The Evolution Of A Goblin To The Peak

Chapter 1184: Red Crate Island and Fergo Tribe

”Do you think the others were scattered?” Eztein asked.

Doranjan exhaled slowly. ”Most likely.”

If the entrance scattered everyone randomly throughout the realm, then appearing together in the same place.

They exchanged a look.

They were lucky.

”Let’s find some people first.”

”Yeah...”

Their figures blurred and in the next instant, they became twin streaks of light shooting across the sky.

Swoosh!!

Their speed tore through the air, ripping shockwaves that hammered the ocean below. Waves exploded outward in violent rings, the once-calm sea churning in their wake.

Half an hour passed in a breath.

Then Eztein’s eyes narrowed. ”There.”

A massive island emerged on the horizon, impossible to miss.

A towering volcano dominated its center, its peak piercing the clouds at nearly twenty thousand meters. The island sprawled beneath it, stretching over thirty kilometers across, its forests thick and vibrant, brimming with life.

Eztein and Doranjan descended to the shore, landing lightly on the soft earth. Their auras immediately shrank, concealed to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.

Finding Vashno was still their highest priority.

But this realm... this place had secrets worth uncovering.

Doranjan inhaled deeply, his expression shifting. ”There are at least three legendary fruits on this island. I can smell them.”

”Really? I don’t notice anything,” Eztein said, sniffing the air and finding nothing unusual.

”I’m different from you,” Doranjan replied simply.

Eztein chuckled. ”I know. In that case, we’ll take them. One for each of us and we’ll store the last one.”

If a single island held three legendary-grade fruits, then this secret realm was far more extraordinary than they first assumed.

Their attention sharpened as the tall grass ahead rustled.

Then parted.

Several figures stepped out, weapons raised, eyes tense and wary as they surrounded the newcomers.

Eztein and Doranjan exchanged a calm glance.

They had already sensed these locals the moment they landed. Their levels were far beneath theirs—no threat at all, even if they were hostile.

Doranjan’s expression didn’t change.

Eztein didn’t bother to react.

They simply waited.

Because for the two of them, this wasn’t danger.

It was an inconvenience.

The locals were demi-humans.

Thin antennas protruded from the tops of their heads, twitching slightly as they observed the newcomers. Their skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent, as if blood scarcely flowed beneath the surface. They wore rugged, worn clothing—garments shaped by survival rather than comfort.

Eztein lifted a hand slightly, more in greeting than defense. ”Can you understand us?”

The demi-humans tightened their grips on their weapons, but offered no answer.

Then one man stepped forward.

He was larger than the rest, his body covered in swirling black tattoos that crawled across his arms and chest like living ink. His eyes were sharp, cautious but not afraid.

”Where did you come from?” he asked.

Relief flickered through Eztein.

Communication—good. That meant information.

”I’m Eztein, and this is my companion, Doranjan.” He gestured calmly to his side. ”We come from a very distant land. This is our first time here, so we’re trying to understand where we are... and what this island is.”

The tattooed man studied them slowly. Intently, his gaze searching for lies, threat, or weakness.

After a long moment, he turned away.

”Follow me.”

Eztein and Doranjan exchanged a look. A silent agreement.

This went smoother than expected—no bloodshed, no resistance. A welcome surprise.

They followed the man, though the other locals still kept their weapons raised, escorting them from a distance like living shadows.

Before long, they arrived at a settlement hidden deeper within the island—a cluster of wooden houses, hundreds of them, arranged in a sprawling pattern. Smoke curled gently from chimneys; children peeked from behind doorways; adults paused their work to stare at the strangers.

”This is our home,” the tattooed man said. ”The home of the Fergo Tribe. I am Zandir... Chief of the Fergos.”

Curious eyes followed Eztein and Doranjan from every direction, but the two ignored the attention. Their focus remained on Zandir’s words.

”The Fergo Tribe is only one of many small tribes on this vast island we call Red Crate,” Zandir continued. ”This land is filled with dangers—creatures and forces far beyond what my people can challenge.”

He paused, glancing back at them.

”I have met outsiders once before. Long ago. So your presence... does not surprise me entirely.”

His antennas twitched slightly, an instinctive movement, perhaps signaling unease or expectation.

The air grew heavier.

Eztein and Doranjan listened closely.

Something told them this was only the beginning.

”Outsiders?” Eztein raised his eyebrows, his voice echoing faintly through the quiet forest path.

