Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

I needed to be cautious moving forward.

I couldn’t allow myself to be killed by a Chosen—not even once.

Even with the graveyard, even with the resurrection system, death at their hands might cost me everything.

My innate skills weren’t something I could risk. Not now, not ever.

I let out a slow breath, the tension leaving me in a hiss.

Then my eyes swept across the battlefield.

The ground was torn apart, craters and fissures running like scars across the earth. Smoke still curled in faint wisps from the places where my [Inferno Lance] had burned through, and in the distance, broken fragments of blood-mist clung stubbornly to the air before dissolving.

The battle was over, but the taste it left in my mouth wasn’t victory. It was dissatisfaction.

I hated that I hadn’t been there when my goblins needed me most, that they had to face something like Amon without me watching their backs.

The thought of it gnawed at me.

And worse still, this wasn’t the first time.

That needed to change.

No more waiting. No more reacting. It was time to take the fight to them.

And I could.

Because during my fight with Ezekiel, I’d placed my seal on him. I could still feel it even now, faint but clear, tugging at my awareness like a thread on a map.

With a blink, I could be standing right where he was.

That meant I could infiltrate them directly, hit them where it hurt most.

Tear down their strength, shatter their morale, maybe even destroy their whole base if I had to.

I didn’t know how strong their clan leader was, or what kind of tricks he might have up his sleeve, but I knew what his allies were worth.

I’d fought them. I’d beaten them. And I was certain—absolutely certain—that I was stronger than they were.

My innate skill was SSS — the kind of tier you don’t gamble on being outranked every day.

If there were ranks above it they’d be rare, anomalies, not something an ordinary clan leader could casually wear like a badge.

Even if their boss turned out to be stronger than me, that didn’t mean I was helpless.

I could bleed his force dry: pick off his allies, slaughter the regular goblins, strip the Chosen of their titles, and take whatever crumbs of power they left behind.

Every kill would make me harder, faster, sharper; every skill I stole would tilt the odds a little more in my favor.

Over time, that snowball would become a boulder, surging forward until there was nothing left standing in my way.

Confidence hummed through me.

I could do this.

I could blink now, leap straight into their den and start the counterattack, a one-man executioner taking names and burning down their morale.

But then I felt the chill of the pattern sliding under my skin.

This was the same loop, the same replayed mistake.

I leave, and somehow my clan gets attacked.

Maybe it was a coincidence.

Perhaps two unfortunate events can occur back-to-back.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if it happens again? What if this time I lose someone for real?

Flogga, Thok, Zarah—those faces crawl through my head until my chest tightens.

I wouldn’t forgive myself.

So I sighed and held off the counterattack for now.

I wasn’t scrapping the plan—far from it—but I’m not going to run into their den like some lone berserker and leave my people to be picked off while I play hero.

That’s the pattern I have to break.

This time, I involve them, even if ”involving” means only telling them what I intend to do and giving them instructions they can act on while I’m gone.

They deserve that much: the courtesy of a plan, and the dignity of a voice in it.

I can still feel Flogga’s look—relief braided with frustration.

It had stung.

But she was right to be angry; she fears for the clan and resents that I stepped away and left the danger in their laps.

I hadn’t properly informed her—or any of my goblins—about where I was headed.

I’d just left. One moment I was there, the next I was gone, and almost immediately after, they were attacked. From their perspective, it must have looked like abandonment.

And that feeling... that was something I knew far too well.

The first time, maybe you can excuse it. Maybe you tell yourself the chief had no choice. But the second time? That’s when the questions start. Doubt creeps in. Trust erodes. And once that seed is planted, it’s hard to claw it back.

The least I could do—the absolute least—was to not leave them in the dark.

In the end, I was their leader.

This wasn’t about going down some lone-wolf path. Not anymore.

My strength didn’t mean I carried this burden alone—it meant I carried it with them, for them, but also alongside them.

If we were to keep surviving, to grow stronger, then they needed to know the plan. Even if they couldn’t shoulder the fights I could, they deserved the truth.

We would move forward together.

Yes... that was what I would do.

I muttered the words under my breath as if sealing them, then tightened my grip on Gravefang. My decision was made.

And with that, I prepared to warp back to the cave.

But then the Ember Fox appeared, walking towards me with a grin curled across her face, smug and satisfied.

I glared.

She had been here all along. Watching.

Watching while my goblins struggled, while they bled and nearly died.

She could have helped, but she didn’t.

Most likely payback for the way I’d tricked her before.

Anger flickered through me, hot and sharp, but I shoved it down before it could take root.

Expectations only led to disappointment, and I wasn’t about to start expecting anything from her.

Ariel tilted her head, her voice laced with mockery.”What a pity. You made it back in time. I wanted to see your goblins get killed by that abomination.”

I ignored her, didn’t even spare her a glare.

Instead, I triggered [Leap], space folding in an instant, and reappeared inside the cave where I had left my clan.

The moment my feet hit stone I was already sweeping the cave, eyes cutting from one figure to the next until they snagged on Narg, and...