From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties!

The camp had transformed into a festival ground, the air thick with celebration—the acrid smoke of roasting meat mingling with the sweet tang of fermented berry wine that flowed like water from barrels rolled out from hidden stores personally handled by the orcs since their arrival.

Torches blazed along the walls, their flames casting dancing shadows that made the rough-hewn stone seem alive, pulsing with the energy of victory. Goblins packed the space, their green bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, voices raised in raucous song and laughter that echoed off the ceiling like thunder trapped in a bottle.

The Stonehide tribe had momentarily returned to the mountains after the duel, their massive forms retreating into the high passes with the promise of future talks. The Chieftess had departed without a word, but the nick on her neck—a thin line of dried blood—spoke volumes. She had acknowledged Byung, and that was enough. Her four honor guards had dismantled the arena cage with efficient silence, the jagged iron bars carried away like trophies, leaving only trampled earth and bloodstains as evidence of the battle.

Byung moved through the crowd with careful steps, his transformed body still bearing the marks of the scar he had incurred. His neck was bruised in a perfect handprint, purple and black like storm clouds under his green skin, the imprint of the Chieftess's fingers a collar of pain. His ribs ached with every breath, the internal damage not fully healed, sending sharp stabs through his torso when he twisted or bent. Blood had dried in crusty patches on his simple armor—the iron plates on his forearms and thighs dented and scratched from the fight. But he could move. His pain tolerance had increased exponentially, the system's evolution adapting his nerves to filter agony into a dull background hum. What would have crippled him weeks ago now felt like a distant throb, manageable and almost ignorable.

Goblins parted before him like water before a stone, their eyes wide with reverence. Hands reached out to touch his armor, his shoulders, as if proximity to their king could bless them with his strength. Murkfang raised a wooden mug high, voice booming over the noise:

"To Byung! The goblin who stood against the Stonehide and lived!" The crowd roared in response, mugs clashing together with wet thuds, wine splashing onto the stone floor in dark puddles that reflected the torchlight.

A lot of goblins had never tasted such a thing before so the flavour was new to them but it was only possible thanks to farm's improved production.

Then Drekk appeared, pushing through the throng with his scarred face set in grim determination. The former enforcer, the one who had ruled through fear, stopped before Byung.

The camp fell silent, the laughter dying like a snuffed candle, all eyes turning to watch. Drekk's jaw worked, tusks grinding audibly, before he sank to one knee with a heavy thud that echoed in the sudden quiet. His head bowed, braids falling forward to hide his face, the submission complete and public.

"My king," he said, voice rough but clear, carrying to the farthest corners.

"I was wrong. You are real," Drekk acknowledge Byung for all to see, this was the official proof that this region now belonged to him.

Byung nodded once, the gesture curt but accepting. The crowd erupted again, the cheer deafening, goblins pounding fists on barrels and stomping feet in a rhythm that shook dust from the ceiling. But Byung raised a hand, and the noise cut off like a blade through rope. Every goblin froze, breaths held, the sudden silence more oppressive than the earlier din. The torches crackled softly, the only sound.

"I have something to tell you," Byung said, his voice steady and cold, cutting through the air like winter wind. "Wait here."

He turned and walked toward his private chambers, the crowd parting in silence. Maui, Naz, and Naruz stood near the entrance, their massive orc frames tense. Maui's green eyes followed him, worry etched in the lines around her mouth, but she said nothing. Naz held her baby close, the infant cooing softly against her chest, oblivious. Naruz's hand rested on her axe hilt, knuckles white, but she made no move to follow.

Byung disappeared into the path leading to his quarters, his footsteps echoing like a death march. Minutes stretched like hours, the goblins shifting uneasily, whispers starting to ripple through the crowd—nervous murmurs that carried the scent of fear beneath the wine and smoke. Then he returned.

Dragging Vrognut by his leg.

The mutilated cannibal was a grotesque wreck, barely recognizable. Both arms were severed at the shoulders, the stumps wrapped in crude bandages that seeped dark blood, dripping onto the stone floor with soft pats that echoed in the silence. His mouth hung open, a ruined cavern—every tooth ripped out, gums torn and bleeding, the gaps black and festering. Fresh blood oozed from a new wound: his tongue, cut out at the root, leaving a stump that twitched uselessly. Vrognut's eyes were wide and wild, eyes darting frantically, but no sound escaped—just wet gurgles and the rasp of labored breathing through his broken nose.

