Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

I grinned.

And without even glancing at the beast, I activated [Swap], exchanging places with the fleeing fox in a blink.

Obviously, I hadn’t planned to let the Ember Fox escape.

I intended to kill them both.

One heartbeat, I stood in the badger’s path. The next, the Ember Fox appeared exactly where I had been, confusion still flickering in its eyes.

The Stonehide Badger didn’t even have a moment to register the change—it lunged forward with all its weight and slammed into the fox, jaws snapping shut with a vicious crack. From the way its teeth clamped down, it was clear the predator had been expecting a goblin’s skull between its fangs, not the narrow neck of a startled fox that had just materialized out of thin air.

Not that it mattered.

The fox had always been its true target. I had just been a convenient obstacle, a noisy decoy in the wrong place at the right time. Now that I was out of the way, the badger had no reason to hesitate.

The Ember Fox, to its credit, didn’t waste time gawking at its sudden change in scenery.

The instant it realized it had been thrust into the predator’s grasp, it thrashed violently, claws tearing at the dirt, desperate to break free.

But with the badger’s weight already crushing down on it, the struggle was hopeless from the start.

The Stonehide Badger moved like a boulder rolling downhill—unstoppable, merciless. In one brutal, practiced motion, its teeth found the fox’s throat and locked in place.

”Ghhkk–hhrrk!”

The fox gagged, pawing frantically at its attacker’s head.

The air around them shimmered as an intense wave of heat radiated outward from the fox’s body. It was an instinctive defense, a desperate burst of Ember Fox fire meant to burn its attacker off.

But the badger didn’t flinch.

Its coarse fur blackened and curled where the heat struck it, tiny embers clinging to the tips, but the predator only bit harder, teeth grinding deeper into flesh. Its stubborn resilience radiated off it like a challenge, an unspoken I will not let go.

The fox’s muffled, strangled cries tore through the night, and the badger seemed almost to relish the resistance, feeding on the desperation like it was part of the hunt.

I started walking toward them, the smell of singed fur and scorched hide coating my nose. I didn’t rush, I walked towards them with a steady, deliberate pace, my eyes fixed on the fox as it writhed beneath the badger’s bulk.

Its legs flailed weakly. Its tail, once flaring with ember-like sparks, now drooped limply across the dirt.

Then came a cry—sharp, piercing, so full of raw pain it scraped against my spine and made my breath hitch.

I stopped in my tracks.

There was something about that sound that hooked into me—not empathy exactly, but a strange unease that I couldn’t name. It was the same kind of feeling you get when you find an old superstition creeping back into your mind at the worst possible time.

Back on Earth, people whispered about foxes.

In some places, killing one was said to curse you—invite misfortune into your home, ruin your health, call down the wrath of wandering spirits. Whether you called it juju, a forest curse, or some trickster spirit’s revenge, the idea was the same: foxes were trouble, dead or alive.

I never knew if any of that nonsense was true. Probably not. But the old stories had a way of sticking, like splinters you thought you’d pulled out years ago.

And these creatures weren’t even Earth foxes.

They were something stranger, fiercer, tied to a world that played by different rules. If there was any curse tied to them here, I hadn’t heard about it.

Not that it should matter.

I wasn’t here to honor fairy tales. I was here to survive. To get stronger. To take what I needed before someone else did. That was the way of things in this world—the strong consumed the weak, and the weak learned to die quickly.

The Ember Fox kicked feebly, a faint shimmer of heat pulsing off its body in short, ragged bursts. But the badger’s jaws were locked like rusted iron, every muscle in its body coiled to hold it in place. Scorched fur smoked faintly where the fox’s heat had struck, but if the pain bothered the badger, it didn’t show.

The fox’s movements slowed. Its voice cracked into rasping gasps, each one softer than the last.

It was fading.

Seconds from death.

And that... wasn’t acceptable.

Not yet.

It was my prey.

I tightened my grip on Gravefang and triggered [Warp], blinking forward in a rush of wind and shadow. My boots hit the dirt a few meters from the badger’s flank.

Letting it kill the fox would be wasteful. The Ember Fox would die soon enough—but if I timed this right, I could take both of them. Two elite bosses. Two new skills.

I closed the distance, my steps quick but silent. The badger’s head jerked up the moment my shadow fell across it, its bloodshot eyes narrowing. The pressure of its bite eased slightly—too slightly.

I didn’t give it the chance to release the fox.

I lunged, Gravefang arcing downward in a deadly line. The blade struck the back of its skull with a jarring resistance, biting through bone with a gritty, wet crack. The shock of impact rattled through my arms, but I pressed in, driving it deeper.

The badger let out a guttural, strangled snarl—more reflex than defiance—and its jaws unclenched. The Ember Fox dropped limply to the dirt, too weak to even crawl away.

The predator’s claws dug furrows into the soil, its thick shoulders bunching beneath me in a last-ditch effort to shake me off.

”Tough bastard,” I muttered under my breath.

Even dying, it had that stubborn, unyielding fire in its eyes.

But that fire was nothing without a body to back it.

Gravefang punched deep into its skull, and the badger shuddered violently before going still. Its eyes clouded, the spark fading, and the only movement left was the slow seep of dark blood into the ground.

I exhaled through my nose and shoved the carcass aside.

A soft chime echoed in my head.

Ding!

[You have killed Elite Boss: Stonehide Badger – Level 20]

[You have levelled up]

[You have received skill: Iron Persistence]

Not bad.

I pulled Gravefang free with a wet crack and flexed my fingers against the hilt. My arms felt heavier than I wanted to admit, but I forced my breathing to steady.

Then my gaze found the Ember fox.

It lay where it had fallen, sides shuddering with shallow breaths. Blood flecked the dirt from its last cough, staining the pale dust dark.

Its half-lidded eyes still burned faintly, that spark of life stubbornly refusing to go out. I couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for that kind of endurance. After everything it had endured, it was still here. Barely.

But respect wouldn’t save it.

I stepped toward it, the ground crunching under my boots. Its ears twitched at the sound. With visible effort, it tried to push itself back—its legs trembling and collapsing beneath it, leaving only a feeble shuffle in the leaves.

Fear flashed in its eyes. Not wild panic, but a sharp, knowing fear, like it understood exactly what I was about to do.

It looked pitiful—small, beaten, covered in its own blood.

But I wasn’t fooled.

If our roles were reversed—if I were the one sprawled in the dirt, bleeding out—it would sink its fangs into my throat without a second thought. That was nature. That was the rule we all followed here.

I told myself I had no reason to hesitate.

I raised Gravefang, feeling the grooves in the hilt press against my calloused palm. The blade felt heavier than it had a moment ago, though I knew that was just my mind trying to stall me. I steadied my breathing, channelling everything into one precise, final strike.

The motion began smoothly, the tip of the blade descending toward its mark.

But...

I stopped halfway.

My arm froze in place, as if someone had tied invisible weights to it.

Why?

Why couldn’t I bring the blade down?

This wasn’t empathy.

I’d killed too many creatures to fool myself into thinking I suddenly cared.

It was fear.

Pure, irrational, unshakable fear.

The fox lay there, breathing shallowly, its sides barely rising and falling. Its body trembled in short, uneven bursts, every twitch weaker than the last.

It couldn’t hurt me like this.

It couldn’t even stand.

So why... why was I hesitating?