The wind in the latter half of the night carried a chill, making the bonfire crackle, as sparks shot up and fell back down, scorching small black spots onto the ground.
Kurzadh leaned against the rock face, dozing for half the night, not daring to fall into a deep sleep—he kept remembering the corpses in the woods and the unseen beasts, only allowing himself to nap after having Scarface lead two goblin to guard the fire in shifts.
He was woken by the cold just as the sky began to lighten.
The tattered sackcloth he wore offered no protection against the wind, and the wound on his arm ached from the draft.
He rubbed his eyes and looked at the fire—only embers remained.
Scarface was squatting nearby, carefully adding dry branches with his claws.
Seeing Kurzadh awake, he immediately chirped twice, his eyes sparkling as if something good had happened.
Kurzadh stood up, stretched his stiff neck, and his gaze first fell upon the stream—the fishing net was still submerged; they had been too busy starting the fire yesterday to retrieve it.
He patted Scarface on the shoulder and pointed toward the net.
Scarface immediately understood, dragging two still-sleepy goblin as he scampered toward the stream.
The other four goblin also woke up, gathering by the fire to warm their hands, their eyes fixed intently on the direction of the stream, occasionally letting out rumbling sounds from their throats—they were clearly starving.
Kurzadh walked to the first net and signaled for Scarface to help him pull it up.
The net shook as soon as it left the water, and his heart tightened, thinking he had caught something.
But when he lifted the net to look, his spirits sank again—the mesh contained only a few strands of water grass and a broken rock, not even a single small fry.
He sighed inwardly and went to pull the second net.
This net was even worse; it felt feather-light when he pulled it up.
There was a hole torn in the bottom, likely scraped by a rock underwater.
Forget fish, it didn't even catch water grass.
The anticipation slowly faded from the faces of the goblin who had followed.
They hung their heads, some even sitting on the ground, looking utterly dejected.
Scarface grew anxious too, clinging to Kurzadh's arm and chirping, then pointing to the last fishing net—that one was submerged in the deepest part of the stream.
Kurzadh had personally set it yesterday, even tying on two extra sticks for stability.
Kurzadh didn't hold much hope, but he felt they had to check.
He and Scarface each grabbed one of the wooden poles and pulled hard.
This net was much heavier than the previous two.
As soon as it broke the surface, they saw water splashing within the mesh, and with a loud splash, water sprayed onto both their faces.
"We got something!"
Kurzadh's heart leaped with joy.
He focused his eyes—wrapped inside the mesh were two dark fish, their bodies as thick as his arm, thrashing their tails, struggling desperately.
He reached out and weighed them; the two combined were likely four or five pounds, enough for a meal for all eight goblin!
Scarface immediately jumped up, chirping louder than anyone, circling the net.
He tried to touch the fish with his claw, only to be splashed in the face by a tail, but he didn't get angry; instead, he laughed even harder.
The other two goblin cheered along, their voices echoing through the morning woods, drawing the four goblin from the cave as well.
Kurzadh carried the net toward the cave.
The two catfish were still flopping inside, splashing water onto his legs.
As soon as he reached the cave entrance, the four goblin swarmed him, their eyes wide and round, staring at the fish in the net, practically drooling onto the ground.
"Move aside!"
Kurzadh used his elbow to push away the surrounding goblin, deliberately holding the net higher.
The two catfish twisted violently in the net, their dark bodies gleaming.
The seven goblin instantly erupted into chaos, jumping and shouting around him.
Some clapped their claws, others rubbed against his body; their excitement was fiercer than when they had first seen fire yesterday.
Kurzadh suddenly felt a little proud.
In his previous life, when he stood on stage at the company's annual meeting presenting the IPO plan, people below had cheered like this, but back then he had only felt exhaustion.
Now, surrounded by a bunch of green-skinned little things, listening to their chirps, he felt a sense of security—this food was earned by his own ability, a genuine hope for survival.
As he was enjoying the cheers, the system's voice suddenly rang out in his mind:
[You have gained the adoration of your Boyz. Your body will become more WAAAGH and bigger.]
"Waaagh?"
Kurzadh was stunned, not understanding the word's meaning, but the next second, he felt a warmth spread through his body, like a warm current rushing through the seams of his bones toward his limbs.
The wound on his arm stopped hurting, and his posture straightened slightly.
He looked down at his claws—they seemed a little thicker than before?
He touched his face; his flat nose also seemed a bit more prominent?
He compared his height with Scarface—Scarface was half a head shorter, and he standing there, he felt somehow "sturdier" than before.
It wasn't a physical change in size, but a strength deep in his core, like his back could stand truly straight.
"So this is what 'bigger' means," Kurzadh realized inwardly.
It seemed the system not only allowed him to take missions but also to grow stronger through the adoration of his subordinates.
Although the change wasn't drastic, it was better than remaining perpetually frail.
He placed the net on the ground and found a sharp stone—one he had picked up yesterday while clearing the battlefield, its edges quite sharp.
He held down one catfish and struck its head with the stone.
The fish flopped twice and then went still.
Next, he used the stone to scrape off the scales, then cut a slit in the fish's belly and pulled out the guts—a rank, fishy odor immediately spread.
He frowned and tossed the entrails aside.
Unexpectedly, Scarface was the first to pounce, stuffing the fish guts into his mouth.
He bit down with a crunch, his eyes lighting up.
