Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

Earlier, before Zarah spun on her heel and bolted back into the cave at the sight of the enemy, her sharp eyes had already caught the shapes pushing out from the treeline.

At first, she thought it was no more than a shadow.

But as the shadows kept breaking apart, one after another, she realized the truth.

These were enemies.

The shapes did not end. They spilled forward like a slow tide, separating from the foliage in clusters until her count slipped beyond her fingers.

A dozen and still growing.

The realization made her stomach tighten, and the sight alone was enough to send a spike of cold urgency down her spine.

She didn’t waste another breath lingering.

Her feet pounded against the ground as she rushed toward the cave mouth, every step echoing like a hammer against her ribs.

Behind her, Ariel writhed where she lay, trapped in her misery, bound by the invisible weight of the oath that shackled her very soul. For a heartbeat, Zarah almost looked back, but instinct shoved her forward. There was no time to spare.

”Narg!”

Zarah’s voice cracked out with sharp authority, pitched high enough to cut through the noise of shuffling feet and low murmurs within the cavern. The urgency in her tone alone was enough to still the others where they stood, halting them before they could vanish deeper into the belly of stone.

One by one, heads turned in her direction, confusion flashing across the green faces of the clan. Narg, standing closest, blinked as though the word itself hadn’t reached him properly, his staff frozen mid-step, the faint glow at its tip wavering in response to his hesitation.

”Enemies are here,” Zarah declared, her chest heaving as she pointed back toward the forest. Her finger trembled slightly, but her voice did not. ”Right there, in the trees. They’re coming.”

Narg’s eyes went wide, disbelief etched across his weathered features.

”Enemies?” he repeated, almost to himself, as though testing the weight of the word.

The others glanced among themselves, unease rippling through their ranks like the first gust before a storm. They had heard the alarm, but without seeing the danger yet, it felt unreal—an idea too heavy to grasp in a single breath. Yet Zarah’s expression left no room for doubt.

Flogga emerged from the cave mouth alongside the last three goblins who had remained inside, their steps cautious, ears twitching as they picked up on the sharp edge in Zarah’s tone. The faint smell of herbs and char clung to the alchemist’s robes as she pushed forward, her sharp eyes narrowing the instant she saw Zarah’s pale, set face.

”And where is the chief?” Flogga demanded, her voice clipped, eyes darting nervously toward the treeline as if half-expecting Eli to appear out of the shadows at any moment.

”He sensed something,” came the terse reply. Zarah’s words were clipped, her patience stretched thin by the pounding urgency in her chest. ”And left.”

Flogga’s jaw tightened at once, her teeth clicking together in a sharp, frustrated sound. Her fingers flexed around the strap of the satchel at her side, knuckles whitening as she let out a low hiss between her teeth.

”Every damned time,” she muttered, her voice thick with a bitterness she couldn’t swallow. ”When trouble finds us, he is always gone...”

Whether it was by chance or some hidden purpose, none of them could deny that his absence always seemed to strike at the worst possible moments.

Zarah’s hand tightened on her bowstring, nails biting into the worn leather. Her voice cut through the murmurs like a blade.

”It’s the shaman,” she warned grimly, her gaze sweeping over the clan. ”The same one from earlier... the one who killed Zzok. And he’s not alone. He’s brought more goblins.”

The weight of her words settled over the group like a stone slab pressed onto their chests.

A few shifted uneasily, grips tightening around crude weapons. Others muttered under their breath, the anxious fragments of their voices blending into a low, unsettled hum. Fear spread faster than fire, gnawing at the edges of their resolve. Zarah could see it in their eyes—the doubt creeping in, threatening to choke them before the battle even began.

”What do we do?” she asked, her question breaking through the murmuring.

Her tone carried the edge of her own worry, sharper than she meant to reveal, but she could not help it. It’s been one thing after the other since they left their previous home.

”They’ll be on us soon.”

The goblins exchanged uneasy glances, no one willing to speak first. Their silence grew thick, oppressive, laced with the unspoken truth that without their chief, the odds had shifted sharply against them.

Then, with a sound like grinding stone, the troll kid lumbered forward. His steps were slow, deliberate, but the sheer weight of his frame made the ground shiver beneath him. His form cast a long shadow over Zarah as he approached, and then—surprisingly gently—his massive hand lowered beneath her arm.

A clumsy, earnest gesture meant to steady her trembling stance.

He had seen her unease, and though words were scarce on his tongue, the troll had chosen action instead. And it helped Zarah relax.

”We’ll have to fight,” Dribb said at last, his voice steady despite the flicker of unease in his eyes. Since his evolution, he had awakened into the Bulwark Knight class, and though the weight of the title filled him with some measure of confidence, the enemy’s approach pressed on him like a mountain. Still, his instinct was unyielding: to stand, not to flee.

”Dribb is right,” Gobbo added, stepping up beside him with firm resolve. The Goblin Shieldblade—newly awakened himself—held his weapon with a solid grip, the edge of his shield catching the faint glow from the cave mouth. ”We’re not weak anymore. We’ve trained, and we’ve grown. Running now would only make us prey.”

Thok, however, shifted uneasily where he stood, his heavy club resting against one shoulder. His brow furrowed as he cast a wary glance toward the treeline.

”But doing this without the chief...I’m scared.”

Thok voice trailed off, worry roughening its edges.

The murmurs rose again, the group splitting between courage and doubt.

And yet, almost by instinct, every eye drifted toward Narg.

The shaman of their clan stood unmoving, his presence carrying a weight none of the others could match. His aura pressed against the air like a mantle, steady and undeniable. It was not loud or boastful, but it demanded respect all the same.

He was the one Eli had left in charge, and there was a reason for that.

Narg let the silence stretch, staff angled slightly toward the ground, his expression carved from stone. For a moment, the only sound was the wind stirring faintly outside the cavern.

Finally, he spoke. And the words settled, cutting through the uncertainty with a finality that left no room for doubt.

”We’ll...