Arthur adjusted the quiver on his back, the leather creaking softly. Fifteen goblins marched behind him, a mixture of still-green but fierce warriors, and servants who knew the rhythm of the farm. He hadn't used more; the horde needed to remain in the hamlet. Some maintained the crops, others watched the borders, and some helped Merlin with the broods.
Beca dragged herself discreetly at the rear, her beautiful naked body dissonant with the atmosphere was striking, with every step her immense breasts swayed, her large buttock trembled, the goblins intensely drooled over her, Beca was carrying a small backpack with supplies and water.
She didn't fight, she had no weapon except for a small shield in case things went wrong; her presence was more symbol than threat. Had Arthur not left her behind out of prudence, or fear? Perhaps both. A small stomach clench reminded him that he couldn't risk it. If she stayed alone with the goblins and Merlin... probably when he returned to the farm there would be not one but two Brood Sows and Beca would already be pregnant.
"Stay in formation," he ordered, his voice firm but low. "Don't leave gaps. One step out of place, and you'll pay the price."
The goblins spread out into two lines, advancing carefully through the irregular forest terrain. Some stumbled, others mumbled their grunts of excitement or fear. Arthur kept his bow ready, eyes scanning every tree, every bush, every sound that didn't belong to the wind.
'A crossbow would be better... but bows were so cheap... Damn! I need to find a way to get rich faster.'
Beca remained close, light and silent steps, looking at him with an attention that almost hurt because it was so complete. Arthur felt the pang of anxiety seeing her so vulnerable, so 'small' among the hungry green eyes of the goblins. He said nothing, but the tightness in his fingers on the quiver was almost a silent prayer: "Nothing will happen." Merlin would completely accept her at some point. He needed to accept!
The group advanced slowly through a narrow valley. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting long shadows. Arthur observed every goblin, every gesture, assessing instinct, discipline, coordination. Fifteen were too few for a serious attack, but enough to divert or intimidate. Still, the thought of leaving Beca alone brought him a wave of alert that he couldn't ignore.
'Okay, they just need to do what they trained for and everything will be fine.'
An owl suddenly flew away, breaking the silence, and the goblins let out small grunts. Arthur took a deep breath, reminding himself that they were just testing attention and reflexes, nothing real... yet. But the fear that something worse might emerge remained, constant and cold.
The challenge was still animals and maybe wild goblins... and if that worked... then he could proceed with his bold plan.
He lowered the bow but kept his fingers on the string, every muscle tense. "Continue in silence," he muttered, eyes fixed on the path ahead. Beca tilted her head, obedient, and Arthur realized that his concern went beyond physical danger: he needed to ensure she remained intact, that no impulse of chaos or aggression that he barely controlled would touch that moment.
'If we find goblins... they would try to kidnap her, if they are wild animals then the real danger lies there...' Wild goblins would only pose a danger if there were too many, which would be impossible in this part of the forest, so close to the villages and cities, but animals... wild boars, wolves, and bears...
Hours passed like this, between leaves crunching under nervous feet and the creaking of the quiver, until the trail began to open up, revealing the broader territory of the next valley. Arthur smiled slightly, almost silently. Fifteen goblins, Beca, him — the minimal team, but sufficient. Enough to advance, enough to maintain control, enough for him to breathe, if only for a little while.
And yet, deep in his mind, the anxiety remained: a leader, even with power, knew that leaving the farm could be risky. A simple thought: I can't leave her alone.
And with that, they advanced. Silent, tense, ready for whatever came — but together, even in reduced numbers, still under Arthur's cold and calculating gaze.
The trail opened into a wide clearing, trees receding to reveal more open ground. Arthur signaled for the goblins to slow their pace, raising a hand. Fifteen green eyes focused on him, bodies tense, muscles awaiting action. Beca stayed close, carrying only a few tools and keeping a safe distance, but observing every movement.
"Watch the perimeter," he muttered, eyes sweeping the dense bush. "Nothing goes unnoticed. And nothing touches her."
A snap to the left. Arthur crouched slightly, feeling the tension rise. A group of two wild boars advanced through the clearing, their fur bristled, sharp tusks exposed. The goblins let out small, excited grunts.