The other goblin also reacted, swarming forward, snatching and grabbing, and in an instant, they had split and devoured the fish guts, even licking the blood-stained dirt clean.
Kurzadh watched, dumbfounded—these little things truly weren't picky.
The stench made him feel sick, yet they were eating it with such relish.
He ignored them and continued processing the two fish, slashing several cuts into their bodies.
He then found a sharpened stick, threaded it through the fish mouths to string both fish together, and placed them over the bonfire.
The fire had been stoked back up, and the flames crackled as they licked the fish bodies.
Before long, the skin was roasted golden-brown, sizzling with fat.
The fishy odor gradually turned into the smell of cooked meat.
Although there was no salt or seasoning, in a forest where finding anything warm was a luxury, the aroma was enough to make one weak-kneed.
The nearby goblins had already formed a circle, staring unblinkingly at the roasted fish.
Some were swallowing saliva, not even daring to chirp too loudly, afraid of startling the two fish.
Kurzadh judged that the fish were ready.
He placed the stick on the ground and signaled for Scarface to take one first.
Scarface carefully broke off a piece of fish meat, blew on it, and then put it in his mouth.
After just two chews, his eyes widened.
He chirped and nodded, then stuffed another large piece into his mouth, eating until his chin was greasy.
The other goblin also rushed forward, snatching pieces from each other.
Kurzadh also broke off a piece of fish, cooled it, and put it in his mouth—the meat was tender.
Although flavorless and slightly muddy, the warmth slid down his throat as he chewed, warming him until his eyes felt hot.
Since being hit by the truck, he had only eaten rotten mushrooms picked from the ground and drunk stream water.
Eating this warm roasted fish now was more delicious than the finest delicacies he had eaten in his previous life.
He couldn't resist stuffing another large piece into his mouth.
As he chewed, tears actually fell—not from sadness, but from relief, the genuine certainty of "I am still alive."
His goblin body trembled too, not from fear, but from excitement.
His claws shook, yet he clutched the fish meat tightly, eating bite after bite, terrified that if he ate too slowly, it would be gone.
Two four- or five-pound fish were nowhere near enough for eight starving goblin.
Before long, the fish meat was completely snatched up.
Even the bones were gnawed clean, and some goblin were still searching the ground for fallen scraps, licking the dirt until it was cleaner than their faces.
Kurzadh leaned against the rock face, rubbing his slightly rounded belly, feeling a rare sense of ease.
He was just contemplating making a few more nets later to catch and store fish, preventing them from going hungry tomorrow, when he suddenly heard strange chirping coming from the cave entrance—it wasn't one of his goblin.
The sound was sharp and urgent, like a warning.
His heart thumped.
He jumped to his feet.
Scarface reacted quickly too, immediately darting to his side, clutching a rock in his claw, his eyes fixed intently on the entrance.
The other goblin also gathered around.
Although they were still a bit hungry, they all glared, looking ready for a fight at any moment.
Kurzadh followed Scarface to the entrance, pushed aside the vines, and looked out—standing not far from the cave mouth were five goblin, each one skeletal, their green skin wrinkled.
Some were even limping, looking worse off than Kurzadh had been when he first transmigrated.
These five goblin were staring toward the cave, sniffing hard, their eyes glowing green, saliva hanging from their mouths, fixed intently on the bonfire where they had just roasted the fish—they had clearly followed the scent.
One of Kurzadh's goblins was standing at the entrance, letting out a low Damn toward the five goblin, slamming his claw on the ground as if trying to drive them away.
But the five goblin didn't move; instead, they shuffled forward two steps, making gurgling sounds in their throats, the malice in their eyes impossible to conceal.
In the world of the greenskins, a good scent meant "there is food," and "there is food" meant a fight for it.
These five goblin were clearly starving mad, likely having fled from elsewhere.
They had tracked the smell of roasted fish and, upon seeing their "well-fed" kin, their eyes naturally turned red with envy.
"Damn it, trouble starts the moment we get a full stomach," Kurzadh cursed inwardly, but his gaze hardened.
He wasn't alone now.
He had seven subordinates and the system's blessing.
He couldn't let five starving wretches bully him.
He glanced at the goblin beside him—every one of them had wide eyes and tightly clenched claws, clearly unafraid.
He suddenly had an idea.
He pointed to the ground—many small stones had fallen there while they were roasting the fish yesterday, some as small as a fingernail, others as large as a fist.
He picked up a fragment of rock, clutching it in his claw, and signaled for his goblin to do the same.
The seven goblin immediately understood.
They squatted down and rummaged, and soon each had two or three stones clutched in their hands.
Some even grabbed thin sticks, looking ready for battle.
Seeing that they weren't afraid and were instead picking up stones, the five goblin grew anxious.
The leading crippled goblin took a step forward, chirping wildly at them, and slammed his claw on the ground, as if issuing a challenge.
Kurzadh didn't bother with idle talk.
The greenskin logic was never settled by "talking," but by the strength of fists.
He knocked the fragmented rock in his hand against the ground, making a sharp crack, then let out a low Damn and charged first toward the five goblin.
"Charge!" he shouted in his heart.
The seven goblin behind him immediately started howling, raising their stones, and rushing forward with him.
Scarface ran in the lead, chirping as he went, his eyes wide and round, looking fiercer than Kurzadh himself.
In the clearing outside the cave, the two groups of goblin instantly collided.
The wind carried a brutal intensity; the scent of yesterday's roasted fish had not yet dispersed, and already the stench of battle was rising.