(Book One Complete!) Friendly Neighbourhood Goblin (Mercenary Company LitRPG)

Darkness. Even before his eyes adjusted, Stump found himself stepping lithely through the stony throat of his old home, its terrain burned into his memory.

The shadows retreated quickly, revealing dozens of pairs of glowing eyes watching his entrance. A burning pyre crackled in the corner. In its glow, along the far wall where the matrons once sat on their thrones, was a tall, mangled behemoth. It sparkled gold in places, silver in others. A shield had been melted and fused with coins bled together. Helmets, swords, and spears poked out of the lurching structure like knights trapped in calcified lava.

Sitting atop it, wreathed in the skulls of the white matrons and wearing his chromatic crown, was Thrung. He curled the four fingers remaining to his left hand over the burned coppery visage of a dead god.

The tribe before him hissed at Stump, and parted to allow him passage.

There's no more than thirty, he thought. And they look tired. Defeated and angry. That will play into my plan.

He was led to the middle of the cavern, where he'd stood before the matrons with Garron's smoking helmet under his arm. Thrung's scornful stare was as deep as theirs had been, and the crowd murmured with the same expectation of blood.

Despite his fear, Stump locked eyes with the goblin king and returned a glare equally as vengeful.

Show them strength, like a goblin.

"Ergul…" Thrung began. Steam curled from his lips. "You've come all this way to find me."

"I came for Yeza," Stump said.

Cinders sprayed like scorching spittle when Thrung chuckled.

"Of course. You were always soft for the weakest of our kind. But you've shown strength in living despite the decree of the matrons. Now they are gone, and all their words with them."

The crowd quieted. They watched their monarch with as much uncertainty as Stump.

"Only my words matter now," Thrung continued. "I'm the one who unmakes traitors like Griza—"

"Gold-Blooded."

Red flared from the king's throat. "Griza never earned—"

"Her name is Gold-Blooded, and you will respect that."

The murmurs returned. The crowd chittered in disbelief.

Thrung gritted his blackened teeth. "And I'm the one who creates," he went on, side-stepping the verbal challenge. "I built my kingdom from the tribes around me like I forged my throne. With fire. Just as the matrons marked you with the ashes of our people, I have the power to bring you back to us. Back to your kin. Kneel before me, Ergul. Fall to your hands and knees and accept me as the king of all goblins, and I'll spare you from my fire. I'll spare Yeza, too. And you will rise again as Death-Breaker, the goblin who lived."

Gasps. Whispers. The bloodlust swept through the cavern, sending tremors through goblins shocked by the offer. Even Stump, who'd learned some measure of control over his rage, was caught in the swell.

It was Thrung's final attempt to wriggle free from the duel while maintaining authority over his crumbling kingdom—peace through willing submission. He would keep his illusion of strength, and Stump would receive everything he'd been fighting for. He would live. Yeza would be safe.

But as he breathed deep and reasserted control over his ancestral power, Stump knew there would never be peace while Thrung lived, no matter the promises.

He waited until the crowd settled.

"My name is Stump, the shortest of goblinkind," he said, letting his hand fall to the belt of obsidian. "And you are Thrung, king of nothing. You're a liar and a coward, and I'm going to show them all."

Whispers became shouts. Chitters turned to roars and cheers for death. Like a hurricane the bloodlust tore through the cave. Words and promises wouldn't be enough now. Thrung had no choice but to match their rage.

The throne shuddered as he leapt with a hateful growl. Fire wreathed his forearm.

"How dare you! I'm no coward! The Godslayer is within me!" He punched the air before him, and the cavern glowed with flame.

Stump rolled backwards over his shoulder, feeling the pinch of heat as the blast charred the ground where he'd stood. He slipped the obsidian into his hand and smashed it at his feet.

The Smokestone coughed billowing grey clouds, and before it obscured him he summoned two shifting copies of himself with Minor Illusion. All three darted into the smoke. Only one drew his dagger.

"Where are you? Fight me!" said Thrung.

A whoosh of flame erupted where Stump directed one of the illusions. He closed in after it, following the light, cutting through smoke. The blade sunk into flesh. Scalding blood splattered his cheek, and Thrung squealed like a dying porkling.

Stump echoed the cry at the ripple of heat near his cheek. A force rattled his ribs, and he stumbled out of the way of another gout of fire before melting back into the darkness.

"Ergul! Here I am! Fight me or kneel! Kneel like your kin!" Thrung's challenge was broken by crackling spears of red. He lanced them left, right, behind.

Stump circled, ducking and weaving, commanding his illusions to move in opposite directions. He skidded to avoid another blast, and beat down the flames licking his cloak.

He must be running out of virtue... right?

Beyond the smoke the tribe shrieked at the fire crashing around them. Their panic was what Stump wanted. What he needed for his plan.

