"You've settled your score," Corvin said, his voice quiet. "You now own this hold… and all the… goblins… that inhabit it."
I didn't reply. My attention was fully occupied rummaging through one of Urzak's chests. Tunics, pants, boots, and gloves. Most were either far too small or absurdly large. I held each item up against myself, assessing the fit with the same scrutiny a smith might give a blade.
"That's correct," I said at last.
Then, my hand brushed against something familiar. A fold of soft, dark fur. My favourite wolf-pelt cloak. It had been stashed in Urzak's tent.
"Ah," I murmured, lifting it. "There it is."
Corvin blinked, unsure whether to speak or simply watch. Branek, as always, said nothing - just observed, waiting for the next move.
"Oh," I said, standing and brushing off my hands. "Apologies, gentlemen."
I cleared my throat.
"You've both done tremendously," I continued. "Thank you for trusting in me."
Corvin straightened, Branek remained stoic, but both waited attentively.
"I still have a few tasks that require assistance," I said, calm but commanding. "Once they're completed, you'll be free to return home... Assuming, of course, you wish to. And the blizzard outside lets up."
I looked away from Corvin and Branek, letting my eyes sweep over the tent and all the stolen treasures.
"Of course, Stranger," Branek answered on their behalf. "I told you, my life is yours. You saved us both."
I inclined my head slightly.
"Well, here's what we'll do," I began, voice measured. "First, retrieve your belongings. You didn't arrive here unarmed. Your armour and weapons will be stored somewhere in the hold. Go and find them."
They both nodded, already turning to the door.
"When that's done..." The two stopped. "I want every goblin and hobgoblin gathered in the encampment. This place is now mine, and it needs to be purged of filth. If any of them refuse, they die. No exceptions."
Branek hesitated. "Even the young?"
"Yes," I said flatly. "Even the goblinlings."
"Goblinlings?" Corvin frowned.
"Their offspring," I clarified, irritation creeping into my voice. "The small ones."
I exhaled through my nose.
"Their culture is nothing like yours. It's savage and brutal. They breed faster than rabbits and are raised knowing only hunger and violence."
I glanced toward the tent entrance, where the camp lay beyond.
"Left unchecked, they become the same creatures that dragged you into cages." I met both of their eyes. "But they aren't useless. They can be trained, disciplined, even given structure... provided you speak their language."
There was a silence. I could see it written plainly on their faces. The idea of killing anything young scraped against their souls. It defied everything Aurelion had taught them. Light, mercy, protection of the innocent.
But goblins and hobgoblins were not innocent.
They were not natural, not the way dwarves or elves were. They were twisted imitations of them, conjured by dark sorcery and cruelty. Things made, not born. Forged for war, bred for obedience and slaughter. There was no childhood among them, no gentling hand.
"Death is mercy," I added calmly. "By goblin standards."
And with that, the two knights left my tent.
Twenty minutes after they were gone, I finally found clothing that fit. A blue-dyed tunic, beige pants, and a pair of worn but serviceable leather boots. I fastened my wolf-pelt cloak over it all and studied my reflection in the polished curve of a goblet.
"It could be worse," I muttered, not pleased - just accepting.
"B-… boss…"
The voice was fractured and afraid.
I looked up.
At the edge of the tent, half-hidden behind the flap, stood a goblin. Small for its kind, shoulders hunched, fingers digging into the hide. Its yellow eyes were wide, darting between me and the decapitated heads on the table.
Slowly, I set the goblet down.
"You have ten seconds," I said. "Use them wisely."
"Ch-chieftain Urzak… gone," it stammered. "I-uh… name Nib. Urzak's helper. Me think-goblin."
The goblin swallowed nervously, hands twisting together.
"Me help tribe survive," he continued softly. "Tell boss what food lasts longest. Which tunnels safe. Which fights… bad fights."
I studied the goblin in silence. The ten seconds were up.
Nib bowed, but didn't grovel. He was afraid, of course, but it was the kind of fear that sharpened rather than crippled.
"Interesting," I said. "Come in."
Nib obeyed and stood. He took a small step inside and straightened, hands folded in front of him, eyes lowered just enough to appear respectful while watching me from beneath his brow.
"You say you helped run the tribe," I continued. "How?"
"Urzak strong, tribe fear Urzak. But Urzak not... think far," Nib tapped the side of his head. "Urzak fight problem, Nib plan before problem."
I raised an eyebrow. "Give me an example."
"Food," Nib replied instantly. "Winter long. Hunting bad. Tribe eat too much when fat times. Nib say store. Dry meat, salt caves. Urzak listen... sometimes."
"And when Urzak didn't?"
Nib's lips pressed together. "Goblins and hobgoblins eat each other."
I walked past him, slowly circling. He turned just enough to keep me in view, careful not to appear confrontational.
"How many of your kind are in Kragmôr?" I asked.