Byung hauled him into the center of the camp, dropping him onto the stone with a meaty thud. Vrognut collapsed like a sack of meat, his body convulsing weakly, blood pooling around him in a spreading green fluid lake that reflected the torchlight like a dark mirror. Everywhere went silent. Not a breath, not a whisper. Even the younger goblins stopped moving, their wide eyes locked on the horror before them.

Drekk stood slowly, his face draining of color despite his green skin, jaw slack. He couldn't believe his eyes. Vrognut—the savage, the cannibal who had bitten through Naruz and paralyzed her—was useless now. No arms to fight, no teeth to bite, no tongue to speak threats or rally others. A broken shell.

Byung turned to face the crowd, his golden eyes cold and unyielding, reflecting the flames like chips of ice in firelight.

"This," he said, his voice carrying with the weight of iron, "is the fate that awaits anyone who puts us in danger." He pointed at Vrognut, who writhed weakly, blood bubbling from his mouth.

"Vrognut knew he was being followed. He continued his journey here anyway. He is the reason Kraghul came. He threatened my family. Your families."

The words hung in the air, heavy as stones. Some goblins turned away, hands covering their mouths, the sound of retching echoing from the edges of the crowd as stomachs rebelled against the sight. Bile and half-digested food splattered onto the floor, the sour stench mixing with blood. But Byung didn't flinch, didn't soften. His gaze swept the crowd, challenging anyone to object.

"Vrognut is useless to us now," Byung continued, his voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrated in the chest.

"But he is invaluable to the humans. I will hand him over to Rodell, collect the bounty, and show them we are capable of policing our own. This is not just punishment—it is strategy. We gain gold, we gain trust, and we secure access to paths beyond the orcs' confines."

He knelt beside Vrognut, grabbing the cannibal's matted hair and lifting his head so the ruined mouth was visible to all.

"I cut his tongue so he cannot speak. Cannot betray us. Cannot beg for mercy or strike deals. He is a message—to the humans, to the orcs, to anyone who thinks goblins are weak." Byung stood, releasing Vrognut's head, which thudded back onto the stone with a wet crack.

"We are entering a new age. An age where we are not prey, not slaves, not vermin to be exterminated. We are survivors. We are builders. We are strong. And those who threaten that will face the same fate."

The silence stretched, broken only by Vrognut's gurgling breaths and the crackle of torches. Then Murkfang stepped forward, his stern face showing an unwavering resolve that was not present prior.

"You did what was necessary, my king. We will follow you."

One by one, the goblins nodded, murmurs of agreement rippling through the crowd. Fear lingered in their eyes, but beneath it was something new—respect born of terror, loyalty forged in blood.

Maui, Naz, and Naruz watched from the edge. The fear that had once flickered on their faces when Byung's coldness first emerged was gone. Now they saw him clearly—not the naive goblin they had first met, but the king he had become. Maui's green eyes softened, a faint smile touching her lips despite the horror. She had seen him fight the Chieftess, watched him adapt and evolve mid-battle, his body and mind sharpening like a blade in the forge. If Byung had remained the same as when they first met—soft, hesitant, hopeful for peace—he would have lost in the first few seconds. The Chieftess's killing intent alone would have crushed him.

But he had changed. And that change, terrifying as it was, was why they stood here now—alive, victorious, free.

Naruz crossed her arms, nodding slowly. "He's ruthless. But he's ours."

Naz rocked her baby gently, the infant's soft breaths a stark contrast to the gallery's tension. "He's what we need to survive this world."

Byung turned away from Vrognut, his footsteps echoing as he walked toward the tunnel leading deeper into the mine. "Celebrate," he called over his shoulder, voice carrying like a command. "Tomorrow, we plan the future."

The goblins erupted again, but the cheer was different now—edged with awe and a touch of dread. The wine flowed, the meat roasted, but every goblin knew: their king was no longer just a leader. He was a force of nature that other races had to fear, willing to do what was necessary. And they would follow him into the new age, whatever it cost.