Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

The two undead knights I’d fought had already given me enough trouble.

Granted, a large part of that was because I hadn’t understood how their regeneration worked. Now that I’d discovered divine abilities could permanently damage them, I was much more confident in my chances of defeating them.

Even so...it wouldn’t be an easy fight.

Not if there were dozens of them.

Eventually, the passage came to an end.

Waiting for us was a massive stone doorway, several times taller than I was. Ancient runes traced its edges, glowing faintly as though the magic within them had never faded despite the countless years that had passed.

The undead knight leading us slowed to a stop.

It stood before the entrance for a few seconds. Then, without a word, it turned around and walked away.

I frowned.

”Where are you going?”

The knight didn’t so much as tilt its head. It simply continued down the corridor until it disappeared around a corner.

”...”

I let out a quiet sigh.

”Well...” I looked up at the towering doorway.

”I guess we’re going in by ourselves.”

Ariel glanced at me from my shoulder.

”You scared?”

I snorted.

”You should be too.”

I nodded toward the enormous stone doors.

”Based on the way you described him, we’re about to meet the Archmage of Death.”

”And?”

”And that’s not exactly someone I’d casually have tea with.”

I pushed the massive stone door open and stepped inside.

The room beyond caught me completely off guard.

The walls were a pristine white, polished to such a degree that they almost reflected the light. Thin lines of gold ran across the floor, walls, and ceiling in intricate patterns that gave the room an air of quiet royalty without feeling excessive.

Everything was orderly.

Every shelf stood perfectly aligned, packed with neatly organized books, scrolls, and stacks of parchment. Nearby sat rows of glass containers holding potions of every imaginable color.

Some glowed faintly. Others released wisps of colored smoke.

A few contained things I couldn’t even identify.

One jar held what looked like a black vine slowly twisting around itself despite being completely submerged in liquid.

Another contained what I swore was an eyeball that shifted slightly the moment I looked at it.

...Yeah.

I decided not to stare at that one. Then my attention shifted to the only other person in the room.

The Archmage.

I could only see him from behind.

He was tall, draped in an elegant black robe that resembled royal attire more than a mage’s outfit. Intricate silver embroidery traced the edges of the fabric, and despite standing completely still, there was an unmistakable sense of authority about him.

Several sheets of parchment floated around him in perfect formation.

One of them hovered directly before his face.

With nothing more than the movement of a finger, glowing lines appeared across its surface, weaving together into an impossibly complex diagram.

My curiosity got the better of me.

I focused on the symbols.

At first, they looked like ordinary runes. Then...

The longer I stared, the more they seemed to shift.

The lines refused to stay still.

They bent in ways they shouldn’t. Overlapped without touching. Folded into themselves.

A sharp pain bloomed behind my eyes, and the room seemed to tilt.

I immediately tore my gaze away before the dizziness worsened.

Just looking at that thing was enough to make me light-headed.

Whatever he was writing...It wasn’t something I was meant to understand.

Done with whatever it was he was doing, the floating quill came to a stop.

The Archmage slowly lowered his hand, and the moment he did, every muscle in my body instinctively tensed.

I was ready.

The moment I sensed even the slightest hint of hostility, I’d activate [Warp] without hesitation. No conversation was worth gambling my life over.

But the moment the figure turned toward me, my jaw dropped.

The Archmage...was human, and...

A woman?

I had been expecting an old man from the way she’d spoken through the undead knight.

Instead, standing before me was a woman.

She looked to be in her early thirties.

Her skin was so pale it almost resembled polished porcelain, flawless and seemingly untouched by time. Long silver hair flowed past her waist, framing delicate yet composed features that carried a quiet authority. She wore layered black robes embroidered with intricate silver runes that shimmered faintly whenever she moved, and resting within arm’s reach was an ebony staff crowned with a dim violet crystal.

Her eyes settled on me, and in that instant, an immense pressure descended upon my body.

The weight pressed against my shoulders, making the air around me feel several times heavier. Even breathing became slightly more difficult.

And the frightening part was that I could tell she was holding back.

This wasn’t her full aura. Not even close.

She stared at me for a couple of seconds, then she spoke.

”Why do you seem so shocked, Goblin?”

The voice was soft, refined, and undeniably feminine.

Nothing like the cold, inhuman voice that had spoken through the undead knight earlier.

”I...” I cleared my throat. ”It’s just...I wasn’t expecting...You didn’t sound human earlier.”

A faint smile appeared on her lips.

”That was because I was speaking through the undead.”

She didn’t deny she was human.

I found myself studying her again. Everything about her contradicted what I’d imagined.

An Archmage of Death. A necromancer. An enemy of Lord Drugar.

Yet the woman standing before me looked more like a researcher interrupted in the middle of her work than a terrifying monster commanding an army of undead.

Mordra’s attention shifted away from me, and her silver eyes came to rest on Ariel, who remained perched on my shoulder.

For the first time since we’d entered the room, genuine surprise crossed her otherwise composed face.

”An Ember Fox...”

She studied Ariel carefully.

”I haven’t seen one in years.”

Ariel instinctively shrank back under Mordra’s gaze, her claws tightening slightly against my shoulder.

I almost smiled.

So she was nervous after all.

I’d been wondering why she’d seemed so calm about meeting an Archmage of Death. It turned out she’d simply been hiding it better than I thought.

”And when exactly was the last time you saw an Ember Fox?” I asked.

Mordra rested a hand beneath her chin, genuinely considering the question.

”A thousand years ago...” She paused. ”Or was it two thousand?”

She gave a small shake of her head.

”I’ve forgotten.”

My jaw dropped:

”You’ve been trapped here for over a thousand years?”

”Yes.” Her answer came without the slightest change in expression. Then, after a brief pause, she added, ”Cruel, isn’t it?”

I found myself at a loss for words.

A thousand years...

I couldn’t even begin to comprehend it. Humans rarely lived beyond a century. Yet this woman had remained imprisoned here for over ten times that span. Maybe even twenty.

How many generations had come and gone while she remained inside this tomb?

How many civilizations had risen and fallen?

Mordra studied my expression before speaking again.

”I’m sure you have many questions.”

I gave a slow nod.

”I do.”

”Then...” She gestured toward the room. ”Let’s have a conversation.”

The moment those words left her lips, the room changed.

A chair quietly materialized behind me, appearing out of nowhere without so much as a ripple of mana or any sign that it had been summoned.

At the same time, every object in the room dissolved into countless particles of light. The bookshelves, stacks of parchment, potion bottles, and even the strange, preserved specimens vanished one after another until nothing remained.

Within seconds, the once-crowded chamber had transformed into an empty white hall occupied by only the three of us.

Mordra walked forward with measured steps, and as she stopped, a chair slowly took shape behind her. She gracefully took a seat.