"Five hundred twenty-six," he said without pause. "Hobgoblins sixty-one. Goblinlings… one hundred eight."
He could count, although the numbers he gave were lower than I expected.
"And how many will obey me?" I asked.
"Now?" he ventured. "Most... Goblin fear strong, fear fresh boss."
"Most," I repeated. "That's not all."
"Some loyal to Urzak. Some think leave. Some think kill you when sleep."
I stopped walking. Nib froze, realising he'd said too much.
I turned to face him fully. "And you?"
He dropped to one knee immediately.
"Nib serve power," he said quietly. "Urzak strong before. Now you stronger... Also, you think."
That earned him a smile.
"Smart answer," I said. "But smart goblins don't live long if they're dishonest."
"I honest," Nib replied. "Honest because lying to boss stupid plan."
Self-awareness in a creature like him was a rarity. I considered for a moment, then reached down and lifted his chin with two fingers. He didn't flinch.
"Here's how this works, Nib," I said calmly. "I don't rule by screaming, and I don't waste effort on animals that won't learn."
His eyes opened wide.
"You will act as steward of Kragmôr," I continued. "You will manage food, labour, tunnels, and discipline. Anyone who defies my rule…"
I let the sentence trail off.
Nib nodded vigorously. "Dead."
"Eventually," I corrected. "Make an example of them first."
He nodded again. "Nib understand."
I turned back toward the chest of clothes I'd been rummaging through.
"You can leave," I said.
Nib bowed deeply - too deeply for a goblin - and promptly jogged out of the tent.
Just then, Branek and Corvin returned, clad in silver armour. Their cuirasses and pauldrons bore the engraved image of a mighty lion. The sigil of Aurelion, a symbol of faith. The same lion stretched across their almond-shaped kite shields. With each measured step, metal clacked against metal.
They halted just outside the tent as Nib dashed past them, clutching his satchel tight to his chest. The goblin threw them a sharp, besmirching scowl in passing, his lips curling with open disdain.
Neither knight spared him a glance. They stepped into my tent without comment, shoulders squared and eyes forward.
"That goblin just gave us a horrible look," Corvin stated.
Branek snorted. "Little bastard."
I closed the chest and turned to face them. "He doesn't like you because you represent uncertainty."
Corvin frowned. "How can you trust them, Stranger? They'll betray you the moment an opportunity presents itself."
"Of course they will," I replied. "Which is why I'll make sure it never does."
The wind howled, rattling the bones stitched to the tent's frame.
"I see you've found your gear," I stated.
Branek nodded. "And the locals have been gathered... There are a few hundred of 'em."
"The tribe's restless," Corvin added. "Word's spread fast. They're scared, but they're also watching."
"Good," I smiled. "Fear makes them attentive."
I pulled the cloak tighter around my shoulders and stepped toward the tent flap.
"Come," I said. "If I'm to rule this mountain, it's time they saw me do it."
Outside, I was greeted by the sight of hundreds of goblin-folk. Some wore mismatched scraps of armour, while others stood in little more than tattered rags and loincloths. They crowded the encampment from wall to wall, filling every open space between tents, fires, and bone-strewn ground.
Their voices overlapped in a harsh, guttural cadence as they spoke in their native tongue of Orcish.
All of them were staring at me.
Corvin and Branek moved to flank me, taking their positions at either side. Silver armour gleamed beneath the torchlight, lion sigils standing in defiance of the gathered horde.
I drew in a breath.
"Do I have your attention now?!" my voice bellowed across the encampment.
The effect was immediate. Conversations died. Bickering choked off. Even the goblinlings were yanked close by their elders.
"Urzak is gone!" My voice carried effortlessly. "The shamans and ogre are dead! You are all mine now!"
I stepped forward once, boots crunching against frozen ground.
"You all continue to live because I allow it," I said coldly. "It's simple: Defy me, and you will die... Serve me, and I promise food, riches, and the thrill of combat."
Like rot through wood, I could sense their morale spreading and shifting.
"I'm the strongest here," I declared. "No sword can scratch me. No arrow can pierce me. No fire can burn me."
I spread my arms slightly, cloak stirring in the wind.
"So... would anyone here like to challenge me?!"
You could hear a pin drop. Nobody dared step up after everything I'd demonstrated.
"No one? Good." I continued. "Know that I will be firm yet fair. Strict yet rewarding. I will not tolerate weakness, nor complacency!"
I turned to face Corvin and Branek, my voice lowering so only they could hear.
"I should've mentioned this sooner," I said. "I'm the chieftain now. But they won't respect you two until you prove yourselves worthy to stand at my side."
Their expressions hardened.
"There's a hierarchy here," I continued. "Strength is law. And unless you earn your place, they'll test you. Quietly. In the night."
Branek's jaw tightened.
Corvin swallowed, gripping the edge of his shield a little tighter.