"Targets," Arthur said, with icy calm. "Two of them. First the one on the left, then the bigger one." He prayed that the goblins would hold firm in their trained roles.
He raised the bow, nocked the first arrow, and loosed it — thwip! — hitting the smaller boar in the flank. The animal grunted, staggered, but did not fall. The goblins ran towards it, small spears pointed, grunting frantically.
Beca stayed behind, hands clenched on the edges of the backpack, watching. Arthur dodged, letting loose an arrow at the second boar — thunk! — hitting the animal's neck. It staggered and fell. A critical hit, by pure accident and luck.
The goblins attacked the first boar, furious, their spears sinking into the flesh, drawing screams and blood until the animal finally collapsed. The metallic scent mixed with the damp earth.
The instant the bodies fell, a familiar vibration ran through Arthur's chest:
+50 XP (25 base + 25 bond bonus)+25 XP (wild boar kill credit)
He let out an almost imperceptible smile. "Three months after the last level... and I can advance again." If he didn't receive XP it would mean the system was still on cooldown, since he did receive it, it meant he could level up.
Beca looked at him, hesitating, then asked softly: "Three months? But... others can take years, right?"
Few people unlocked classes, but the knowledge of how it worked was common sense, at least the basics.
Arthur lowered his eyes to her, raising an eyebrow. "Yes. Each person has a different cooldown. Some lucky ones, days. Others... decades. This world is cruel like that."
She tilted her head, absorbing every word. "So... you were lucky? 3 months seems fast to me..."
"More or less," he replied, a cold smile. "But luck or not, the grind continues. There is no choice. Only opportunities... and those who take them."
Even without leveling up, he needed to hunt; Merlin's brood demanded a growing amount of food, and goblins were like rats, they reproduced quickly and ate everything.
'Rats... I heard a rumor about Ratmen nesting nearby...' Ratmen were similar to goblins, only different from the green ones, the rats were demanding diggers.
'If I caught one and managed to tame it... I would have excellent miners...' but the mental image of Merlin being... fucked... by Ratmen... was sickening to Arthur's stomach.
'I'll need to go check... even if I can't tame them, it would be necessary to exterminate them...'
Ratmen could be a bigger headache than goblins due to their tunnel-creating abilities, appearing anywhere, and their tunnels always ended up becoming home to other monsters.
'Okay, let's focus on one thing at a time... first the Level Up, then the rest.'
The goblins began to gather around the carcasses, sniffing, licking the blood with shining eyes. Arthur walked among them, adjusting spears, correcting postures. Every movement was efficient, calculated. He kept Beca close, as a silent reminder that there were things he wouldn't allow to be risked.
"Ready for the next one?" he asked, raising his bow again. In the distance, another wild boar emerged, immense, dark and shiny fur, exposed tusks. The goblins let out grunts, gripping spears.
Arthur nodded, eyes narrowed. "Then let's go. Not just for XP... but for food and money too."
"Food..." Beca said, drooling as she looked at the wild boar, a barbecue and bacon would be nice.
Arthur gently patted her head and scratched her small horns, "When we get home I'll make the barbecue!"
Her little eyes shone, "Promise?"
Arthur pulled her in for a quick kiss, "Of course."
"Barbecue~ Roasted Piglet~ Barbecue~"
He advanced, Beca following behind, humming, hands clenched, drool dripping, while the goblins prepared for the next victim. The sun was setting, painting the clearing red and gold, and every step echoed like the rhythm of a ritual of hunting and power.
+30 XP — first wild boar+50 XP — second wild boar+10 XP — goblin participation
Arthur realized, with a hint of satisfaction, that the level up cooldown, although limited, did not diminish his control. On the contrary, every XP acquired, every hunt, every moment with the goblins around him, consolidated his dominion and offered him more... power.
"Three months," he muttered to Beca, as he collected arrows and adjusted the quiver. "And soon, the next level. Others can wait decades. But I... I will seize every second."
She just nodded, eyes shining, body tense, aware that being by his side meant not only learning but also safety — and the constant tension of a cruel and unpredictable world, where power and survival were measured in XP, blood, and absolute control.
