The Evolution Of A Goblin To The Peak

Chapter 1264: Bodam Kingdom

Tidal Merchant Group.

An organization of immense influence across the entire Depths of Banquet, its reach extending even beyond these waters into distant territories.

They were not merely merchants.

They were a power capable of standing toe-to-toe with the greatest forces in the Depths of Banquet.

The group was governed by three dominant families: The Rulman Household, the Waterfield Clan, and the Reinfir Clan.

Together, they controlled the tides of power, wealth, and information across the Depths of Banquet.

The three ruling families of the Tidal Merchant Group were each rooted in different nations.

The Rulman Household resided within the Tarrant Nation.

The Waterfield Clan held its base in the Bodam Kingdom.

And lastly, the Reinfir Clan governed its domain from the Creasant Republic.

...

The following day, shocking news spread across the entire Depths of Banquet.

The Bodam Kingdom had declared war on the Tarrant Nation.

Their reason was simple and explosive: the Crown Prince had been killed within Tarrant’s territory.

The news sent waves of panic and disbelief through the people.

”War...?”

”The Crown Prince of the Bodam Kingdom is dead?”

”What are we supposed to do?”

For a moment, uncertainty gripped the masses. Then, voices of defiance rose.

”Of course we fight! Have you forgotten when the Kraken Clan tried to invade the Rulman Household?! We drove them back before so we can do it again!”

”Yeah! Kras’ah is dead! That’s one less advanced Fifth Stage monster on their side! The Supreme Council will make them pay!”

Tension rapidly escalated throughout the Tarrant Nation. Preparations for war became visible everywhere such as troop movements, resource mobilization, and rising martial activity.

The Supreme Council wasted no time. Tens of thousands of experts were swiftly mobilized and dispatched toward the borders.

The Rulman Household was inevitably drawn into the conflict. As one of the Supreme Council’s members, Freida’s involvement was expected. Orders soon arrived, urging the household to prepare for war.

With no room for refusal, the Rulman Household dispatched four elders along with a contingent of elite warriors.

Yet beneath their compliance lay a growing unease.

They knew it was only a matter of time before others noticed something was wrong.

Freida was missing.

And in a time of war, her absence would not go unnoticed for long.

...

The war between the two nations had begun.

The first clash alone involved five Seventh Shackle Realm experts and hundreds of SSS-rank fighters. The border of the Tarrant Nation was left in ruins, reduced to a battlefield soaked in destruction.

As the conflict escalated, both sides continued to pour forces into the frontlines. With each passing day, the death toll rose.

Countless civilians across both nations lived in fear, uncertain of what tomorrow would bring, desperately hoping the war would end before it consumed everything. Even the neighboring Creasant Republic was shaken by the sudden outbreak of war between the Bodam Kingdom and the Tarrant Nation.

...

Bodam Kingdom, Imperial Palace.

Erlius sat upon his throne, a deep frown etched across his face as he listened to the reports delivered by his subordinates.

After a long silence, he raised a hand and pressed his fingers against his temples before speaking.

”Continue the offensive,” he ordered coldly. ”The Waterfield Clan will flank the enemy. Once we capture Boheim City, we can break through and push deeper into Tarrant territory.”

His voice carried quiet authority, but beneath it lingered a trace of tension.

Erlius exhaled slowly and swept his gaze across the throne room. Only three people remained. The rest had already departed for the battlefield, each assigned to command and stabilize different fronts.

He had no intention of allowing failure.

That was why he had deployed his strongest subordinates to ensure absolute control over the war’s progression. At the same time, their presence on the battlefield served another purpose: insurance against interference from the Supreme Council. If any of those beings chose to intervene, his forces would be ready to meet them head-on.

Even with the loss of the Kraken Clan, Erlius remained confident in his eventual victory over the Tarrant Nation.

Still, he could not afford to be careless.

The movements of the Tidal Merchant Group and the Creasant Republic remained uncertain, variables that could shift the balance of the war at any moment.

’Father has already gone to the Waterfield Clan... so that front should be secure,’ Erlius thought.

Yet despite that reassurance, a faint unease lingered in his mind.

Erlius knew exactly how dangerous the Tidal Merchant Group was. Opposing them was not simply a matter of strength, it was an invitation to ruin.

Then, without warning, one of his subordinates rose.

The movement was slow... deliberate.

Marquis Vein.

