Garos's Fear

The Gnawrock Tribe had a strict hierarchy. Every Goblin knew its place—who stood above it, and who stood below it.

Above all Goblins stood two figures.

Broken-Tooth Goruk, the Goblin chief who could operate the Giant-Arm Miner, and Pustule Groz, the Gnawrock Tribe's Shaman and also an Alchemist, who possessed alchemical arts that seemed sophisticated and miraculous in the eyes of other Goblins.

At this moment.

Broken-Tooth Goruk was in the tribe's open clearing, brutally impaling a Goblin that had challenged his authority, stringing its body across a wooden frame, lighting a bonfire beneath it to roast it alive, and letting the other Goblins share the meat.

This Goblin chief was already quite old.

Nearly thirty years old.

Goblins had a lifespan of roughly fifty years, but thirty was already considered advanced age.

Survival in the Wilderness was difficult, and the Gnawrock Tribe had limited resources. Very, very few Goblins lived past thirty; most died in their teens.

Generally speaking.

A Goblin Goruk's age would have long since been challenged and replaced by a younger Goblin.

But through his brutal killings and the cunning experience that came with age, he still held the Gnawrock Tribe firmly in his grasp, seated upon the highest throne of power.

Only he could command the Giant-Arm Miner.

The Gnawrock Tribe had once paid an enormous price for it, starving many of their own people to gather enough money to purchase it from a passing merchant caravan.

The Giant-Arm Miner was a humanoid Alchemy Golem.

It stood eight meters tall at the shoulders, with riveted steel plates and exposed seams. Its style was rugged and primitive, its enormous arms thick and long, its shovel-like hands hanging all the way to the ground. It seemed as though a light tap from them could shatter marble.

Its name made its purpose obvious: it was an Alchemy Golem used for mining. Yet its size and weight also made it useful for slaughter and battle.

Seated inside the cockpit at the Giant-Arm Miner's chest.

Broken-Tooth Goruk felt himself becoming larger. Looking down upon the other tiny Goblins, a wonderful feeling of superiority welled up within him—the feeling that he could decide the life and death of any Goblin at will.

Especially since he had scared off a Hatchling Dragon not long ago.

That had inflated Broken-Tooth Goruk's vanity to its limit. He felt that dragons were nothing special. If he had a better Alchemy Golem, he would even dare hunt an Adolescent Dragon—or an adult dragon.

"What a pity that Hatchling Dragon got away."

"If I could catch it, I could buy a better Alchemy Golem."

"I wonder if the Wolf Cavalry has tracked it down yet."

Broken-Tooth Goruk thought to himself.

Suddenly, he seemed to see a black shadow sweep across the sky, vanishing in an instant.

"What was that?"

Goruk was startled, but he quickly calmed down. The shadow seemed like an illusion and had already disappeared. The sky remained as tranquil as ever.

At the same time.

Inside the Alchemy Workshop, an exceedingly ugly Goblin was leafing through something.

Its gray-green skin was covered in cracked patterns, yellow-green mucus seeping from the fissures and giving off a pungent stench like rotting flesh mixed with sulfur. Dozens of fist-sized lumps protruded from its back, their surfaces translucent like pustules and filled with pus in various colors.

Pustule Groz, Shaman of the Gnawrock Tribe.

It was completely absorbed in reading a thin booklet in its hands.

Several words were written on the cover.

[Basic Alchemy Manual]

Groz had found this alchemy manual. Unfortunately, its vocabulary was limited and it had no one to guide it, so it could barely understand the illustrations. Over the years, it had continually experimented on its own, leaving its body covered in pustules, but by a lucky accident, it had mastered a few basic Alchemy Runes.

Whenever Groz read through the alchemy manual, it always came away with different insights.

Unlike its ignorant tribesmen, who were content with their current muddled lives, it liked knowledge, research, and communicating with other intelligent beings.

It believed that it might be a genius.

Had it not been born in a small place like the Gnawrock Tribe, it surely would have had a far brighter future.