The sun began to decline when Arthur signaled for the goblins to approach. The bodies of the wild boars lay on the ground, heavy and warm, still steaming from the effort of the fight. He walked among them, hands on the bow, eyes attentive.
"First, skin. Then, meat. No waste," he ordered, his voice calm but firm. "Every inch has a use. Every effort is value."
The goblins advanced, their hands small but precise under his supervision. One of them grabbed the skin of the larger wild boar, tearing it off with brusque but efficient movements, pulling hard until every inch detached. Another held the tusk, while the third cut pieces of meat with rudimentary knives.
Arthur watched, adjusting the posture of each one, correcting movements. "Firmer pull. Don't tear the leather, or it will lose value. And the meat... clean cuts. No waste."
Beca stayed on the sidelines, holding small bundles of rope, ready to tie and organize the meat, her eyes attentive, absorbing Arthur's every gesture. He allowed himself a brief glance at her, remembering the fragility she carried — and the instinctive impulse to protect her.
While the goblins worked, Arthur felt the familiar vibration:
+20 XP — for the clean collection of the first wild boar+25 XP — for separating the leather without tears+15 XP — for efficient meat cuts
"Fifty more... still two hundred and sixty left until the next level," he muttered, his fingers clenching over the bow. A thin smile crossed his lips. "But every effort counts. Every second of attention is worth XP. Every obedient goblin is... ."
The small beings screamed and agitated, throwing the leather and meat into organized piles, some panting, others gasping with enthusiasm. Arthur guided them, correcting every step, every movement, every posture.
"Beca, keep the hides in order, they haven't learned yet," he said, looking over his shoulder. "Don't get distracted by the idea of barbecues, don't fall behind. They need to learn to butcher and you need to learn not to get into trouble."
She nodded, hesitating but firm. The tension still hung in the air — there was no fight for her, but there was learning about what she should do, discipline to avoid ending up in an irreparable or dangerous situation, and a silent understanding of the danger that lurked at any moment.
If she gets scared and runs away... it would probably be Game Over.
Another vibration ran through Arthur's body as he watched the goblins pull the hide off the second wild boar, separating meat and entrails with increasing precision:
+30 XP — second wild boar, clean cut+25 XP — intact hide
"Seventy-five, a hundred, a hundred and fifty..." Arthur muttered, counting mentally. With every XP, he felt the warmth of progression, the impulse of power growing, still constrained by the cooldown that defined level progression in the world. But at least, he was on the right track, three months since the last level, too short a time compared to those who might wait decades.
He took a step forward, adjusting the posture of a goblin pulling the meat with unequal force, reminding the creature of its limited strength. "It's not just strength. It's control. Every mistake costs time, every success yields value. You are still learning." The goblins' hands simply didn't seem to be made for activities that demanded fine precision and care, the hides and meats were cut strangely.
The smell of blood mixed with damp earth filled the air. Arthur breathed slowly, feeling the rhythm of the hunt, the cleaning, and the preparation — every action an investment, every XP one more step toward the next level.
As dusk tinged the forest red and gold, he mentally counted the accumulated total: with the XP from the hunt, the collection, the goblins' discipline, he was more than halfway to level 3, but there was still work ahead.
"Let's finish the cleaning," he ordered, firm steps as he supervised. "Every piece of meat, every hide, every action... is worth it. And when we reach three hundred XP, we'll return to the farm and I'll make barbecue for you."
The goblins, sweaty and panting, were excited by the idea, continuing to work under his watchful eyes, while Beca remained silent, efficient, and closer to him than ever, it seemed she was also anxious for the Level Up.
The sun was already beginning to set, staining the treetops golden. Arthur realized that the goblins, sweaty and panting, would not have the strength to carry any more game at once. Small sighs escaped their mouths, and the green bodies trembled under the effort.
"Stop," Arthur ordered, crossing his arms. "Let's rest a bit. You've done more than I expected."
The goblins settled on the ground, exhausted, some leaning against the trunks. Their eyes shone with devotion mixed with fatigue, but none dared to fully relax.
One of them approached Arthur and pointed to Beca and then to his own groin, made a circle with one hand and used the finger of the other to penetrate that circle... the other goblins held their breath waiting for Arthur's answer.
