Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

The general’s voice trembled—not from fear, but rage:

”You... bastard.”

His teeth were clenched so tight that I could almost hear the grind of enamel:

”Stop this already!”

I grinned.

But not because of his words.

But because my legs were still trembling from the shock of the landing.

A sharp pain ran up from my ankles to my knees, and I nearly winced.

Yeah, I definitely should’ve warped.

For some reason, the idea of dropping in like some dramatic hero had sounded good in my head.

In practice, it nearly shattered my bones.

”Why the hell did I try to look cool?” I muttered under my breath.

Then shake the stiffness from my legs before looking back up at him.

He was still glaring, frost crawling over his shoulders, his breath fogging the air like smoke. I straightened slowly, rolling my shoulders, the faint ache in my knees fading into the background as the adrenaline returned.

”And why,” I said, my voice calm but sharp, ”would I ever do that?”

The words barely left my mouth before the general snarled again. ”You bastard!”

He thrust his arm forward, and the air around him dropped several degrees in an instant. Frost began to spread from his fingertips, gathering at his palm in spiraling layers of translucent blue. The temperature plunged further, the moisture in the air crystallizing into glittering shards that circled his arm like a miniature blizzard.

Then the ice shifted, condensing, forming into a weapon of pure, solid frost—its surface humming with power, ready to be launched straight at me.

But before he could release the attack, the pull from the fault above caught him.

His arm jerked upward violently, as if seized by an invisible hand. The movement was so sudden that it tore a raw scream from his throat.

”Aaargh!”

He fought it immediately, planting his feet and forcing his weight down, ice splintering beneath him as he tried to resist the drag. Frost spread from his boots once again, crawling up his legs and into the ground like roots desperate for grip.

Still, the pull wouldn’t relent.

The fault wanted everything—it didn’t care who or what stood in its reach.

Reacting on instinct, he summoned more ice, his breath coming out in sharp, uneven bursts.

Shards and fragments condensed above him, swirling and fusing until they formed a thick dome of frozen crystal.

The structure trembled at first under the fault’s pressure, thin cracks splintering across its surface.

But he poured more power into it, veins bulging at his neck as he forced the ice to thicken, layer by layer, until the overhead barrier held.

A brief reprieve—but a costly one.

He hunched beneath it, frost clinging to his armor, his eyes still locked on me through the shifting haze of cold. The fury in them hadn’t dimmed; if anything, it burned brighter, fueled by the sheer defiance of survival.

I couldn’t help but grin.

The stubbornness was almost admirable.

”Well,” I said, my tone low, almost amused as I began to walk toward him, the ground crunching softly under my boots, ”your powers are quite decent.”

”Shut up!” the general roared, his voice raw with frustration.

He thrust his arm forward, and a barrage of jagged ice spikes erupted from his palm in a blinding spray. They sliced through the air with a shrill whistle, the cold wind trailing behind them like the scream of the storm itself.

But before they could reach me, the fault above interfered.

The pull distorted everything around it—the air, the wind, even the path of his attack. The spikes slowed mid-flight, their momentum bleeding away as if the very air had turned thick and heavy. Then, one by one, they began to drift upward, twisting against their own trajectory.

The general’s expression faltered.

He hadn’t expected that.

Only one spike made it through the pull, though by then, its speed was barely enough to matter. It came spinning toward me weakly, and before it could even make contact, my body flickered—its edge phasing harmlessly through me as [Fractured Existence] activated on instinct.

The spike passed through where I stood and then, as if realizing its mistake, was seized by the same gravitational drag that claimed the rest. It floated upward, spinning lazily, before vanishing into the churning void in the sky.

The general froze. His eyes followed the disappearing shards, the frost on his skin beginning to crack as his breath came faster, harsher. When his gaze returned to me, something had changed.

The fury was still there—but beneath it, something colder had begun to stir.

Dread.

Maybe even regret.

He had finally realized what I was—what kind of threat stood before him.

Unfortunately for him, it was far too late for that realization to matter.

I drew my arm back, summoning heat into my palm as mana surged through my veins.

The air shimmered with distortion before a spear of pure flame began to take shape...

[Inferno Lance]

The weapon hissed and crackled as it formed, the fire so condensed it burned white at the core, its edges flaring with molten orange. The heat alone was enough to make the air ripple between us, distorting the general’s outline like a mirage.

I steadied my aim.

He should have run the moment he saw me. Maybe then, he would’ve bought himself a few extra breaths before the inevitable.

I let the thought fade and thrust my hand forward.

The lance tore through the air with a sound like thunder compressed into a single, violent instant. The shockwave flattened the grass beneath it as it streaked toward him, trailing fire and smoke.

The general reacted fast—credit where it was due. Ice burst up in front of him, thick and layered, forming a wall meant to absorb the impact. But the moment the lance made contact, the sound that followed was deafening.

CRACK!

SHHH!

The wall didn’t stand a chance.

The heat tore through it like paper, melting and splitting it apart in an instant before driving straight into the general’s chest.

His body lifted from the ground, slammed backward, and crashed hard against the frozen barrier behind him.

The impact sent cracks racing across the wall like veins of lightning.

I began walking toward him, the faint crunch of frost under my boots the only sound that followed.

The pull of the fault still rumbled faintly above, but all my focus was on the figure slumped against the ice.

Blood trickled from his mouth, steam rising from the wound in his torso as the remnants of the flame burned within.

He lifted his head slowly, his breath shallow and uneven, his eyes still defiant even as the light began to fade from them.

”You... you’re... done,” he rasped, forcing the words out between ragged breaths. ”Chief... will get you.”

I stopped a few paces away, the heat of my weapon fading from my hand.

Then I smiled faintly, the expression calm, almost amused.

”He’d try.”