Through several rare exchanges, it had learned that beyond the Wilderness lay a civilization called the Lothern Federation. Within it was a kingdom made up of Goblins. It was said that the Goblins there were all intelligent and civilized, unlike the crude and ignorant Goblins of the Gnawrock Tribe, whom it despised. That was also the place it longed for.

After reading the alchemy manual for a while longer.

Groz slowly set it down and carefully stored it in a black wooden box to prevent it from being damaged.

Only then did it notice that the Communication Stone at its waist was glowing faintly.

It picked it up and held it to its ear.

Groz's expression immediately changed. The shift was so violent that many of the pustules on its face burst from the strain.

"A dragon! A powerful black-and-red Hatchling Dragon!"

"It's slaughtering us!"

It had just heard hoarse shouts, wails of agony and pleas for mercy, along with the howling of dragon wings slicing through the air.

Besides the sounds, the message also contained a vague direction.

"A black-and-red Hatchling Dragon?"

Groz paced around the room, realizing the severity of the situation—the Wolf Cavalry had most likely been wiped out to the last.

"Tell Goruk the news and use the cover of night to launch a surprise attack?"

That was Groz's first thought.

But it quickly rejected the idea.

A Hatchling Dragon capable of annihilating the Wolf Cavalry without letting even one escape was anything but ordinary. With the Goblins of the Gnawrock Tribe and one Giant-Arm Miner, they likely could not kill it even with a surprise attack.

"I can't tell Goruk. It's become far too arrogant, and it's stupid. It can no longer see its own place clearly."

"How about selling the news to a merchant caravan?"

Groz considered it.

It had a way to contact the merchant caravan from which the tribe had bought the Giant-Arm Miner.

Perhaps it could sell the news of the Hatchling Dragon to the caravan and gain at least some benefit.

But that was a dragon.

A dragon meant wealth. It meant hope that it could leave the Wilderness.

Groz racked its brains before finally deciding to send some Goblins skilled at scouting to investigate first. If there was even the slightest chance, it would hunt the Hatchling Dragon at any cost. If that failed, it would notify the merchant caravan and sell the information.

But just as Groz was thinking this.

A burst of startled cries suddenly came from outside.

Immediately after.

Boom! Accompanied by a deafening crash, the ground shook violently, as though a meteor from beyond the heavens had fallen. Cracks spread beneath Groz's feet.

It lost its footing, staggered back several steps, and fell to the ground.

"What happened?"

Panic filling its heart, Groz rose and ran toward the entrance of the Alchemy Workshop.

The instant it shoved the door open, its vision was filled with smoke and fire. A black-and-red afterimage flashed through the dust, and Groz's pupils finally caught sight of the source of the disaster.

It was an unknown dragon covered from head to tail in dragon scales that resembled cast black steel, with dark red patterns flowing across them like molten lava.

It was slowly rising to its feet. Beneath its powerful limbs lay a circular crater smashed into the ground, within which were several corpses crushed into pulp.

A pair of enormous wings covered in feather-like fine scales, their edges sharp as blades, spread open.

With a casual sweep, they sliced several Goblins who had failed to dodge in half. Their leather armor was as fragile as paper.

It was Garos.

He had still come.

Originally, Garos had felt that a Goblin tribe incapable of even capturing Samantha should pose no threat to him, so there was no need to bother with it. But on second thought, he realized that he might have been too arrogant and could not underestimate them like this.

Arrogance was the greatest cause of dragon deaths, without question.

Garos thought that Goblins were intelligent beings, not magical beasts or savage monsters. If their tribe possessed an Alchemy Golem, there was a high chance they had interacted with the outside world and perhaps had channels to communicate with other intelligent beings.

Thinking of it that way.

Garos, who cherished his life dearly, became a little afraid. He did not want to abandon the Iron Fir Hills, nor did he want to encounter an unexpected attack.

Once that fear took hold.

Garos wanted to completely eliminate the factors that frightened him in advance, so that he could finally rest easy.