Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

I had marked Nira the moment I’d taken her hostage, embedding the seal deep enough that no matter where she ran, I’d be able to find her. It was a precaution, a way to ensure that even if she managed to break free, she’d never truly escape. Assuming, of course, she’d actually survived the ice I trapped her in.

Part of me hoped she had. Not out of mercy, but practicality. Dead subordinates were useless, and like the goblins, the Chosen had value now. If I were going to build a clan capable of entering the King’s Game, I’d need every ounce of strength I could gather. Integration wasn’t optional anymore—it was survival.

The world blurred as I reappeared, the rush of compressed air brushing past my ears. My boots met solid ground, and in the distance, I immediately spotted them.

Two figures huddled near the base of a jagged rock formation—Nira and Gork. Both looked worse for wear, their postures stiff, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and wariness.

But there was a third presence.

Someone I hadn’t expected to see.

Standing a few paces away from them, his silhouette sharp against the pale light, was Ingrid.

I froze for a brief second, my brow furrowing as recognition settled in.

I had almost forgotten about him.

He must have been the one who broke Nira out of the ice.

The moment they saw me, all three of them froze.

I grinned. ”Glad to see you’re alright?”

Ingrid didn’t waste a second. His hand shot to his bow, ready to draw—

But I was already gone.

In a blur, I appeared in front of him, my hand snapping around his throat before he could even blink. I lifted him effortlessly off the ground, his feet kicking uselessly beneath him.

Heat surged from my palm, the air between us shimmering with the faint glow of flame. ”Struggle,” I warned, my tone low and cold, ”and you burn.”

Ingrid gagged, his face twisting as he felt the heat licking at his skin. The fight drained from his eyes almost instantly. He didn’t move, didn’t dare.

What surprised me, though, was Nira and Gork.

They didn’t move either.

No resistance. No attempt to help him.

Just silence.

Or maybe it wasn’t fear that held them still—maybe they already knew there was nothing they could do.

Gork looked half-dead himself—bandaged, limping, one arm dangling uselessly at his side. If I remembered right, he’d been impaled through the shoulder back at the graveyard. No way he was drawing a bow like that.

Nira stood beside him, keeping him upright, her arm hooked around his waist. Her expression was calm, too calm, like someone who already understood how this would end. She could have tried to attack me—she had the speed, the precision—but she didn’t. She knew it wouldn’t matter. Against me, it would be suicide.

”Your chief is dead,” I said finally, watching their faces.

No reaction. No gasp, no hint of disbelief. Just... blank acceptance.

”We are aware,” Gork answered after a pause, his voice hoarse. ”The system informed us of his death.”

I tilted my head slightly. ”Is that so?”

So that’s how it worked. The system must’ve automatically relayed Jael’s death to every Chosen that had been bound under his authority.

”If that’s the case, then let’s cut to the chase,” I said, tightening my grip on Ingrid’s throat. His body jerked, legs kicking weakly against the dirt as he struggled to breathe. The pressure from my fingers made his pulse hammer beneath my thumb, and the sound of it almost drowned out the shallow rasp in his throat.

”You three have two options,” I continued, my voice low but steady, each word deliberate. ”Die here and become fuel to my rise to power... or join me.”

Ingrid’s brows furrowed, confusion flashing across his face even as he gasped for air. ”Join... you?” he managed to rasp out, disbelief twisting his tone.

I nodded once. ”I intend to participate in the King’s Game that’s taking place—and win. But to do that, I need Chosens like you in my clan. That’s why I’m giving you this chance. Consider it an invitation.”

”That’s suicide,” Ingrid croaked, his voice weak but defiant. ”You stand no chance against the other competition.”

”He’s right,” Grok said from behind him, his voice gravelly, filled with the fatigue of someone who’d seen too much failure to believe in anything else. ”Jael tried for years to take down one of the competitors to claim a spot, but every attempt ended the same. Defeat. You don’t stand a chance.”

I chuckled, the sound rough in my throat. ”I managed to take down Jael and his entire clan alone,” I said, tightening my hold just enough for Ingrid to feel the weight of my words. ”Including the bunch of you. Isn’t that proof enough that I’m no ordinary goblin?”

That sealed their lips. The silence that followed was sharp, almost tangible, as if the air itself had grown heavier around us.

”Join me,” I continued, my voice steady, unwavering. ”And together, we can rise to power.”

”Bullshit!” Ingrid snapped, his voice raw with defiance. ”Why not just let us go instead? Don’t act like this is for our own good!”

”Even if I let you go,” I said, lowering my tone but keeping it firm, ”you’ll just end up hunted by another ambitious goblin who sees you as easy prey. You won’t last a day out there. Why not take your chances with me?”

”You killed our brothers,” he shot back, his voice trembling between rage and grief. ”No words you say will make me change my mind.”

Ingrid’s expression hardened, his jaw set tight with resolve. He meant every word, even if fear lingered in his eyes.

So I turned toward Gork and Nira.

They didn’t speak at first, but their silence said enough. Both of them were thinking about it—measuring their odds, weighing what little loyalty they had left against the reality pressing down on them.

Their hesitation pissed...