Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

Her brow furrowed as she thought for a moment, as if combing through her memories.

”Oath?” she repeated. ”I’ve heard one of his close associates mention it... Marcus, I think his name was. Yes.” She paused, her expression twisting uneasily. ”But I’m not under any myself. Not yet.”

Not yet?

She wasn’t under any oath?

That realization didn’t sound right to me.

Someone like her—useful, skilled, connected to the chief’s forge and inner workings—should have been bound by at least one vow of loyalty.

Otherwise, what was stopping her from betraying him? From running off to an enemy clan?

Unless... this was that betrayal.

My jaw tightened.”What do you mean by not yet?”

I pressed Gravefang lightly against her neck, the cold edge of the blade resting just above her collarbone. The faint tremor that passed through her body told me she understood exactly how thin the line was between her words and her death.

She swallowed hard:

”They wanted to put me under one,” she said quickly, her voice shaking but coherent. ”But something happened that day—some sort of emergency. The chief left with a few of the other Chosen not long after, and since then I’ve just been... working. Zivra was the one supervising me.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking up toward mine for a moment before darting away again. ”Please, don’t kill me,” she added, her voice dropping to a whisper. ”I wasn’t part of their plans. I just fixed what they told me to. I swear that’s all I’ve done.”

I narrowed my eyes, studying her face carefully—the nervous flicker of her gaze, the uneven rhythm of her breathing, the faint quiver at the edge of her jaw.

I couldn’t tell if what I was seeing was honesty or performance.

She carried that kind of eccentric innocence that made her sound believable, the kind that could disarm you if you weren’t paying attention.

But it might just be a façade—a desperate mask worn by someone who knew exactly how to survive a blade at their throat.

I leaned closer, close enough to see the way her pupils dilated, close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly away from mine.

”You’re not lying to me... are you?” I asked, my tone calm but edged with the kind of threat that didn’t need to be shouted.

Her breath hitched.

”Why would I? I’ll lose my head if you move your blade an inch closer.”

The words came out soft but rushed, as if she feared that silence might seal her fate faster than the truth.

My brows furrowed.

”I swear I’m not lying,” she said again, her voice firmer now, forcing itself into steadiness. Then she lifted her head, meeting my gaze at last. ”Believe me.”

For a brief moment, I saw something flicker in her eyes—fear, yes, but also resolve. Maybe she believed her own words. Or maybe she was just good at pretending.

I let out a quiet exhale and shook my head faintly. ”Says every con artist.”

”What would you have me do then?” she asked.

”Swear it,” I said.

Her brows furrowed. ”Swear what?”

I leaned in slightly, my tone sharpening. ”Swear that every time you lie to me, you’ll feel a one-second crippling shock—a reminder that deceit isn’t without consequence.”

Her eyes widened, and she whispered almost involuntarily, ”Drugar? You really want to go that far?”

So, she did know. She understood the weight of that name—the danger of invoking a god’s power carelessly.

”Oh, you know him,” I said quietly, almost amused. ”Good. Then you understand what happens when an oath under his name is broken.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. I didn’t move. The silence stretched long enough for her to realize that hesitation wasn’t an option.

”Swear it,” I said again, lowering my voice to a near growl. ”It’s the only way I don’t decapitate you right here.”

Her breath hitched. ”Fine...” she said finally, her voice trembling. ”I swear on Drugar’s name that if I ever lie to the goblin in front of me—”

”Eli,” I interjected flatly.”The name is Eli.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as if surrendering to the inevitable.

Then she began to speak, her voice trembling but clear:

”I swear on Drugar’s name that if I ever lie to Goblin Chief Eli, then may one second of crippling shock befall me.”

The moment the last word left her lips, the air shifted, and a faint hum rippled through the tent—subtle, but sharp enough to raise the hair on my arms.

I watched as faint arcs of blue light flickered around her body, like ethereal chains wrapping tightly around her form. The glow sizzled briefly before fading from sight.

It was done. The oath had taken hold.

”Good,” I muttered, sliding Gravefang back into its sheath.

Talia exhaled slowly, a mixture of relief and resentment crossing her face.

I caught the faint flicker of annoyance in her eyes—an irritation at being bound by something so severe, so humiliating—but I didn’t care.

Her feelings were irrelevant.

What mattered was that she couldn’t deceive me now—not without paying for it.

I crossed my arms and asked, ”Do you have any idea where the chief is now?”

”I don’t know exactly,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, her voice low but certain. ”But he should be arriving soon.”

That made me pause. Arriving soon?

My eyes narrowed slightly. ”Why is that?”

She glanced toward Zivra’s unconscious form before meeting my gaze again. ”Didn’t you destroy the graveyard?” she asked cautiously.

I gave a small nod, and she continued.

”Zivra mentioned her father could sense when something happened to it—that he’d know instantly, and he’d come back with his Chosens.”

His Chosens?

The words lingered in my head like an echo. So there were more?

The thought made something sharp flicker through me—not fear, but a dangerous kind of anticipation.

”That’s great,” I said, unable to stop the faint grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth. ”That means more skills to collect.”

Talia stared at me as though I’d lost my mind, the excitement in my tone clearly unsettling her.

”How is that great?” she asked, her voice rising slightly. ”Her father isn’t like the others. He’s terrifying.”

”And I’m not?” I asked, arching a brow.

She flinched.

”Not as terrifying as him?” I pressed, leaning slightly forward.

Her eyes widened, and she waved her hands frantically, shaking her head. ”No! Of course not—you’re scarier!”

The words had barely left her mouth when it happened.

ZZZIT!

A sharp...