Arthur wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand. The knife still trembled in his grip, the blade dripping dark and wet, but he barely noticed. His focus was on the body.
The goblin lay sprawled in the dirt, chest torn, yellow eyes glassy in defeat. Yet the tether thrummed through Arthur's veins like a second heartbeat, pulling, insisting. It wasn't just a connection — it was a pressure, subtle and constant, like something coiled beneath his skin. Not pain. Not pleasure. Just presence.
He reached for it. Not with hands, but with will.
The body jerked. Its limbs twitched unnaturally, stiff at first, then looser, like a puppet remembering how to move. The faint glow from the wound pulsed once, twice, then spread like cracks of light through its skin.
Arthur staggered back, breath caught in his throat. His instincts screamed abomination. But the rage burned hotter — this was his now. To be tamed. His servant.
The goblin's claw dug into the dirt. It pushed itself up, spine snapping into place with a sickening crack. The head lolled for a moment, then lifted. Yellow eyes, once clouded by loss, reignited — but they no longer held hunger. They held obedience.
It didn't speak. It didn't snarl. But something primal still lingered in its posture, like a beast leashed too tightly. A controlled wildness. A blade sheathed but never dulled. Its breathing was shallow, mechanical. The eyes glowed faintly, not only with life, but with borrowed purpose. It didn't blink. It didn't twitch. It simply waited — like a statue carved from instinct.
The chains in Arthur's blood pulled tight.
The goblin knelt before him.
Arthur's chest heaved. He felt sick, giddy, powerful all at once. He lowered the knife, staring down at the creature that only minutes ago had tried to tear him apart. Now it waited for command. His first soldier. His first proof.
And in the back of his mind, the barn echoed again — the laughter, the jeers. Coward. Worthless.
Arthur bared his teeth in a grim smile. Not anymore.
He had bound a monster.
And this was only the beginning.
Arthur kept his eyes locked on the kneeling goblin, the knife still loose in his hand. The bond thrummed, strong and undeniable, and yet—something felt wrong. The current in his veins hit a wall, like a door locked tight.
He focused harder, trying to reach out, to grasp the new power fully. For a heartbeat he thought he'd done it—he felt a shape, vast and intricate, the promise of command. Then it snapped shut.
Words carved themselves across his mind, not spoken but etched deep:
Limit Reached. Current Bond: 1 (Progenitor) Expansion Possible: Only through Progeny of Bound.
Arthur staggered back, heart hammering. "What? That's it?" he muttered, voice shaking with disbelief. "Just… one? One goblin?"
The creature stared blankly, awaiting orders. It didn't understand, couldn't.
Arthur's grip tightened on the knife. He wanted to scream, to curse, to tear the truth from the invisible chains that bound him. He had pictured legions. Rows of monsters kneeling at his feet. The barn boys watching in silence as he commanded the dark. Fear replacing mockery. Power replacing shame.
But now? One goblin. One broken thing. It felt like mockery. A cruel one.
He exhaled, ragged and angry, forcing himself to steady. The tether was real. The goblin was his. Even if the rules mocked him.
"Only through its children…" Arthur muttered, staring into the dirt. The implication rooted deep, unsettling, but also… promising. His hands trembled as the thought sank in. "So you're not just a servant. You're… the start."
The goblin blinked, uncomprehending, still kneeling.
Arthur wiped the blood from his mouth and forced himself to stand tall. His chest burned with frustration, but also a dangerous spark of possibility.
"One goblin," he whispered. "Fine. Then I'll make that one count."
He looked down at the creature, still kneeling, still breathing. The bond pulsed quietly, like a seed waiting to sprout.
A thought flickered — crude, instinctive, undeniable.
Maybe I need a goblin breeder farm.
He didn't say it aloud. He barely admitted it to himself. But the idea rooted deep, cold and efficient. Not just domination. Production.
The goblin blinked, unaware.
Arthur clenched the knife tighter. The moon illuminated the path.
Arthur hesitated, then reached out and tapped the goblin's shoulder — just lightly, like testing the surface of something suspicious.
His fingers recoiled instantly.
The texture was cold, clammy, and disturbingly rubbery. Like a frog dipped in sweat, or a mushroom that had opinions. Arthur grimaced, wiping his hand on his shirt with visible disgust.
"Ugh. You're gonna need a bath, buddy," he muttered.
The goblin blinked again. Slowly. Then tilted its head — not in confusion, but in something eerily close to offense. It sniffed once, audibly, then looked down at its own shoulder as if trying to understand what was so objectionable.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Don't give me that look. You smell like a swamp's armpit."
The goblin blinked again. Then, in a motion so slow it bordered on sarcastic, it sniffed itself — and visibly winced.
Arthur stared. "Did you just… agree with me?"
The goblin gave a low grunt. Not hostile. Not obedient. Just… resigned.
Arthur sighed. "Great. My first soldier is a sentient toad with hygiene issues."
He turned, knife still in hand, the goblin trailing behind like a damp shadow. The moon lit the path ahead, but Arthur couldn't help but glance back once more.
The goblin scratched its shoulder absently, then sniffed again — this time with a hint of curiosity.
Arthur groaned. "We're getting you soap. First thing tomorrow."
Then his eyes dropped lower — to the goblin's so-called clothing. The rags hung loosely, barely covering anything. And unfortunately, one particular feature was far too visible.
A yellowish, red-tipped mushroom-like growth protruded from the goblin's lower abdomen, pulsing faintly like it had ambitions of its own.
Arthur blinked. "Oh. That's just… out there, huh?"
The goblin glanced down, then back up, expression unchanged.
Arthur rubbed his temples. "Right. So… a bath. And something to wear. A sack, maybe. Something that covers all of… that."
The goblin scratched its side, then gave another grunt — this one almost apologetic.
Arthur turned away, muttering to himself. "One goblin. One fungal exhibitionist. Fantastic."
Behind him, the goblin adjusted its rags with a tug, the mushroom swaying proudly.
Arthur didn't look back. He just clenched the knife tighter and kept walking.
Arthur squinted at the goblin's ragged clothing — or lack thereof. The creature's anatomy was... unfortunately visible. And one particular detail stood out with unsettling clarity.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Well," he muttered, "you're surprisingly well-equipped for something half my size."
The goblin blinked, then tilted its head — not in confusion, but with a faint puff of pride.
Arthur groaned. "Oh gods, you understood that."
The goblin gave a low grunt and adjusted its rags with a flourish that could only be described as smug.
Arthur turned away, muttering, "Great. My first servant is a fungal exhibitionist with confidence issues in all the wrong places."
Behind him, the goblin stood a little taller.
Arthur didn't look back. He just whispered, "We're getting you a robe. A long one."
Arthur glanced back, just in time to catch the goblin shifting its rags with a deliberate tug — revealing, once again, the yellowish, red-tipped mushroom-like growth that pulsed with unsettling pride.
Arthur blinked. "Seriously?"
The goblin stood a little straighter, chest puffed — or at least, as much as its hunched frame allowed. It tilted its hips slightly, as if presenting the fungal protrusion like a trophy.
Arthur groaned. "No, buddy. Put that away."
The goblin blinked, confused.
Arthur pointed at the offending growth. "Save it for a female goblin. Or a mating dance. Or whatever passes for romance in a swamp."
The goblin paused. Then slowly adjusted its rags again — not to hide the mushroom, but to frame it better.
Arthur rubbed his temples. "Oh gods. You think that's impressive."
The goblin gave a low grunt, followed by a subtle pelvic wiggle.
Arthur turned away. "I need soap. And blinders. And possibly a priestess."