Chapter 20: Grok's Fear (Requesting Monthly Votes, Requesting Follows)

In the Rock-Biter Tribe, the class system is rigid; every goblin knows its place, knows who it is below and who it is above.

And above all the goblins, there are two.

Broken-Tooth Gruk, the goblin chieftain who can command the Great-Armed Miners, and Pustule Groz, the shaman of the Rock-Biter Tribe, who is also an alchemist mastering alchemical arts that appear profound and miraculous to other goblins.

At this moment.

Broken-Tooth Gruk was in the tribe's open courtyard, ruthlessly impaling a goblin who had challenged his authority, hoisting it on a wooden frame, lighting a bonfire to roast it directly, and letting the other goblins share the meat.

This goblin chieftain was already very old.

Nearly thirty years old.

Goblins live roughly fifty years, but thirty is already advanced age.

Survival in the wilderness is harsh; the Rock-Biter Tribe has limited resources, and very, very few goblins can live past thirty, often dying in their teens.

Generally speaking.

A goblin of Gruk's age would have already been challenged and replaced by a younger one.

But through his own cruel killings and the experience of an old goblin turned cunning, he still firmly controls everything in the Rock-Biter Tribe, sitting on the highest throne of power.

Only he can command the Great-Armed Miners.

This was purchased from a passing caravan at a huge cost to the Rock-Biter Tribe, starving many clan members to gather the funds.

The Great-Armed Miner is a humanoid alchemical golem.

Eight meters tall at the shoulder, with riveted steel plates exposing seams, its style is rugged and primitive; its great arms are thick and long, with shovel-shaped hands that can reach the ground, seeming able to shatter marble with a light tap.

As its name suggests, it is an alchemical golem used for mining, but its size and tonnage can also be used for slaughter and combat.

Sitting in the cockpit on the chest of the Great-Armed Miner.

Broken-Tooth Gruk felt himself become towering, looking down on the other tiny goblins, a wonderful feeling of superiority, of being able to decide the lives and deaths of other goblins at will, rising within him.

Especially after scaring off the young dragon just a short while ago.

This inflated Broken-Tooth Gruk's vanity to the extreme; he felt dragons were nothing special, and that if he had a better alchemical golem, he would dare to hunt young dragons, or even adult dragons.

"Pity that young dragon got away."

"If I could catch it, I could purchase a better alchemical golem."

"I wonder if the Wolf Riders have tracked it down yet."

Broken-Tooth Gruk thought to himself.

Suddenly, he seemed to see a dark shadow sweep across the sky, flashing by in an instant.

"What is that?"

Gruk's heart jumped, but he quickly calmed down; the dark shadow seemed like an illusion and had already vanished, the sky as calm as ever.

At the same time.

In the alchemy workshop, an extremely ugly goblin was flipping through something.

Its gray-green skin was covered in cracked patterns, with yellow-green slime seeping from the fissures, emitting a pungent odor mixing rotting flesh and sulfur; dozens of fist-sized tumors protruded from its back, their surfaces transparent like pustules, each accumulating pus of different colors inside.

Pustule Groz, shaman of the Rock-Biter Tribe.

He was fully focused, flipping through a thin booklet in his hands.

Several characters were written on the booklet's cover.

【Beginner Alchemy Manual】

This alchemy manual was found by Groz; unfortunately, due to limited literacy and no one to guide him, he could basically only understand the diagrams. Over these years, he had constantly explored on his own, ending up covered in pustules, but by chance, he had mastered some basic alchemical runes.

Every time he flipped through the alchemy manual, Groz always had different feelings.

Unlike other ignorant clan members who were content with the present, content with a muddled life, he loved knowledge, loved research, and loved communicating with other intelligent beings.

He felt he might be a genius.

If not born in a small place like the Rock-Biter Tribe, he would surely have a very long future.

Through some rare exchanges, he knew that beyond the wilderness existed a civilization called the Lothren Federation, containing a kingdom composed of goblins; it was said that the goblins there were wise and civilized, unlike the vulgar and ignorant goblins of the Rock-Biter Tribe that he despised; that was also the place he longed for.

After flipping through the alchemy manual for a while longer.

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

At this moment, he finally noticed the communication stone at his waist was glowing faintly.

He picked it up and held it to his ear.

Groz's expression immediately changed; because the change in expression was so intense, many of the pustules on his face were squeezed burst.

"A dragon! A powerful black-red young dragon!"

"It is slaughtering us!"

He had just heard desperate screams, wails begging for mercy, and the howling sound of dragon wings cutting through the air.

Beyond the sound, the message also contained a vague, approximate direction.

"A black-red young dragon?"

Groz paced around the room, realizing the severity of the situation—the Wolf Riders were probably already wiped out completely.

"Tell Gruk the news and launch a surprise attack under the cover of night?"

That was Groz's initial thought.

But he quickly rejected it.

A young dragon capable of annihilating the Wolf Riders, leaving not a single one to escape, was far from ordinary; relying on the goblins of the Rock-Biter Tribe and a single Great-Armed Miner, a surprise attack would probably still fail to kill it.

"Cannot tell Gruk the news; he is extremely inflated right now, and foolish, no longer recognizing his own place."

"Or perhaps, sell the news to the caravan?"

Groz pondered for a moment.

He had contact information with the caravan that originally traded for the Great-Armed Miner.

Perhaps he could sell the news of the young dragon to a caravan and earn some profit.

But that is a dragon.

A dragon means wealth, and it means hope of leaving the wilderness.

Groz pondered deeply and finally decided to first send some goblins skilled in reconnaissance to check the situation; as long as there was a sliver of a chance, he would hunt the young dragon at any cost. If that truly failed, he would then notify the caravan and sell the information.

But just as Groz thought this.

A clamor of startled cries suddenly came from outside the house.

Immediately after.

Boom! With a deafening roar, the ground shook violently, as if a meteorite from the heavens had fallen; many cracks and fissures spread out beneath Groz's feet.

Losing his footing, he stumbled backward several steps and fell to the ground.

"What happened?"

Panic surged in Groz's heart; after standing up, he ran toward the outside of the alchemy workshop.

The instant he pushed the door open, his vision was filled with sky-high dust and firelight; a black-and-red blur flashed through the dust, and Groz's pupils finally caught the source of the disaster.

It was an unknown dragon species, its entire body covered in black dragon scales like cast steel, with dark red patterns flowing across them like molten lava.

It was slowly rising to its feet; beneath its thick limbs lay a ring-shaped deep pit smashed into the ground, and inside the pit were some corpses trampled into meat paste.

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

With a single light sweep, it sliced through several goblins who had no time to dodge, cutting them in half; the leather armor they wore was as fragile as paper.

It was Garos.

He had come after all.

Originally, Garos thought that a goblin tribe that even Samantha could not capture should pose no threat to him and didn't need attention, but then he reconsidered, feeling he had perhaps been somewhat arrogant and could not underestimate the enemy so lightly.

Arrogance is the greatest factor that kills dragonkind, without exception.

Garos thought that goblins were, after all, intelligent beings, not demons or ferocious beasts; the fact that there was an alchemy golem in the tribe meant there was a high probability they had contacted the outside world and perhaps had channels to communicate with other intelligent beings.

Thinking this.

Garos, who cherished his own life very much, felt a bit afraid; he did not want to give up Ironwood Hills, yet he did not want to encounter an unexpected attack.

This fear.

Made Garos want to completely eliminate the factor that frightened him beforehand to set his mind at ease.

(End of this chapter)