Zandir nodded, his steps unhurried as he continued forward. ”Just like you, he claimed to come from a faraway land. He called it the Great Spirit Continent.” His tone lowered, as though repeating sacred words. ”He said that continent is a thousand times larger than this land. I don’t know if that’s true... but I chose to believe him.”

’Great Spirit Continent... Could that be the continent inside the secret realm?’ Eztein wondered silently, his thoughts spiraling.

Zandir went on, ”I’ve never been there myself. Everything I know comes from that mysterious man. But according to him, the Great Spirit Continent is vast—filled with mighty factions, countless treasures, and dangers beyond imagination. Yet despite all that, our Red Crane Land remained untouched... hidden away from the eyes of those powerful beings.”

He paused, glancing back at them. ”He wasn’t lying. Our tribe’s ancient records confirm many of his words.”

As they reached a rugged cliffside, Zandir stopped before a dark opening carved into the stone. Eztein and Doranjan followed him inside and instantly, the world shifted.

A heavy stillness pressed against their skin. The air grew thicker, denser, carrying an unseen weight that didn’t exist outside.

Both men turned sharply, sensing the faint ripple of energy behind them.

”There’s a barrier,” Doranjan muttered.

A faint smile touched Zandir’s lips. ”You felt it. Our ancestors wove powerful isolation seals into this cave. No perception, no matter how strong, can pierce through it. This place was built to protect something priceless.”

He lifted a torch from the wall, its flame flickering to life and painting the stone with dancing shadows.

”This cave holds the history of our tribe,” he said, voice deep with reverence.

Doranjan narrowed his eyes. ”And why show it to us?”

The flame reflected in Zandir’s eyes as he answered slowly, ”Because history dies if no one remembers it. The man who visited us said that most of the continent’s past has already been buried, lost along with the ancient factions that once ruled.” He exhaled, the sound echoing through the chamber. ”It’s a tragedy. I refuse to let the Fergo Tribe’s history meet the same fate.”

He turned and walked deeper into the cave, the torchlight revealing the first of many murals, waiting in silence, untouched for generations.

”Our history dates back thousands of years...”

Zandir’s voice echoed softly as he lifted the torch toward the ancient walls.

The light washed over a sprawling mural, towering figures standing above the clouds, their radiance illuminating the heavens. Below them, countless mortals knelt in reverence, their silhouettes frozen in eternal worship.

”These,” Zandir said quietly, ”are the gods. Our ancestors witnessed their might firsthand. The gods are real... even if I have never laid eyes on such divine beings myself.”

He stepped deeper into the chamber, the flame trembling as it revealed the next mural.

This one was darker, vast, oppressive, and suffocating. A colossal figure loomed in the sky, its form swallowed by endless blackness. Within that darkness wriggled countless eyes, watching and blinking alongside jagged fangs that tore through the sky itself, devouring light, devouring space, devouring everything.

”This,” Zandir said, his face tightening, ”is an evil god. A being said to be capable of devouring the entire world. It descended into our realm long ago and clashed with the gods themselves. The battle lasted ages... but in the end, the gods repelled it.”

The cave seemed to grow colder.

Eztein and Doranjan exchanged a heavy glance.

They both recognized it, the overwhelming hunger, the all-consuming darkness.

There was no mistaking it.

The evil god depicted in the mural... was perhaps the Ruler of Gluttony.

If the murals were true, then the Fergo Tribe’s ancestors, ordinary mortals lost in the tides of ancient cataclysms, had witnessed divine battles that reshaped this land and secret realm.

Zandir lifted the torch again and pointed toward another mural.

This one was grander than the rest.

A lone god stood at the base of a colossal staircase that spiraled into the heavens, each step carved from light itself. Countless mortals knelt along the sides of the staircase, their forms etched in reverence, their hands raised in worship as the god ascended toward a realm beyond mortal sight.

”A god ascended to the heavens,” Zandir said softly, his voice carrying a weight of ancient awe. ”And in doing so, waged war against the entire world. The clash was so destructive that the god created countless dimensions—layers upon layers—to shield mortals from the battle’s aftermath. It was during that era that our ancestor arrived on this island.”

Eztein and Doranjan frowned, unease flickering in their eyes.

They had studied countless historical records, yet none of them mentioned a god ascending while battling the world... or the creation of dimensions as shields. Nothing matched what stood carved before them. And yet—Zandir’s voice held no deceit, only conviction shaped by generations of belief.

Whether the ancestor had truly witnessed this divine event... there was no way to be certain.