The moment he charged out, Kurzadh heard a chorus of "squeaks" all around him—his own goblins, the enemy's, all mixed together like a disturbed nest of rats.
But the confidence in those squeaks was different; his goblins had just finished their roasted fish, their bellies full, and they ran with vigor, their claws swishing through the air.
The five goblins opposite, however, had been hungry for who knew how long, their legs trembling, and no matter how fiercely they charged, there was a hollowness to their strength.
Before they even collided, Kurzadh spotted the limping goblin at the very front—the one who had led the demonstration earlier.
He didn't slow down; using his momentum, he twisted his body to the side, dodging the incoming claws, and simultaneously pounced, landing squarely on the limping goblin's back.
This was an old trick he used when he was young, fighting in gang brawls; once you were on top, they couldn't flip you off, no matter how tough they were, they'd have to yield.
"Let's see you yell now!" Kurzadh cursed inwardly, his fists swinging down onto the limping goblin's occipital bone.
He didn't hold back, each blow carrying the strength of a full stomach, "thump, thump" making the opponent's head repeatedly hit the mud.
The limping goblin was already weak, and being pinned down left it helpless, kicking its limbs wildly and squeaking, its voice changing from fierce to whimpering.
In just a few hits, it wilted, its neck retracting towards the ground, its claws pawing at the mud, as if begging for mercy.
Kurzadh didn't stop, delivering two more blows before letting go—it was a goblin rule: if you don't beat them into submission, they'll eventually rebel.
As soon as he got up from the limping goblin's back, he saw the lively fight happening nearby.
Scarface was indeed cunning; he didn't engage in a direct confrontation, instead relying on his agility to weave between the goblins, his claws aiming specifically for their rear ends.
The two goblins who had been so fierce moments ago were now clutching their butts and hopping around.
One had its skin torn, the other was kicked so hard it squatted on the ground, unable to stand, the fierceness in its eyes replaced by pain and fear.
"Well done!" Kurzadh shouted at Scarface, and casually picked up a shard of rock from the ground, throwing it at a goblin trying to ambush Scarface.
The shard "thwacked" against the goblin's arm, making it yelp "squeak" in pain.
It turned its head to see Kurzadh glaring at it, its legs instantly giving out in fright, and it turned to flee.
"You think you can run?" Kurzadh chased after it, grabbing a handful of fur from its scruff—the fur was sparse and prickly to the touch.
He pressed the goblin to the ground, stepping on its back, then pointed to the limping goblin playing dead nearby.
The goblin saw its companion had given up, and it too lost its nerve, burying its head in the mud and becoming still.
The last remaining goblin was the cleverest; seeing the situation turn, it didn't wait for Kurzadh to act, but immediately flopped onto the ground with a "thud," mimicking Scarface earlier by sticking its butt high in the air and shaking its head vigorously, afraid of being beaten if it moved too slowly.
In less than a quarter of an hour, all five goblins were subdued.
Kurzadh stood with his hands on his hips, panting as he looked at the new goblins lined up on the ground.
His seven old goblins gathered around, some still holding rocks, wanting to deliver a few more blows, but he waved them off.
He walked up to the limping goblin, nudging its head with his toe.
It immediately squeaked and shrank back, but didn't dare to look up.
"Are you subdued?" Kurzadh pointed at himself with his claw, then at the fish bones on the ground—meaning, follow me and you'll eat.
The limping goblin paused, looked up at Kurzadh, then at the fish bones, its Adam's apple bobbed, then it suddenly prostrated itself on the ground, pawing at the mud, drawing a crooked V, probably meaning agreement.
The other four goblins quickly followed suit, each burying their heads even lower.
Kurzadh breathed a sigh of relief, a smile involuntarily spreading across his face—now he had twelve goblins under him! He was only one goblin away from the system's task.
He clapped his hands, signaling Scarface to come over, pointed at the five new goblins, then at the hemp grass by the stream—telling him to take them to twist hemp ropes, which would also train their hands.
Scarface immediately "squeaked" in response, strutted over to the new goblins, pointed his claw in the direction of the hemp grass, and even kicked the limping goblin, as if saying, "Get to work."
The limping goblin didn't dare to delay, quickly got up and led the other four towards the stream, Scarface following behind, occasionally turning back to glare, truly looking like a "second-in-command."
Kurzadh then turned to assign tasks to the old goblins: two to stand guard at the cave entrance, watching the movements in the forest and calling out if anything happened; three to gather firewood, as much as possible, not just for warmth, but also potentially for blocking things later; the remaining two to follow him and help hand him things—he was going to make a stone spear.
Previously, fighting with claws and stones was fine for minor skirmishes, but it wouldn't be enough for a serious danger.
He needed a proper weapon, and a stone spear was the most practical; just bind a Kurzadh to a wooden stick, and its power would be far greater than claws.
