Aria's fingers clamped around my wrist like iron as we cut through the goblin camp.
No polite parting, just bodies shifting with grudging snarls, eyes tracking me like fresh meat dragged into a starving wolf den.
One spat at my feet. Another's hand drifted to his axe, fingers twitching.
If Aria slipped, even for a heartbeat, I'd be testing how sharp those edges really were.
I kept my face blank, breathing even. Panic here would be blood in the water.
"They hate you," Aria muttered, low enough the wind almost stole it.
Her eyes flicked across the mob, warrior-sharp. "Kobolds took half our hunters last spring. We took twice that in retaliation. Hate doesn't wash off easily."
"Neither does survival," I said. "We're both still breathing."
She shot me a sideways glance, surprised, maybe impressed. Her grip eased a fraction.
"Most males strut or scream when cornered. You just… stand there. Like the storm's already hit and you're waiting for the next one."
I didn't answer. Talking burned oxygen I might need.
The chief's hut rose ahead, bigger, walls studded with bones and iron spikes.
Two scarred guards flanked the entrance, hands already on weapons. One growled something guttural as we approached.
Before they could block us, a bellow erupted from inside, shaking the thatch.
"My daughter's a damn war-mad lunatic! No males, no grandchildren, am I supposed to rot alone?!"
Aria froze. Color flooded her face, rage, shame, murder all mixed.
She released my wrist.
"I've got this," she snarled, and slammed the door open so hard a hinge popped loose.
The shouting cut off mid-roar.
I stayed outside. Guards stepped closer. The crowd pressed in, too many bodies, too quiet. Weapons glinted.
Then Aria's voice dropped, edged like a blade.
"…and he might actually fix the orc problem."
Silence. Thick. Heavy.
Boots thudded. Chief Kalmar filled the doorway, towering.
His tusks jutted like broken spears. His glare swept over me, ready to bite.
Then recognition hit.
He staggered. Dropped to his knees in the dirt.
"A kobold?!" he howled. "My daughter brings me a god-damned kobold suitor? After everything?!"
Laughter exploded behind me. Snarls. A few goblins edged forward, blades half-drawn.
I raised both hands slowly. "Chief, I'm not here to, "
Aria lunged out, grabbed Kalmar by the collar, yanked him upright like he weighed nothing.
"Not. Like. That!" she snapped. "He has a plan for the orcs, you thick-skulled old stump!"
The word plan sliced the noise in half.
Kalmar blinked. Rage drained, replaced by something colder. Hungrier.
"A solution?" he rumbled. "From one of them?"
The crowd hushed, waiting.
Then a staff cracked against the ground.
An old goblin shoved forward, hunched, bone staff clutched in claw-like hands, eyes like poisoned wells. Elder Bruuk.
The air around him felt wrong. Rotten. Like mold under fresh snow.
"Have we sunk so low," he rasped, "that we beg scraps from a kobold's claws? After his kind butchered our kin for generations?"
Murmurs rippled. Agreement. Weapons shifted.
My heart kicked harder. Aria's protection was one thing. A swaying mob was another.
"Back off, Bruuk," Aria growled, stepping between us.
I moved before she could escalate.
I crossed my arms and looked down at the elder. "Funny thing. I show up with an actual fix.
You show up with… complaints. And yet the orcs keep coming. Your people keep dying. So enlighten me, what have you done lately, Elder?"
A ripple of unease through the crowd.
Bruuk's knuckles whitened on the staff. Eyes narrowed to slits.
"For all we know," he hissed, "you're an orc spy. Come to finish what your kind started."
That lit the fuse.
Blades cleared leather. Goblins surged half a step.
Kalmar roared, "ENOUGH!"
Bruuk forced a thin, venomous smile. "Merely testing the outsider, Chief. Caution is wisdom."
I leaned in close, close enough to smell the rot on his breath, and whispered so only he heard:
"You're pushing awfully hard for someone who claims to care about this tribe. Almost like my plan scares you more than the orcs do."
His breath caught. Eyes flickered, fear? Guilt? Something dark.
I straightened, turned to Kalmar and Aria.
"I'll explain the plan. But first, proof I'm not here to poison you."
I reached into the satchel the system had shoved into my inventory earlier.
Pulled out the Valva fruits, bright, impossibly fresh in this grim camp. Their scent cut through the smoke and sweat like a clean blade.
Kalmar's nostrils flared. He leaned in, suspicious.
"Valva?" he muttered. "We haven't seen the real Valva in years. Not since the blight took the groves."
A wiry goblin near the front, young, scarred, eyes hard, stepped forward before anyone could stop him.
"Chief," he said, voice rough. "Let me test it. If it's poisoned, better one dies than the chief of the tribe."
Kalmar hesitated, then nodded once.
The goblin snatched a fruit from my hand, held it up like evidence, then bit deep without hesitation.
The camp went dead silent.
He chewed. Swallowed.
Seconds stretched.
Then his eyes widened, not in pain, but shock.
"…it's… sweet. Real sweet. Like the old stories."
He took another bite, faster this time. Juice ran down his chin. "I'm not dead. Not even dizzy."
A ripple of murmurs. Some goblins lowered weapons. Others stared at the fruit like it was a miracle.
Kalmar snatched one next, bit down hard.
His eyes blew wide.
"…by the ancestors. This is… impossible. Valva hasn't tasted like this in decades."
Aria didn't ask. She grabbed two, bit into one, and stared at me like I'd just handed her the moon.
The second their teeth broke the skin, blue panels shimmered into existence before them:
[Rate the Delivery] ★★★★★ ?
Kalmar yelped and stumbled back. Aria's jaw dropped mid-bite.
"What sorcery, ?"
"Five stars," I said calmly. "Please."
Aria tapped without hesitation. Five golden stars flared.
Kalmar, still stunned, did the same.
[Delivery Completed. Interactions Recorded +1.]
[Next Requirement: Resolve Orc Threat.]
[Host: Goblin acceptance currently at 42%. Full buy-in required for evolution unlock.]
A warm buzz hit my chest when I glanced at Aria's hovering profile icon. Not just system feedback. Something else.
She swallowed the last of her fruit, eyes locked on mine.
"So," she said, voice low and eager, "do we raise an army, flank the orcs from the rear, crush them between us?"
The system chimed softly in my head:
[Optimal evolution window opens when acceptance hits 80%+. Eliminating the current resistance source: Elder Bruuk.]
I smiled, small, sharp.
Bruuk was still watching me. Still smiling that rotten smile.
And I knew.
Whatever he was hiding, it was bigger than prejudice. Bigger than orcs.
I needed answers.
And I was going to get them from him tonight, if I had to.