Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

”Are you human?” I asked, my voice low but unrelenting.

The goblin berserker’s eyes narrowed into slits, his breath coming out in short, guttural bursts. For a moment, he only stared at me, unblinking, his expression carved from stone. Then, with a voice that rumbled like distant thunder, he finally responded.

”Do I look human to you?”

The words should have been mocking, but the way he spoke them only made my chest tighten. My heart thudded harder in my ribs, faster, heavier.

Because he hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t asked me what a human was. The word hadn’t been foreign to him, hadn’t carried the confusion I would have expected from a creature born in this world.

And that could only mean one thing.

No way.

I drew in a slow breath, pressing Gravefang more firmly against his throat as I leaned closer. ”Let me rephrase that,” I said, my voice sharp with urgency. ”Were you once, at some point in time... human?”

The idea sounded insane even as I voiced it. I had no real evidence, no solid reason to believe such a thing was possible. And yet... his name. That strange, alien name that didn’t belong to goblins or beasts of this world. It gnawed at me, and I couldn’t dismiss it.

There was also the way they interacted. Their speech, their tone, even their mannerisms—they carried themselves more like humans than the goblins I had once read about or imagined. And it wasn’t just the chosens.

Even the so-called regular goblins showed signs of it.

Their behavior was too sharp, too deliberate, too rational. Their thoughts strayed beyond hunger and violence.

From everything I knew—whether from fantasy novels, games, or myths—goblins were supposed to be little more than savage beasts. Unintelligent. Driven by crude instincts and base desires. Brutish creatures, weak on their own but dangerous in numbers.

But the goblins of my clan were nothing like that.

Zarah, Narg, Flogga, Thok—each of them thought, spoke, and acted with a clarity that bordered on unnerving.

They weren’t just manageable; they were tame. Too tame.

I had never truly suspected them of being anything else, never seriously considered that they might be more than what they appeared. My suspicion had always centered on the Blessed—the ones chosen, the ones marked with power.

But if I really stopped to think about it... the idea wasn’t completely insane.

Still, I buried that thought for now. It was a suspicion for later, something to be dissected when I wasn’t staring down a half-healed monster pressed against a tree.

Right now, my curiosity was fixed elsewhere.

The Chosen Ones. The Blessed.

I needed answers.

Not only were their names suspicious, but so was their status. They were ”Chosen,” just as I was. That wasn’t a word handed out lightly. It wasn’t the sort of title a being like Drugar would grant at random.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense—or at least, the more the suspicion dug its claws deeper into me. Their names were too human, too deliberate. And if that was true, then maybe this set of goblins... maybe the Blessed... had once been like me. Humans. Dragged from another world, reshaped, and bound into this one.

”Answer me,” I demanded, pressing Gravefang harder against his throat until fresh blood welled beneath the steel.

The berserker winced, his breath rattling as his eyes flicked up to mine.

”You didn’t know?” he rasped.

A frown cut across my face, tension pulling at my jaw.

His words sent a sharp chill down my spine, the confirmation I hadn’t expected but had somehow feared.

And then, with a low, broken laugh, the goblin berserker revealed the truth.

”All of Drugar’s Chosen are humans who once died in the real world... and were given a second chance here.”

I was stunned, my thoughts crashing into one another so fast it left me momentarily hollow.

Humans. There were more humans out here.

The realization hit like a hammer to the chest.

The shaman I had cut down earlier—Amon—he had been human too. A human, twisted into the form of a goblin, wielding power under Drugar’s banner.

Are you serious?

”You seem surprised,” the berserker rasped, his lips pulling into a faint, bitter curve.

My glare cut into him.

”You thought you were special, didn’t you?” he said, a faint grin spreading across his face despite the blood dribbling from his mouth.

And the worst part was... he wasn’t wrong.

I had thought that. Somewhere deep down, I had believed I was the only one—chosen, unique, the sole anomaly in this world. The center of its story. The main character, if I wanted to put it crudely.

But this revelation tore that illusion apart.

I wasn’t the only one. I was just one of many.

How many more goblins like him were out there? Goblins whose so-called innate skills weren’t just powerful, but monstrous—worthy of SSS rank or perhaps even higher. If Drugar’s Chosen were all once human, then how many had been reforged into weapons far more dangerous than the ones I had faced?

The thought gnawed at me until another question pushed its way out.

”Do you have a system?” I asked, my tone deliberate, Gravefang still pressed to his throat.

The berserker’s lips twisted, blood staining his teeth as he let out a low, rasping chuckle. Then his grin stretched wide, sharp and cruel.

”I do... Eli Cross.”

The sound of my full name falling from his mouth froze me where I crouched.

No way.

He hadn’t guessed. He hadn’t stumbled into it. There was no possible way he could have known unless he had a system of his own—and had used [Analyze] on me just as I had done to him.

Damn. The truth was undeniable now.

I really wasn’t the sole protagonist in this world.

I wasn’t the only one armed with this power.

My jaw tightened, the question burning hotter in my chest.

”How many of us are here,” I asked slowly, each word weighted with urgency, ”in this world?”

”How would I know that? I am not Drugar,” the berserker spat back, his voice sharp despite the weakness in his body.

”Then who is this Drugar?” I pressed, my tone just as cutting.

He shifted, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he gave a strained shrug. ”Not sure. But we’ve always guessed he’s the one who brought us here.”

The answer wasn’t enough. It only deepened the void in my chest.

”Do you know why?” I asked again, sharper this time, unable to hold back the edge of urgency in my voice. ”Why were we brought here?”

He let out a ragged breath, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes even as his strength waned. ”You ask too many questions, kid,” he muttered, his lips twisting faintly.

Then he gave me a look, almost mocking, and my patience snapped.

I...