He first sent two goblins into the forest to find wooden sticks—they needed to be straight, wrist-thick, reaching his chest in length (given his current height, about a meter tall), and sturdy, not breaking easily.
He himself roamed near the cave, looking for suitable stones.
Kurzadh was very careful in his selection.
It couldn't be too light, or it would lack power; nor too heavy, as his small body couldn't wield it; most importantly, it needed a point—preferably naturally edged, to save on grinding.
He rummaged for a long time, finally finding a suitable one by the stream: grayish-black, palm-sized, with a sharp tip on one end, and fairly sharp edges, weighing just right, fitting perfectly in his hand.
He placed the stone on the ground, used the leftover grass rope from weaving fishing nets to wipe off the mud, and then used the sharp end to scratch the stone—it left a mark, so the hardness was sufficient.
Just then, the two goblins returned, carrying wooden sticks.
Choosing the straightest one, Kurzadh ran his claw over it; no splinters, felt good in his hand.
He had one goblin hold down one end of the stick, while he squatted on the ground, using the sharp stone shard he'd picked up (the one from scraping fish scales yesterday) to sharpen the other end of the stick—he needed to make it pointed, sharp enough to insert into the crevice of the stone.
This was hard on his hands.
goblin claws weren't strong to begin with, and the sharp stone was abrasive; after only a few cuts, Kurzadh's claws were chafed raw and bleeding.
He frowned, but didn't stop—a weapon was for survival, a little pain was nothing.
He carved carefully, rotating the stick as he went, making the tip as symmetrical as possible so it would be stable when inserted into the stone.
The nearby goblin saw his bleeding claws and tried to help, but he waved it away—this was delicate work, and their clumsy hands might mess it up.
After about half an hour of carving, one end of the wooden stick finally had a sharp, beveled tip that could be firmly inserted into the small crevice at the bottom of the stone.
Kurzadh tested it; it fit snugly, and didn't wobble when shaken.
Next was binding.
This required sturdy grass rope, so he had Scarface bring the thickest one they had twisted earlier.
First, he wrapped the grass rope around the joint between the stick and the stone twice, tying a dead knot, then split the rope into two strands, winding them in opposite directions like braiding a pigtail—tightening as he wound, making the stone and stick adhere firmly.
Halfway through, he felt it wasn't stable enough, so he had a goblin pull up some wet mud to smear into the gaps at the joint—wet mud would harden when dry, filling the gaps and increasing friction.
After smearing the mud, he continued winding the grass rope, thoroughly covering the entire joint, then tied another dead knot, tugged on it, and it didn't budge.
Kurzadh raised the stone spear.
The spearhead pointed upwards, the grayish-black stone gleaming, the wooden stick straight, the grass rope wrapped neatly; though it looked crude, it exuded a solid, fierce power.
He tried swinging it, and it made a "whoosh" sound, cutting through the air, looking quite intimidating.
"It's done!" Kurzadh felt a surge of joy, and couldn't resist poking the nearby tree trunk with the stone spear.
With a "thud," the spearhead plunged half an inch deep into the tree trunk, bringing out a piece of wood when pulled out.
The goblins nearby had been watching intently, and when they saw him stick the spear into the tree trunk, they immediately "squeaked" with cheers, circling him, their eyes full of adoration—their boss could not only make fire and catch fish, but also make such a powerful "stick," even more amazing than a great beastman!
Kurzadh felt a little puffed up by their praise, and swung the stone spear twice more, feeling his back straighten considerably.
He leaned the stone spear against the rock wall at the cave entrance, clapped his hands, and glanced at the sky—it was still early.
The new goblins were twisting hemp rope by the stream, the old goblins were either gathering firewood or standing guard, and Scarface was squatting by the stream, watching the new goblins work, occasionally tapping one on the head or pushing another's back with his claw, managing them quite effectively.
A faint smell of firewood drifted from the cave, and the rustling sound of rope-twisting came from the stream; even the air seemed less eerie than before.
Kurzadh leaned against the rock wall, watching his twelve goblins busily working, then looked at the stone spear leaning nearby, and a thought suddenly occurred to him—perhaps, in this cursed place, he could not only survive, but also build a decent "family business."
In his previous life, when he was in the underworld, he relied on his ruthlessness; later, when he did business, he relied on his brains; now that he was a goblin, wasn't he relying on this "never-give-up" spirit?
He had subordinates, weapons, food, and just needed to find a goblin… He touched the tip of the stone spear, calculating in his mind—after completing the system's task, he might even become stronger.
Then he wouldn't have to hide in this cave anymore; he could go out and see how big this forest truly was, find a safer place, build a proper nest, and then… As he was thinking, the goblin standing guard at the cave entrance suddenly "squeaked" urgently.
Kurzadh abruptly stood up, grabbed the stone spear, and headed towards the entrance—another situation?