"No! go rest!" The goblin shrunk his ears and went to sit with the others.
Arthur watched them with a mixture of pride and calculation — he knew that every rest was still training, every break an opportunity to teach discipline.
Beca approached, soft steps on the leaf-covered earth.
Without a word, she sat delicately on his lap, her voluptuous body and shy face slightly flushed. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow as she settled, the warmth of her body lightly pressing against his.
"Master..." she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. Her eyes shone, moist and hopeful. And then, with a hesitant gesture, she offered him a breast.
Arthur chuckled softly, surprised by the silent audacity, but his tone did not lose its calm. "Always so direct, huh?"
Without waiting for an answer, he leaned slightly and drank, the warmth and surprisingly sweet taste filling his mouth. Beca blushed deeply, her fingers timidly entwining in her own hands, and kept her eyes fixed on him, shining with a mixture of shyness and something more intense.
Arthur's contained laughter mixed with Beca's soft breathing, while the goblins watched from afar, motionless, understanding the hierarchy: don't approach, don't interfere, just obey.
He ran a firm hand over her back, a touch of control, of care. "Beca," he murmured, his voice low, laden with authority. "And I won't let anything happen to you."
Beca sighed, relief on her face, but her eyes still carried the tension of submission.
"Why do they always want to cross with me, Master?" she looked curiously at the goblins who had sad expressions and lowered ears.
"Because you are simply irresistible," he said as he fondled her hip.
"Heheh~" Beca smiled happily, "But I am only the Master's! even if they look at me like little puppies..."
Arthur looked at her maliciously, her discomfort was perfect for a joke.
"By the way," he said, his voice casual, almost cold. "My little friends over there seem hungry, don't you think?" He gestured with his chin towards the goblins, who were fixed on the two of them, excited by the intimacy they were witnessing, but forbidden to act. "Perhaps they should have the same 'reward' for efficient collecting, huh? A 'moral boost,' a fresh gulp of milk..."
Anxiety took over Beca's face, her eyes wide, her body paralyzed. "N-no, Master! Please! I... I am only yours! they can't suck my breasts!" Her voice was a low, desperate lament.
Arthur let out a short laugh "Haha. A joke, Beca. Just a joke. You are mine and mine alone! If they want breasts, they can go to Merlin." He leaned closer and kissed her lips warmly. "Mine."
Beca was surprised at first, but then her face gained a rosy tone, "Master~" they became caught in an increasingly passionate kiss. "Master~ how about~" Beca put her hand on the bulge in Arthur's pants and looked at him with a watering mouth.
"No~ if you do that here," Arthur pointed to the goblins who had their own bulges clearly marked in their tunics "they will want to join and... maybe I won't be able to stop them." his voice was slightly provocative, he was playing with her again.
The cattle-girl looked frightened again at the goblins, this time staring at their volumes, and then looked at Arthur with a serious face, "Master, I think it's better if we do things at home!" she held her small hands anxiously.
"HAHAH" Arthur laughed lightly and hugged her tight. "You are perfect, Beca! Perfect!" Beca seemed to melt in his arms.
The goblins, who had emitted a chorus of excited grunts upon hearing the suggestion, abruptly calmed down, confused by the change in their Master's tone, but returning to their waiting posture. Beca took a deep breath, regaining her composure, but the fear and devotion were now more evident than ever in her eyes.
When he finally pulled away, raising his arms to stretch his tense muscles, Beca gently got down, her eyes still shining, and returned to helping organize the hunt, silent and efficient, but carrying the shared intimacy with her.
The goblins, partially recovered, began to move again, dragging what they could, every action a reflection of consolidated hierarchy, every step measured, every sigh of devotion. And Arthur, in the center, maintained absolute control — over the goblins, over Beca, and over the impulse he learned to master every day.
Twilight advanced, tinging the forest with scarlet tones. Arthur watched the goblins organize the wild boar carcasses, quartering them, removing the hides, and separating the meat with surprising efficiency, considering the natural clumsiness of the species. Every movement was calculated, taught, repeated, and the small teeth and claws tore the animal's skin with controlled ferocity.
