Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

I fell to the ground.

But I didn’t land on the sand.

I landed on the floor of my room instead, the hard surface knocking the last bit of breath out of me before I even managed to register the transition.

Notifications drifted into view like they were mocking the state I was in.

[You have received a healing potion]

[You have received three free stat points]

[You have received one item]

I didn’t move. I didn’t even try. I just stayed there on the floor, staring at nothing, too drained and battered to care about anything else. My body felt like it had been scraped out and wrung dry, and the moment the adrenaline bled away, the exhaustion came crashing down in a slow, heavy wave.

I let my eyes close.

Sleep took me before I even knew I was falling into it.

I didn’t know how long I’d been out when I finally stirred, but the sunlight cutting through the window made it easy enough to guess. The light had that soft, warm tilt that only came in the afternoon, and the room felt calm in a way that told me I’d been unconscious for a while.

I sat up, and a sharp pulse of pain shot through my jaw, making me flinch before I could brace for it. I reached for my cheek instinctively, fingers brushing over the swollen spot, and the tenderness there reminded me exactly why it hurt.

At one point in that damned penalty run, I hadn’t been able to keep enough distance between myself and the horde. They caught up to me. Completely surrounded me. And since every skill I had was locked, there was nothing elegant or strategic left to rely on. No tricks, no phase-shifts, no burst of speed. Just my fists. My legs. My stubbornness.

I boxed my way through them the only way I could, throwing wild, angry punches at rotting jaws and cracked skulls, but the sheer number of them was overwhelming, almost absurd. They dragged me down in seconds, and before I could even get my bearings, I felt their weight collapse over me.

And they stomped me.

Bone fists and brittle legs crashing down on my ribs, my back, my shoulders, every impact landing with a dull, bruising thud that I still felt now. It didn’t last long, though, because I refused to stay pinned. I forced myself up with one violent push, launched upward with a rage-filled swing, and tore my way out of their circle with nothing but brute force and desperation.

Even now, hours later, the memory made my chest tighten.

My heart still raced just thinking about how close I’d been to being buried alive under a pile of undead goblins.

I had seen my life flash before my eyes for a moment in that mess, and Zarah’s face stood out more clearly than anything else.

It wasn’t dramatic or poetic; it was just the gut punch of realizing that if I died there, buried under a pile of undead goblins, I’d never see her again.

I had clung to that thought and used it like fuel, forcing myself to stay awake, stay angry, and stay alive long enough to crawl out of that circle of death and keep running.

That was how I survived.

Pure stubbornness and the need to return to someone I cared about.

Speaking of Zarah, I glanced around the room once the memories faded enough to let me breathe, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. The bed was empty, the door slightly ajar, and the space felt strangely quiet. No point dwelling on it.

I forced myself up, ignoring the lingering ache in my muscles, and headed straight outside.

I needed to clear the daily quest immediately.

Forgetting it in the first place was idiotic.

Sure, forgetting was normal, yes, but still idiotic, especially when the penalty was something that could literally kill me if I slipped up.

All it would take was a couple of minutes, maybe half an hour of exercise at most, nothing backbreaking, nothing complicated.

Just a daily routine I should have committed to by now.

So why wasn’t it the first thing I did every single morning, the moment my eyes opened?

I mulled over that as I started running, settling into a steady rhythm while responding to the greetings of the goblins I passed along the way.

Most of them waved or bowed in that eager, slightly awkward manner they’d adopted since the clan formed, and I gave each of them a nod in return, trying not to break my pace.

But then I spotted Gork up ahead.

The moment his eyes met mine, he froze. I watched dread crawl over his face like a shadow, and before I could process what I was seeing, he turned away sharply as if he could vanish if he moved fast enough.

I frowned, my body reacting faster than my thoughts.

In the next blink, I was already in front of him, cutting off his escape without really meaning to.

”Where are you going?” I asked, my tone calm but firm.

He flinched, taking a small step back.

”Good day, Chief,” he said, voice tight, eyes refusing to meet mine.

”Why did you turn away as soon as you saw me?” I asked, ignoring the greeting completely. His reaction didn’t feel random. It felt like guilt. Or fear. Or both.

Gork froze again, shoulders stiffening, and the hesitation in his posture only made my suspicion sharpen. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, and he shifted nervously on his feet, clearly struggling.

This made me suspicious.

What did he do? Did he somehow manage to slip around the oath he swore and hurt someone in the clan? Did he break a rule? Hide something?

The way he avoided my eyes made every possibility run circles in my head.

”Alright,” Gork finally muttered with a long, defeated sigh. ”If you’re ready to head to the enemy base, then... let’s go. Just let me say goodbye to Nira.”

I hissed under my breath.

So that was what had him acting like a guilty child.

He thought I was...