The day after the baptism was a day of torpor. The baby goblins, exhausted from the blood ritual, slumped into a deep, dreamless sleep, their small bodies piled together in the hut like discarded rags. The usual ruckus of goblin life was muted, the air thick with an eerie stillness. Even the ever-present carrion birds circling overhead seemed subdued, their cries less insistent, as if honoring some unspoken moment of transformation.
Vik stirred among the others, his body aching yet… stronger. He could feel the change. The status screen had confirmed it: Vitality +2. And while he still felt weak, there was now a subtle resilience within him, a toughness he hadn't possessed before.
But he wasn't the only one. The other goblins had changed, too. It was subtle—longer limbs, sharper eyes, slightly deeper voices—but noticeable.
Then, as expected, the peace shattered.
The same older goblin from before, now unmistakably their caretaker, stomped into the hut, his grizzled face twisted in its usual scowl. He barked something unintelligible and, without waiting for a response, started shoving the baby goblins towards the exit.
Vik stumbled outside with the others, blinking against the morning light. The goblin village stretched before him—a collection of crude huts, fire pits, and scattered debris, barely organized but functional. The air stank of sweat, rot, and something sour.
Standing at the center of it all were two figures.
The first was a goblin unlike the others. Taller, wrapped in tattered rags adorned with teeth and bones, his face painted with crude symbols. The air around him thrummed with an unsettling energy. A shaman. This had to be Trek, the spiritual leader of the tribe.
Beside Trek stood something else entirely—a hobgoblin.
Vik had seen glimpses of them before, towering figures among their lesser kin. This one exuded raw power, standing with arms crossed, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. This had to be Tear, the warlord who ruled the village.
The baby goblins shrank back instinctively. Even Vik felt a twinge of unease.
Trek began chanting, his voice a guttural song punctuated by rattling bones and the rhythmic tapping of his staff against the earth. It was an ancient ritual, something that had been performed countless times before.
One by one, the goblins were brought forward. Trek would study them, mutter something, then turn to Tear, who would bestow a name upon them.
"Grok.""Stink.""Wart."
Primitive, crude names. Names that fit the goblins.
Then it was Vik's turn.
Trek's yellowed eyes narrowed as he studied him. "This one… is different." His voice was thoughtful, almost wary. "His spirit is sharp. His hunger… deep."
Tear stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Vik whole. His nostrils flared, as if scenting something unseen.
"Different, huh?" The hobgoblin's lips curled into a smirk. "He'll be Leav."
Leav. A name. A new identity.
The ceremony continued, but Vik---now Leav barely listened. His mind was already racing.
He was different. The shaman had sensed it. The warlord had acknowledged it. But what did that mean?
He needed to find out.
After the ceremony, Leav watched the other goblins with newfound curiosity. Some were still dull-eyed and meek. Others… had potential.
He approached four in particular.
The first, a wiry goblin with darting eyes, gnawed on a bone like a cornered rat. "Weal," he mumbled when Leav prodded him. He twitched at every sound. Weak… but useful.
The second was different. Broader, thicker, with a permanent scowl. He stood with his arms crossed, exuding raw strength. "Yorl," he grunted, uninterested. Strong, but simple.
The third was sly. Smaller than the rest, but quick. He picked at his scabbed knee, barely glancing up. "Frot," he said lazily. Sneaky. A survivor.
The last one unsettled Leav the most. Silent. Unblinking. Watching. When Leav met his gaze, the goblin simply whispered, "Bout." Dangerous.
Leav smirked. He had found his group.
But Leav wasn't satisfied. He needed to grow stronger.
The other goblins were content to laze about, but not him. He needed to test himself.
He wandered to the edge of the village, where the ground was softer, looser. A perfect place to run.
Leav crouched. Focused. Then sprinted forward.
His legs struggled at first—too short, too weak—but he kept pushing. He imagined the thrill of a chase, the desperation of prey trying to escape. Something inside him… clicked.
A surge of power rushed through his legs.
The status screen flickered before his eyes.
[Skill Acquired: SPRINT]Briefly increases speed when activated. Agility +5 while active.
Leav stumbled to a halt, breathing hard. Then he grinned. This was it.
He activated it again. And again. Each time, he grew more familiar with the sensation.
[Sprint: Active][Sprint: Inactive]
Each use gave him a small pulse of experience. A taste of progress.
He was learning.
Looking back at the village, he saw the other baby goblins huddled together, still ignorant of their potential.
They would never rise above this. But he would.
He clenched his fists. He was Leav now. Not just another goblin.
He would survive.He would adapt.He would conquer.
And nothing in this brutal world would stop him.