Arthur crouched down, running his hand over a freshly removed hide, feeling the rough texture and clotted blood. "Remember," he muttered, "every action has its value. Cut with precision, not in haste. Every mistake costs time... and strength." The job of training goblins to be capable of activities that demanded fine precision was... problematic, a lengthy and repetitive task. They were much more adept at simpler tasks like: hunting, fishing, plowing the land, planting, harvesting some simpler crops, and plowing Merlin's belly.
Beca remained close, silent and attentive, helping to carry small meat packages or tie hides. Arthur kept an eye on her — not out of distrust, but out of care: even moments of distraction could be fatal.
The goblins seemed to understand the weight of responsibility. One of them hesitated when trying to pull a heavy hide; Arthur approached with firm steps, supported the goblin's shoulder with a dry touch, and ordered: "Pull firmer. Use body strength, not just hands. Every failure reduces our advantage." He felt the pain of the item losing value, but it was necessary, even if it was spoiled, the goblins would go after several others and in the end it would be worth it.
'One day I will have millions of goblins... then it won't be a problem if they spoil a hide...' the thought of millions of goblins led to another thought... Merlin wouldn't be able to do this alone... he needed to find other women to be 'Brood Sows,' but the question was where...? slaves who were imprisoned for crimes? or maybe hire something in the style of prostitutes...?
'I'll think about it another time...' he gave up thinking for now.
The entire group began to murmur, almost in unison, a guttural chorus of effort and obedience, as they dragged the bodies and hides back to the meeting point.
Arthur took a deep breath, feeling sweat run down his forehead. Every wild boar killed, every accurate strike of the goblins' spears and teeth, every quartered animal, added experience to his count:
+50 XP (first wild boar)+25 XP (second hunt)+5 XP x3 (rabbits and small animals)+40 XP (deer)+60 XP (bear)
He calculated mentally, his eyes shining with the prospect: there was still little left. The cooldown had finally ended — three months since the last level — and now the path was open. Some players might wait years, others days of pure luck; he, through his method and discipline, had the opportunity to advance early.
Arthur stopped, assessing the load the goblins managed to transport. They were exhausted, some barely balancing under the weight of the meat and hides. He sighed and sat on a log, Beca immediately by his side, without hesitation.
"I'll help, Master!" she said, "If the Master wants..."
She gently climbed onto his lap, her body light and shy. With an almost imperceptible movement, she offered him a breast. Arthur chuckled softly, in a mixture of surprise and contained pleasure, and leaned in to drink. The taste of the sweet nipple was truly satisfying.
Beca blushed, her eyes shining, fixed on his, as he drank the milk naturally, almost as a gesture of silent reward for her. He felt her nipple stiffen as he suckled.
'Cattle-girl libido is intense...' he looked at the goblins who were excited by the sight of him suckling Beca's large breasts, 'they would match... maybe I should look for a willing cattle-girl...'
"You are wonderful... and useful this way," he murmured, running his hand over her back. "Not just with the milk, you... are a good friend, I don't need you to do heavy work, even if your race is used to it." Arthur pointed to the goblins, "This helps strengthen their bodies and... well, there are so many of them that it doesn't hurt if one or two get exhausted."
She arched her body slightly, offering herself in a subtle way, but maintaining reverence. Arthur smiled, the feeling of power and control mingled with the warmth of intimacy, aware of every gesture, every look.
'Beca is simply perfect... gentle, pleasant and very libidinous! and she has a body...' he felt an erection bulge in his pants, this night promised good nighttime conversations again.
When the goblins realized they couldn't carry any more, they whined to Arthur, he stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. "Good work, little monsters. You gave your all. Now... let's see how much it's worth."
The accumulated XP reached its limit. Arthur felt the pulse of energy run through his body, the world clear to his vision, every sound and smell intensified.
[LEVEL UP]
Arthur closed his eyes for an instant, absorbing the newly conquered strength. His heart accelerated, the feeling of power and discipline combined with Beca's security next to him, reminding him of the necessary balance between strength, control, and care.
He opened his eyes, the goblins kneeling before him, reverent and exhausted, and muttered: "Level 3... and the cooldown is completed. Some might wait years. Others, days. I was lucky to be ready. But now I'll have to wait again..."