"They only kneel for you because they're afraid!" he bellowed.

A jet of flame ripped through the smoke in response.

"They don't respect you," Stump said, darting aside. "They hate you. You killed their matrons. You led their friends to die in the Shadowlands."

"Shut up!"

Stump followed the voice and leapt, knife in hand, and found crusted goblin flesh. The king howled and spun from the blade, but Stump pressed the attack. Together they twirled in a dance of whistling steel and snapping fire.

"Don't be afraid of him!" Stump called. White flashed and his jaw cracked against a strike. He tasted blood. "Show no fear! No fear! Don't let—" Thrung's heel stole the breath from his chest and sent him tumbling to the cave floor.

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When he struggled to his feet with the gawking tribe at his back, the smoke rolled over him, swallowed by a churning ball of flame held in the air between Thrung's outstretched hands.

Stump broke left, calling the illusion to his place, before the ball zipped through it and cut across the cavern. A bright flash followed the screams of the tribe. He turned to find them fleeing the explosion, or throwing themselves to the ground to snuff the fire on their clothes.

"Tongue-Biter!" a goblin cried, running to his friend and smothering him with a cloak. He threw his king a hateful glare.

But Thrung's rage wouldn't allow him to see the damage he'd caused his own people. He drew his hand through the air, conjuring a flaming whip from a seemingly endless pool of virtue.

Stump shuffled backwards, keeping his distance, and wrapped his fingers around the Rainstone.

"Thrung destroyed your tribes. He sent dozens of you to die against the tall men to satisfy his own vengeance," he said. The whip tore a smouldering path, but Stump ducked. "It wasn't for glory or plunder, or for Grumul." A second lash grazed his shoulder, but the pain fuelled his plea. "It was to correct his own failure!" Whip. Dodge. Embers fluttered like snowfall. "It was to kill a goblin he couldn't on his own! He needed dozens, a hundred of his people to find me… and still your king failed!"

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (5/11)

Stump searched for the goblin he'd won to his cause, and found the one holding the burned Tongue-Biter in his arms. Fury tightened his gaze on Thrung, while the others around him were paralyzed with uncertainty.

Show them strength. I need them on my side.

"I failed nothing!" Thrung screamed, and drew his arm back.

This time Stump was ready. He loosed the Rainstone at the next crack of fire. It skidded over stone, spewing pellets of water. The whip passed over him as a rush of steam, and he replied with a bright Flash, like lightning in a rainstorm, and sprinted into the downpour with a downward slash.

Thrung staggered and shielded himself from the rain, and the blade dug into his arm. Stump tried to wrench it free, but it was anchored into bone. He pulled anyway, dragging Thrung into his sopping fists, pummelling the burned goblin's jaw, his nose, his eyes. Each strike brought throbbing pain that laced Stump's words with goblin rage.

"Thrung is the one who ran! He ran from Peaktree, from the tall men. From me!"

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (4/11)

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (5/11)

"He ran because he's a coward! He always was! He lied—" Stump's teeth rattled off Thrung's knuckles. He spat blood and returned a blow of his own. "He lied to our matrons to have me executed! And still I beat him on the Wildrun!"

They battled across rain-slick stone, grappling, kicking, biting, slipping and falling into each other, and all the while Stump's skull rang with sharp celestial peals of virtue.

Seven… eight…

"I beat him at Peaktree! And I'll beat him again today!"

Eleven… twelve…

Thrung's flaming fist fizzled in a cloud of smoke. His ragged breath dispersed in puffs of steam, and his blood boiled as it dripped from burning wounds.

Seventeen… eighteen…

A brilliant glow invaded Stump's peripherals. The world brightened around him. His skin glittered gold.

Twenty one…

Thrung staggered back with a guttural scream and summoned a cloud of smoke between them. Stump pursued, but when he broke through the other side he skidded to a halt.

"Enough!" roared the goblin king. He'd pulled the knife free from his arm and fled into the ranks of his tribe, where he held the blade level against the throat of Yeza.

Stump froze, his glowing skin snaring the awe of the tribe. "Yeza!"

"Stump!" she cried. "I—" A yelp cut her words short when Thrung forced her to her knees.

"Kill him! Six-thirty! Kill him and the tall men outside my cave!" he ordered, glancing about with wild eyes. "Kill him, I said! I am your king! Six-thirty!"

The goblins exchanged uncertain looks, but no one moved.

No one but Stump.

He stepped forward slowly as the light crept in from the corners of his eyes, bathing the cave around Thrung and Yeza in the same white that had taken hold in Seabrace.

"This is your king?" he said. "Someone who hides behind others?"

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (24/11)

The light tunnelled his vision, consuming all but Thrung and Yeza. Not yet, Lumensa, he prayed. Grumul, lend me strength.

"Thrung is no king!" he continued. "Free yourselves from him and follow another."

