence on his memories would gradually weaken, until they might even return in full.

For now, his top priority was to increase his strength as quickly as possible. Thanks to the perks of transmigrating, Borne had been born with relatively high spiritual power, which greatly improved his meditation efficiency. But he knew his own limitations. After gaining magic, he had given up hope completely. Without a system, even his "Golden Finger"—his spiritual power—had an expiration date. He didn't know how long he could keep up the act of being a prodigy.

A spellcaster's spiritual power grew stronger with age. As time went on, Borne's advantage would gradually disappear. And that was before accounting for the strange family secrets, magical secrets, and all the rest. In a world where Monks were as common as halflings and Liches roamed everywhere, anything could happen!

Fortunately, Netheril was still in its early days. If he seized this opportunity, he could rise into the middle ranks—or even, like the Earl, become one of the elite—and enjoy the benefits of Netheril's growth. After all, even if the Netherese Empire eventually vanished, any magic or item that had come from Netheril would cause a huge stir.

All he needed to do was make use of the advantages his spiritual power gave him. With his young body, his spiritual power would keep growing for at least the next fifteen years, improving his thinking and strengthening his memory and deductive abilities!

But increased spiritual power came with a drawback: his physical constitution was relatively weak.

So he also had to devote some effort to practicing the Breathing Technique. Unfortunately, it was incomplete, and its effects had already started to diminish with each successive practice. He would have to find a way to track down a complete Monk tradition!

And Borne was very eager to find one.

Reality wasn't like a novel, let alone a game. There were no system stats. In a game, you could take a sword to someone's head and only reduce their health.

But in reality, no matter how much armor or equipment you wore, it wouldn't stack your stats. If your head was unprotected and you got hit, you died!

That made a Monk's ki especially important. It genuinely improved the body's fundamental constitution. At higher levels, Monks could even gain abilities like a Timeless Body, immunity to all poisons, and transcendent enlightenment—powers so broken they seemed like cheats.

For someone as afraid of dying as Borne, they were enormously appealing.

If he hadn't already known that the future of Faerûn belonged to Arcanists, Borne would have left home long ago to seek out a Monk tradition.

The countryside castle had no useful information. Borne had already read every book in the study and still hadn't found a single clue about Monks.

After all, this was a small, remote place. So Borne had set his sights on the Earl's residence in the royal capital. Even if the Earl had nothing, there ought to be something somewhere else in the city.

In games, multiclassing came with a penalty to your experience for killing monsters. In reality, there was no such thing. All that mattered was constantly honing your skills. Plenty of mages also trained as warriors, and some even picked up a few skills from other professions if they met the requirements.

High-level professionals marked a dividing line. If the low and middle ranks still fell within the range of ordinary people, the high ranks were something else entirely.

After reaching the high ranks, all of a person's physical attributes underwent tremendous changes, and their talents could change as well.

This was why quite a few warriors broke through the limits of spellcasting when they reached the high ranks and awakened a talent for magic.

Afterward, they would switch straight over to studying magic. That was why people sometimes heard stories of an old mage on the battlefield, having used up all his Spell Slots while his opponent was still alive, then beating the enemy to death with his staff!

Toril was a world where many races coexisted. Netheril wasn't yet the Arcane Empire that people in later ages would fear.

For the first time, Borne saw a humanoid offshoot: a Goblin with orange-red skin, dressed in ragged leather clothes, trailing the caravan at a short distance.

Goblins had broad faces, flat noses, pointed ears, and wide mouths full of sharp, slender fangs. Their foreheads sloped backward, and their dull eyes ranged from red to yellow. They walked upright on two legs, their arms hanging down to their knees.

Borne knew that Goblins from the same tribe usually had the same skin color. Goblins generally lived in tribes, led by whoever was biggest, strongest, or even smartest. Usually, the leaders were Hobgoblins or Bugbears.

"Looks like they've mistaken us for prey," the Earl said beside him. "They should go after the ones who can't protect themselves very well. A Goblin tribe must have migrated into this area. Goblins are natural bullies who pick on the weak. Without a leader or a Hobgoblin to command them, they usually wouldn't dare attack a well-defended caravan."

Borne would have learned all this after reaching Seventon anyway, but nothing beat a live demonstration.

As the Earl explained things, Borne gained a thorough understanding of Goblins.

Goblins made their living by robbing and stealing. They often slipped into lairs, villages, and even cities under cover of night to take whatever they wanted. They also ambushed unfortunate travelers by the roadside and robbed them of everything they owned, sometimes even their clothes. At times, they captured other creatures and forced them to perform hard labor for the tribe. When food was scarce, they ate them!

Goblins lived anywhere they could, from damp caves to dark ruins. They had almost no concept of privacy. Large numbers of Goblins crowded together, eating and sleeping in the same areas. Their lairs were filthy and usually stank. Goblins often settled near civilized areas so they could raid food, livestock, tools, weapons, and supplies. Once a tribe had stripped an area bare, they quickly packed up and moved on to another place near civilization. Hobgoblins or Bugbears sometimes appeared among them, usually taking command of the tribe. Some Goblins also allied with Worgs, riding them into battle.

As a chaotic race, Goblins had many names in the magical world.

Demons, monsters, big-eared brutes, and Goblins!

They were the kind of characters who existed to make up the numbers and hand out experience in games and all sorts of novels, but in reality, they were no weaklings.

A piece of information suddenly flashed through Borne's mind.

Establish Unity Town as a base of operations to defend against Goblins!

Since the Elven Crown Wars, the continent of Faerûn had seen few major disasters. There had been almost no major events involving the gods, and anything recorded on the timeline already counted as a relatively significant event.

Borne secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Just then, the Goblins in front of them began to shriek, and more than a hundred appeared all around. One of them looked especially burly and ferocious. No wonder it was the leader; with arms that thick, it could knock out one kid after another without breaking a sweat.

If an ordinary Goblin was only a little weaker than an ordinary person, and even a trained soldier could take on five of them, then a Hobgoblin was on par with a warrior.

And Goblins were like weeds: they bred fast, generation after generation. Even mice would have called them big brothers.

After the Elves finished their civil war, their population had been nearly wiped out, and the other races had suffered heavy losses as well. Vast stretches of land had been left vacant, and the Goblins' springtime had arrived. They could have several offspring in a single litter, and those offspring matured in just a year or two, ready to breed in turn. Their numbers grew at a geometric rate!

In a supernatural world, numbers often meant strength. With enough of them, there were bound to be some who broke through the limits of their race.

Hobgoblins, Bugbears, and even—Goblin Lords...

If even this remote little country of Netheril had so many Goblins, then other places must be overrun with them.