Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

She wasn’t going to stop pestering me until I gave her what she wanted, and honestly, I didn’t have the patience for another one of her fiery tantrums.

I already had enough on my plate; the last thing I needed was an argument over her boredom.

”Fine,” I muttered, exhaling through my nose before turning toward her.

”One of the goblins escaped—the one with the bow. Find him and bring him to me alive.”

The reason was simple: I needed to kill him myself if I wanted to obtain his skill.

”Alive?” she repeated, her brow creasing as if the very idea offended her.

”Yes. That would be a challenge, wouldn’t it?” I said, my tone dry but deliberate.

Her eyes lit up immediately, the faint irritation replaced by something that resembled excitement. ”Fine!” she said, her grin widening before she darted off, a blur of motion and heat.

The air shimmered as she moved, her blue flames cutting trails through the mist, leaving faint glowing embers that hung in the cold air like scattered stars before slowly fading.

I watched her go, shaking my head slightly.

For someone who had strutted around earlier with all the arrogance and defiance of a queen, Ariel now seemed less arrogant. The sharp edges in her attitude had softened, replaced by a kind of smug composure that still carried her usual bratty undertone. But compared to before, it was a welcome improvement.

I suspected the change had everything to do with the shackle I’d placed on her. Power dynamics had a way of reshaping behavior.

Still, I wasn’t naïve enough to think it made her harmless.

She was a fox through and through.

And if there was one word that history, myth, and experience all agreed upon when it came to foxes, it was cunning.

I reminded myself not to drop my guard, not even for a moment.

With Ariel chasing down Ingrid, I finally turned my attention to the encampment, which had fallen completely silent—like a graveyard after the storm.

The void space I’d created hadn’t been large; its reach was focused and deliberate, aimed solely at the attackers positioned ahead, leaving the tents behind mostly untouched.

It was intentional.

I wanted my goblins to have a place to settle once the fighting was done, and this camp, with its crude order and solid layout, would serve well enough.

I walked past the first few tents, surveying the aftermath. Most were torn or scorched, but some remained intact. Curious, I pulled open the flap of one and peered inside. A rough sleeping mat lay in the corner—crude in design but functional.

I crouched down, running a hand over it. To my surprise, it was soft—at least compared to the cold, uneven ground we’d grown used to. The realization brought a faint smirk to my face.

”So, the goblins of this clan have been living this comfortably,” I muttered under my breath.

I straightened and stepped back out of the tent.

Then, faintly, I heard it.

A small sound. Not speech—more like a muffled shudder, a sharp intake of breath someone tried too hard to hide.

It was almost imperceptible, but my senses caught it instantly. Fear always had a distinct rhythm; once you’ve heard it enough times, you can recognize it anywhere.

I followed the sound, weaving between torn canvas and collapsed poles until I stopped before one tent that was still mostly intact. The air inside was colder, thick with the smell of sweat and damp cloth. I pushed aside the flap and stepped in.

Dozens of eyes turned toward me—wide, trembling, filled with terror.

They were huddled together in the far corner, pressed so tightly against the wall it was as if they believed the fabric itself could shield them.

None of them held weapons.

Their hands were small, frail.

Most were younglings—barely old enough to walk properly—and a few goblin women, clutching the little ones to their chests as though their arms alone could fend off death.

I stood there for a moment, silent.

The sight didn’t surprise me, but it did weigh on me in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

I studied their auras carefully, letting my perception flow over each of them like a quiet current. Nothing about them suggested danger—no hostility, no hint of killing intent. Just fear. Raw, suffocating fear.

I stepped forward slowly, making no sudden movements.

Even then, the reaction was immediate.

The moment my foot touched the ground, a ripple of panic spread through the group.

They flinched as one, stumbling over themselves as they tried to retreat farther into the corner, pressing against the canvas as if they could melt into it.

Their trembling breaths filled the tent, the sound thin and uneven.

But then, from among them, one figure rose.

A young female goblin—roughly the size of Thok—stepped in front of the others, blocking my view of the younglings behind her.

Her posture was stiff, her hands shaking ever so slightly, but her eyes... they were steady. Defiant.

”Oh...” I murmured under my breath, taken aback despite myself.

There was no bravado in her stance, no illusion of strength.

Just raw determination—the kind that came from someone who knew she didn’t stand a chance, but refused to back down anyway.

It was the same kind of courage that often got people killed.

Intrigued, I was about to use [Analyze] to see who she was, to understand what kind of goblin would stand against me after watching her entire world collapse.

But before I could, a sharp pain lanced through my head—sudden, blinding, and deep.

It wasn’t the dull ache of fatigue or the strain of mana use. It was something else. Something invasive.

I pressed my palm against the side of my head, hoping to steady the throbbing, but the pain only sharpened—like a blade twisting deeper into my skull. A low groan escaped me before I could stop it.

What the hell was happening?

The thought came out half-spoken, half-slurred through clenched teeth.

My vision blurred for a moment, edges darkening.

I forced my eyes open—and that’s when I saw her.

The young female goblin.

She stood exactly where she had been, shoulders trembling, but her eyes were locked onto mine with a ferocity that didn’t belong in someone so young.

Her small frame shook, not from fear but from effort, as if she were forcing every ounce of willpower she had into that glare.

And I realized then—she was the cause.

The pressure inside my head spiked violently, and before I could react, my knees hit the frozen ground with a dull thud.

My hand shot out for balance, fingers digging into the cold dirt as the world tilted sideways.

”The hell...”

I hissed under my breath, struggling to keep my focus.

The agony...