His purple skin seemed almost damp under the dim light, faintly glistening as if something beneath it was breathing. The gills along his neck twitched, opening and closing in a steady, wet rhythm, producing a faint, sickening sound that echoed in the otherwise silent hall.

The head of the Lawroush Family.

A family known not for dominance but for necessity. Their artifacts fed the ambitions of the powerful. Their creations armed wars. And because of that... they were tolerated. Feared, even.

”Your Majesty...” Vein’s voice was soft, too soft.

It slithered through the throne room rather than echoing in it.

”I have a proposal.”

Erlius’s gaze snapped toward him, sharp and cold. ”Speak.”

Vein tilted his head slightly. His smile came slowly, unnaturally, as if his face wasn’t accustomed to the motion.

”There is a way...” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, ”to crush the Tarrant Nation without effort.”

A pause.

”To end this war before it truly begins.”

The air grew heavier.

”A path,” Vein continued, his gills fluttering faster now, ”that would make even the Creasant Republic... irrelevant.”

Erlius’s frown deepened. A thin thread of killing intent seeped into his voice.

”What are you implying?”

Vein’s smile widened.

Too wide.

”The Realm Lord of the Blood Realm...” he said, almost reverently, ”is about to descend upon this world.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

”If we kneel,” Vein continued, his voice trembling, not with fear, but with something disturbingly close to excitement, ”we will not merely win this war...”

His eyes gleamed.

”We will claim the entire Depths of Banquet.”

Silence...

Then it shattered.

Boom.

Auras erupted.

Erlius and the others released their power at once, and the throne room groaned under the pressure. The air thickened, turning violent, crushing downward like an invisible ocean.

BANG!!

Marquis Vein was slammed to his knees.

The impact cracked the stone beneath him, jagged fractures spreading outward as dust burst into the air. His bones creaked audibly under the weight, his body trembling yet... He was still smiling.

”What... did you just say?”

Erlius’s voice was no longer merely cold, it was lethal.

”Explain yourself,” he said, each word pressing down like a blade, ”or I will tear you apart where you kneel.”

”Who is this ’Realm Lord of the Blood Realm’?!” one of the others barked, their voice roaring with power.

”Marquis!!” another shouted, fury laced with disbelief. ”Have you gone mad or have you chosen treason?!”

Their voices shook the chamber, laden with enough force to kill any ordinary being where they stood.

But Vein...

Vein let out a low, ragged breath.

His gills fluttered wildly and despite the crushing pressure threatening to grind him into the floor, he laughed.

A wet, broken sound.

Fanatical and terrifying.

”Hahahaha!!!”

He lifted his head.

The movement was unnatural, forced, as though something inside him refused to bow. His neck strained. The gills along its sides fluttered erratically, leaking faint streaks of dark fluid that slid down his skin.

Then he looked straight at Erlius and smiled.

”Your Majesty...” he rasped, his voice wet and uneven, yet laced with something disturbingly calm. ”You still don’t understand.”

A faint chuckle escaped his lips.

”We are already within his mercy.”

His eyes gleamed with a feverish light.

”There is no ’fighting’ him.”

”There is only... whether we are allowed to live.”

A ripple of anger exploded across the throne room.

”What nonsense are you spouting, Marquis?!” one of them snapped.

”Have you completely lost your mind?!” another barked.

”You dare speak of submission in front of His Majesty?!” a third roared.

”This is treason!”

The air shook with their fury.

Each of them held power equal to or greater than Marquis Vein. Though the kingdom’s strongest forces had already been deployed to the battlefield, those who remained were far from weak. Every single person in the chamber stood at the Hero rank, beings capable of leveling entire regions with ease.

And yet none of them could ignore the unease creeping beneath their anger.

Erlius remained silent.

His gaze bored into Vein, sharp and probing, as if trying to peel away his flesh and see what lay beneath.

There was no hysteria in the man’s eyes.

No madness, only certainty.

That... was what made it dangerous.

Erlius parted his lips, about to speak when...

Creak...

The massive doors of the throne room slowly opened.

Every head turned.

The air shifted.

A man stepped inside.

He was tall, his brown skin stark against the cold light of the chamber. His features were sharp, framed by a neatly kept beard and mustache. Each step he took echoed with quiet weight, his presence alone enough to disturb the flow of energy in the room.

The moment Erlius and the others laid eyes on him, they understood.

This man was not a native of the ocean.