"Congratulations Master!" Beca smiled, shy, but with a sparkle in her eyes, while the goblins recomposed themselves, ready for the next stage of training, hunting, and Arthur's climb towards power.
He closed his eyes for an instant, feeling the pulse of the world within him, as if every grunt, every breath of the goblins, every heartbeat of the fallen prey amplified in his own chest. The system's whisper was clear: it was time to choose.
The system opened three options before him:
---
[Brood Multiplier]
— Each birth from your minions generates an additional one. More soldiers, more production.
[Growth Surge]
— Makes the goblins grow and mature faster. Increased strength and agility.
[Mimic Trait]
— Permanently copies one trait from a minion. One per race. May evolve in the future to allow more copies.
---
Arthur remained silent.
The system only accepted one choice. There was no going back.
'"Brood Multiplier" looked good — rapid growth of the horde. But I can barely feed them at the current rate...
"Growth Surge" too — immediate results, brute force. But I would still have the same food problem...
But "Mimic Trait" was different. It didn't give fast power, it would strengthen me... and seemed to indicate that somehow I could have other races obeying me... but the question remains: what ability would the goblins give me?'
Over time, he could accumulate unique advantages from each race he controlled even if the goblins didn't have anything useful.
It was a choice that would pay for itself, it was a way to stop depending exclusively on the numbers of his goblins to fight.
He confirmed.
[Skill acquired:MimicTrait]
[Permanently copies one trait from a minion. One per race. Future expansion potential.]
The body reacted immediately. An internal pressure rose from the muscles to the chest, as if the system had adjusted something inside him.
Nothing dramatic — just different. Real.
The goblins stopped for an instant and looked at him, confused. They must have sensed the change.
Beca also noticed.
"Master... did something happen?"
"I chose a new skill," he replied, directly.
She nodded, curious, but asked no more.
Arthur turned to the goblins, who were still kneeling, silenced by the increase in power they felt.
"Gather," he ordered, his voice a tone deeper and with undeniable authority. "Training doesn't stop because I advance. The XP that makes me stronger ensures that you also stay strong." even though he can't gain xp, he could still earn some coins.
One of the goblins from Merlin's first brood, a small warrior with a scar on his eye named Grak, grunted, a mixture of devotion and confusion. Arthur fixed him.
"Grak," Arthur called, his voice low. The goblin trembled. "What is your best quality?"
Like magic, a screen appeared fulfilling the question.
---
[Status]
[Race: Goblin]
[Racial Talents:]
[Fertility: Greatly increases the chance of impregnating a female.]
[High Libido: Facilitates obtaining an erection, decreases the chance of becoming limp.]
[Recovery after Sex: After climaxing slightly increases the body's regeneration capacity.]
[Enhanced Agility: Slightly improves the body's agility.]
---
Arthur slowly scanned the final two options, his mind functioning like a ledger balancing risks and returns.
The most immediate and brutal goblin traits—Fertility and High Libido—were mere biological necessities for the horde, useless for his personal advancement. He dismissed them instantly.
The real dilemma lay between the two remaining combat-oriented options.
'Recovery after Sex...' He considered the implications. It wasn't about pleasure; it was about endurance. A slight regeneration of the body after climaxing meant a continuous, renewable source of minor self-healing, especially crucial in long, sustained conflicts away from safety. It was a trait of survival and sustainability, a dark irony that his body's most basic function could become a combat utility. It would be a solid, long-term investment in maintaining physical integrity.
Then there was Enhanced Agility. This wasn't subtle maintenance; it was immediate combat power. A slight improvement in agility could mean the difference between dodging a lethal blow or taking a fatal hit. It would affect his movement speed, his reaction time, the precision of his aiming—everything that involved physical control in a fight. It was a primary, non-conditional attribute gain.
The recovery was tempting for the long run, for the inevitable future of long campaigns and constant wear. But Arthur was not seeking comfort in battle; he was seeking survival. He needed to ensure that his survival came before the sustainability of a prolonged war of attrition. A single point of Agility could save his life now, a thousand times over.
The subtle, dark power of the Mimic Trait pulsed in his chest, urging him to make the defining choice. He wasn't a goblin. He was Arthur, and he would take the trait that made him a better hunter, a better predator.