Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

”Why won’t you let me help?”

I opened my mouth—then paused.

Nothing came out.

She wasn’t accusing me. She was asking from somewhere deep. A place where pride had been set aside. This wasn’t about ego. It was about trust.

”You do everything by yourself,” she continued, voice soft but heavy. ”Every decision. Every risk. Every burden this clan carries... it ends up on your back.”

She took a breath, exhaling slow. Her tone dropped to barely more than a whisper.

”Why won’t you let us carry some of it too?”

Her free hand rose, pressing against my chest—right over the heart that was starting to ache more than I wanted to admit.

”The burden is too heavy,” I murmured, meeting her eyes. ”It might crush you.”

As much as I wanted to lean on them—on her—what held me back was fear.

Not fear of failure.

Fear of loss.

The enemies we faced weren’t just strong. They were unpredictable, ruthless, cunning in ways that broke the rules of fair combat. I’d seen too many things go wrong too quickly. And I didn’t believe they could handle that kind of chaos—not yet.

But Zarah didn’t flinch from that reality.

She stepped in closer, her hand rising gently to cup my face, her palm warm against my skin, grounding.

”Then make us stronger,” she said, her voice steady, resolute. ”Strong enough that you won’t have to worry about us. Strong enough to take some of that weight off your shoulders.”

I stared at her, and for a moment, I felt something shift—like a door I’d kept locked was finally cracking open.

And then it hit me.

She was right.

I could make them stronger.

I wasn’t just the one shouldering the burden—I was also the one hoarding the tools.

[Skill Share].

It allowed me to distribute any of the skills I had acquired over time—except for my innate skill. But everything else? Fair game. And considering how many I’d collected since the last time I used it... it was no longer just a niche ability.

I’d inherited more than just standard skills too.

Even the powerful ones—those passed down through inheritance or bound by class—weren’t exempt. The system allowed me to share those as well.

As insane as it sounded—even to me—I could actually grant them Jael’s ability.

That terrifying, overwhelming skill I’d inherited from him.

It was a game-changer in the right hands... and a disaster in the wrong ones.

The thought of letting a regular goblin wield something that volatile made me uneasy. Most of them didn’t have the constitution, the control, or the tactical sense required. One wrong move with that kind of power and it wouldn’t just backfire—it’d be like someone dropped a live grenade in the middle of the clan.

I couldn’t just pass out those kinds of skills like candy. If I wanted to do this, to really give them power, I had to be smart. Calculated. Selective. Delegation would be everything. Only those who could handle it—physically and mentally—would be eligible.

No second chances. No exceptions.

I looked at Zarah again, her eyes still on mine, still full of that raw, unshakable resolve.

”Alright then,” I said, voice firm with decision. ”I’ll do it. I’ll make you stronger. And not just you. The others too. I’ll get all of you more involved.”

At that, she smiled.

A real smile.

Not the polite one she gave to the others. Not the formal, clipped one she wore when she was guarding something. This one was soft, a little shy, and completely unguarded.

And damn if it didn’t melt something in me.

”I’m sorry I yelled,” I said quietly, reaching up to gently pinch her chin between my fingers. My other hand still held hers, and I let my thumb move along the back of it in slow circles.

”There’s no need to apologize, Chief. I understand.”

Her voice was soft, steady—without a trace of the coldness she’d worn earlier.

”You’re not angry anymore?” I asked carefully, searching her face for hesitation.

But she didn’t answer with words.

Instead, she leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss to my lips.

I blinked, stunned, completely caught off guard. My body locked up as if the system had just thrown a warning notification I couldn’t process.

She pulled back, just enough to see my reaction—amused by how frozen I was.

And then, without hesitation, she leaned in again.

This time, her lips lingered.

Longer. Warmer. More certain.

My thoughts scattered.

It was like a pulse of heat surged through me, sparking beneath my skin and racing through every nerve ending. I could feel the weight of her hand still resting on my chest, grounding me and setting me alight all at once.

I shut my eyes.

My fingers moved on instinct, rising to gently cradle her face as I leaned into her with more force than I meant to. My lips found hers again, this time deeper, more urgent.

More real.

The kiss wasn’t delicate now. It was raw and full of everything we hadn’t said—relief, tension, that thin thread of connection we’d kept pushing aside.

Our mouths moved in sync, hungry and unrestrained. Her hands gripped my cloak as I pressed closer, the rhythm of our kiss intensifying.

And then—crack.

The thick branch beneath us gave a loud warning groan, wood creaking from the shifting weight and movement.

Before I could pull back, it snapped.

And the two of us went tumbling.

”Whoa—”

I gasped as the branch gave way beneath us, and before I could think, we were falling. Zarah let out a startled scream, her arms instinctively tightening around me.

But I reacted on instinct, using [Warp].

In a blink, the world shifted, and instead of crashing through branches and hitting the dirt, we reappeared at the base of the tree, feet landing softly in the grass with only a faint thud.

Zarah spun around slightly, eyes wide, trying to process what had just happened. Her breathing was still sharp, chest rising and falling, adrenaline still clinging to her limbs.

Then she looked at me.

And the shock faded from her expression.

She laughed—light at first, then fuller, richer. Her eyes crinkled with genuine amusement, and I found myself laughing too, a grin pulling at my lips before I even realized it.

For a moment, it was just the two of us standing in the shadow of the tree, and the world felt far away.

I stepped closer, slowly, lowering my head until the tip of my nose brushed gently against hers. I could smell her—wildflower and sweat, the sharp tinge of iron still clinging faintly to her skin, and something uniquely her that made my thoughts start to unravel again.

She inhaled sharply, her fingers curling around the front of my cloak, pulling me even closer until there was barely space between us.

We stood like that—breathing each other in, skin just barely touching, tension humming like a taut string pulled tight.

I wanted more, and judging by the way her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted ever so slightly...So did she.

And she didn’t hesitate to...