Twenty five…

Every blink ceded more territory to the creeping blindness threatening him. "I am Stump, traveller of the Shadowlands. Goblin of Grimsgate. Leader of the Nobodies."

Twenty six…

Darkness ringed the light swallowing the cave—the same darkness where Borag lived. The power that stole his sight.

Thrung watched, slack-jawed. In his attempt to form words of bafflement, he let the blade slip, and Yeza found her opening.

She grabbed his wrist and leapt, ramming her skull into his nose. The knife scattered. She twirled, kicking and fighting, but he snagged her again. They wrestled in a tangle of rage, neither gaining the upper hand.

But it was all Stump needed.

He charged, and roared with all the might of their dead goblin god.

"And I fight—"

Twenty seven…

"With the power of Lumensa—"

Twenty nine…

"And Grumul!"

Thirty…

He tackled Thrung, and the light drowned them all.

White and black vanished from Stump's eyes as he expelled the will of the tribe in an earth sundering scream. Sunbeams lanced off his skin, lighting the darkest depths of their cave and unmasking the faded stories that generations of their people had etched into stone.

Yeza and the tribesmen turned from the blinding glow, but Stump held Thrung in place, pinning his arms to his side as the burned goblin convulsed to thrums of golden sunlight.

Skill Level Increased: Lumenurgy (level 8)

Character Level Increased: Level 8 - Maximum Virtue +1 (0/12)

Focus Point +1 (1)

The yellow of Thrung's one remaining eye burned away, leaving it as pale and milky as the other.

As the light dimmed, Stump stepped off and placed a shaking hand on his forehead to quell the coming headache. His virtue settled, his skin lost its glow, and the shadows of the cave rolled back into place.

"I can't see! I can't see!" Thrung squealed. He writhed and thrashed in his failed attempt to stand. "Mom..."

Stump took a step back. Mom?

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. He turned to find Yeza behind him. Her hair was thick with knots, her skin dotted with cuts and scrapes, and in her hand was the dagger.

She held it out to him.

"Please..." Thrung whimpered. He dragged himself across the floor, tearing his charred skin. When he found Stump's foot he craned his neck. "Please... k... kill... me..." He shuddered, his limbs jerking like a marionette with its strings in a tangle. "No! Spare me, please. Ergul. Stump! I'll call you whatever you... kill me... No!" He punched himself in the jaw. "Shut up!"

"What's wrong with him?" Stump said.

"The visions take their toll," replied Yeza. She grabbed Stump's hand and closed his fingers around the weapon. "You're the one who defeated him."

He held the blade gingerly, as if a sudden twitch might prove it was made of dust. It was only a jagged piece of metal, he knew, but looking at it now with his quarry begging at his feet, he was struck by the weight of it. The rusted edges. The scratches marring its curve that spoke of the many souls it had stolen.

Never even had your first kill, he heard in his mind, in the mocking tones of Gold-Blooded.

He gripped the dagger tightly and turned to Thrung, ready to steal one for himself.

The tribe stood around him, many of them beaten and burned. Half were scowling at their blind king, while the rest regarded Stump with the sort of fearful respect normally afforded to the matrons. He'd broken their loyalty to Thrung, but he wasn't sure how to process the possibility that they were now loyal to him.

"Kill me... No... No, you can't..." Smoke coughed from Thrung's wounds, and although he could no longer see, he looked up at Stump with pleading eyes—one begging to live, the other to die.

After a long pause, Stump sheathed the blade.

"Goblins have no king," said Stump. "No one member of a tribe can decide the fate of another. That was for the matrons, but you killed them all. You destroyed their tribes. Even your own. They all deserve a say in what happens to you." He took a step back, pulling away from Thrung's desperate grasping.

The tribe, a modicum of power returned to them, growled as one. A goblin stepped forward and circled Thrung like a mountain bat. Another followed.

"Death," said one of them.

"Death," echoed a second.

Thrung struggled to his knees and whipped his head around at the word. "Wait. I have Jaessun's powers. I'll—I'll give them to you… please…"

"Death," said a third. A fourth. It echoed off the walls, louder and louder as more joined the chant. They closed in.

Death, death, death.

"No!" Thrung said, pulling his arm away from grasping hands. "No, wait! I am your king! You can't! Take your hands off me! Let go!"

They dug their nails into his shoulders, his arms, his legs. They grabbed his ears and neck and hauled him off the floor like a piece of meat. He flailed, kicking and squirming, unable to break free.

"LET ME GO! PLEASE! MOM! KILL M—"

The snap of bone drew a howl of pain that shook the walls. Blood sprayed from where Thrung's arm had been. His foot was next, followed by a leg. Piece by piece the goblin king was turned to plunder, until a final screech of agony died when his head left his shoulders and a torrent of royal guts coloured the tribe red.