Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

Boro didn’t react the way I expected.

There was no anger or tension.

If anything, there was only a brief pause, like he was processing the words, not the meaning behind them. It told me everything I needed to know—Zarah hadn’t told him, or if she had, it hadn’t mattered enough for him to hold onto it.

”Mother, Father died because weak,” he said simply. ”Father thought to eat me because I was weak. Mother agreed… but they died before that happened. So you saved me.”

I blinked.

That wasn’t what I had assumed back then.

If anything, I thought there had been grief—something worth noting in the moment—but hearing this now, it painted a completely different picture. A harsher one. One where what I had seen was only the surface, and what waited underneath would have been far worse for him.

And the fact that he understood it—even at that age—

Told me he had already accepted what the world was like, accepted where he stood in it, and, more importantly, he had chosen to survive in it.

”Is that so…” I muttered, letting it settle before looking at him properly again.

”Then tell me,” I continued, my voice calm but direct, ”do you intend to become a member of my clan?”

It had been a long time coming.

”Yes. Zarah protect, so I protect her… and goblins.”

I held his gaze for a moment, weighing the words—not just what he said, but how he said it. There was no hesitation there, no uncertainty. Simple, direct, and grounded in something he understood.

That was enough.

”In that case… swear your loyalty,” I said.

”I ready to serve.”

The system responded immediately.

[Troll Moro has sworn loyalty, making him eligible to become a clan member.]

[Do you accept]

”Of course.”

The moment I confirmed it, a faint green light formed around him, spreading outward before settling into his frame like it was anchoring him into something larger.

And just like that, he was part of the clan.

Not just in name, but in function.

If he fell in battle, the graveyard would bring him back. The same system that bound the rest of them now applied to him as well, tying his existence to the structure we had built.

But I wasn’t done.

I looked at him again, considering what he was—and more importantly, what held him back.

”To officially welcome you to the family,” I said, my voice steady, ”let’s deal with the one thing everyone knows as your weakness.”

Fire.

That was the obvious one.

I activated [Skill Share], pulling up the available list before selecting [Hellbrand], then set Moro as the recipient.

If he could gain resistance—immunity, even to the very thing that should counter him, then what he became afterward wouldn’t be something most could handle.

A troll that didn’t fear fire…Now that was a problem.

And I had no issue stacking problems like that on my side.

While I was at it, I decided to extend that same advantage to someone else.

My gaze shifted to Zonk, who had been watching the entire exchange with a kind of intensity he didn’t bother to hide.

There was no hesitation on his face.

Just anticipation.

I pulled up the skill line I had taken from one of Caius’ men.

[Blood Tyrant Lineage]

A brutal blood manipulation combat art that converts the user’s own blood into weapons, armor, propulsion, and physical enhancement. The more blood circulated and sacrificed, the stronger and faster the user becomes. Practitioners of this lineage dominate mid range combat through blood constructs while reinforcing their bodies into living weapons.

I selected Zonk as the recipient.

The transfer went through cleanly.

No resistance. No instability.

Just a quiet shift as the system settled the skill into him, the same way it had with Moro moments earlier.

And just like that—

Two more strong pieces were added to the board.

I let my gaze sweep across the others who had gathered, taking in their expressions, the way their attention lingered not just on me, but on what had just happened, and it was easy to read what sat beneath it—they were watching, measuring, wanting.

”To those of you watching,” I said, my voice carrying just enough to reach them without forcing it, ”this isn’t exclusive.”

A few of them straightened at that, their focus sharpening as the meaning settled in.

”If you show results—real results—for the clan, you’ll be rewarded accordingly.”

I didn’t overstate it, didn’t dress it up or try to make it sound better than it was.

Just the truth.

And that alone was enough.

The shift in their energy was immediate—not loud or chaotic, but focused in a way that mattered, the kind of motivation that didn’t come from excitement alone, but from the belief that what they had just seen wasn’t out of reach—that it was something they could attain if they proved themselves.

That they could become something more.

Something like their captains.

I let that settle before moving on.

”By the way… has anyone seen Ariel?”

I directed the question toward Gobbo, Dribb, and Zonk.

I hadn’t seen her since before I left, and she hadn’t shown up since I returned.

I could still feel her through the connection—faint, but present—so I knew she was alive.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t doing something she shouldn’t be.

And with Ariel, that possibility wasn’t something I could ignore.

Dribb was the one who answered.

”Last I saw her, she was leaving the clan,” he said. ”Muttering to herself.”

”I asked where she was going,” he continued, ”but she just… snarled at me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

”Didn’t feel like pushing it after that.”

I frowned slightly.

I decided not to dwell on her any further and turned away from the gates, heading back toward my quarters, where Narg, Flogga, Bundi, Gork, and Zarah were already gathered.

They rose as I entered.

”Chief.”

The greeting came almost in unison, each of them acknowledging me as I stepped in, and I gave a small nod in return while letting my attention drift—briefly but deliberately—toward Flogga, checking her over without making it obvious.

She looked… fine. Too fine, considering what I had just seen, because there were no visible injuries, no signs of strain, nothing in her posture or expression that suggested she had been anywhere near an explosion; if anything, she looked exactly as she always did, as though nothing had happened at all.

I took my seat at the head of the table and, without saying a word, reached into my storage and brought out the garnets, letting them drop onto the center of the table with a soft, solid sound.

They leaned in slightly to see what it was, and a...