"You will each need to fight one of their top warriors," I said. "Win, and you're untouchable. Lose... Well. They won't bother me with your bodies."
I pivoted back toward the tribe.
"Nib!" I called.
From the front row, the goblin stepped forward.
Nib hesitated for a heartbeat before obeying, peeling himself away from the horde. As he moved, hundreds of resentful eyes bore into his back like daggers. He could feel it. A wave of unease swept over him as he reached the ground before me.
He stopped, bowed low, and did not look up.
"Nib is your new steward!" I announced. "He will ensure my orders are followed. And any disobedience will be reported directly to me."
I raised my hand and pointed toward the walls of the encampment.
"My first decree," I said evenly, "Clean this place. I want it scrubbed and restored. Bones and leftovers disposed of. Those archaic symbols erased. I want every trace of filth washed away."
Nib rose slowly. When he turned to face his kin, something had changed. His nerves had been replaced with brash confidence.
"You 'eard Boss!" he barked. "Grab buckets and get to work, maggots! Melt snow for water! Brooms from loot room... Now!"
The horde flinched, then scattered in every direction. Buckets were seized, crates overturned, torches kicked aside as goblins and hobgoblins rushed to obey. In their frantic scramble, many tripped over one another.
Nib stalked along the front line, tone sharp, snapping orders in Orcish with authority.
"You - bones, pile them there! No, there, idiot! If Nib see blood still on stone, Nib peel your ears off!" He jabbed a finger toward a cluster of goblins frozen in place. "Move! Snow don't melt itself!"
Corvin leaned toward me and whispered. "Stranger, you've just painted a target on him."
I didn't look away from the scene. "Yes... A clever steward who knows he'll die without me is more loyal than a hundred brutes."
"Work!" Nib hissed at a hobgoblin. "Or I explain to Boss why you lazy."
Corvin exhaled slowly. "He's adapting fast."
"This is only the beginning," I declared. "I have much more planned."
Snow was shovelled into cauldrons. Fires were fed. Buckets of slush were dragged across the encampment. Bones were hauled away in creaking carts. Blood-stained symbols were scraped from the stone, revealing older carvings beneath.
Branek glanced at the exposed stonework. "Kragmôr could be… formidable."
"It will be," I said. "Order first. Then purpose."
The work continued behind us as I descended through the encampment, heading toward the main tunnel.
I looked back at Branek and Corvin. "Coming?"
They fell in without hesitation, and we moved as one. Around us, the tribe kept working, goblins parting instinctively to clear a path as we passed. No one spoke. No one lingered too close.
Once we left the encampment proper, the noise fell away. No howling blizzard or scrapes of tools.
"If you still wish to stay," I said as we walked, "then you'll fight tonight."
Corvin cleared his throat. He momentarily hesitated.
"I… I've got nothing waiting for me back home," he admitted. "No friends. No family. I could return to the Knights, but..."
He looked at me, resolve hardening.
"I don't follow Aurelion anymore. Not after everything I've witnessed you do."
Branek said nothing, but Corvin had made his choice clear.
"Branek?" I asked.
"I've sworn my life to you," he replied. "But I do have family back home. A wife. Two daughters. Even a dog." A faint, distant smile touched his lips. "We own a small farm. Grow vegetables. Carrots, turnips, cabbage."
I studied him, intrigued by the simplicity of it.
"If you wish for me to stay, Stranger, I will stay," Branek continued. "If you wish for me to return home, I will go."
I stopped in the tunnel.
"Where is this farm?" I asked.
"Due north of Morgenfell," he answered. "An old cobbled road leads up to a small cottage. In summer, the fields turn white and yellow with daffodils."
I turned fully to face Branek.
"You should return home," I said.
The words hit heavier than any command I'd given that day.
Branek froze, caught off guard. "Stranger-"
"You've earned your rest," I interrupted gently. "You've already paid enough in blood and suffering. Over fourteen days imprisoned, and countless more escorting supplies and refugees with the Knights. Your family still waits for you. That alone makes you wealthier than most kings."
Conflict flickered across his face.
"But hear me clearly," I added, lowering my pitch. "This is not farewell. When I call for you, you must come."
"I will," he said.
I nodded once and smiled, patting the knight on his shoulder.
Then I turned to Corvin. "You, on the other hand, will fight tonight. Kragmôr will be your proving ground."
Corvin did not waver.
"Yes," he said. "I'm ready."
"Great!" I was elated. "Branek, you should stay the night... Perhaps two. Once the snowstorm settles, I'll have the goblins round up supplies and see you safely on your way."
As we pressed on through the mountain, I was unaware that its former ruler had made it to the foot of Frostvein. Urzak and his bodyguards pushed through knee-deep snow. Every sound in the storm made them panic. Every shadow made them think something was in pursuit.
The stocky goblin did not stop until his legs finally gave out.
Panting, Urzak staggered to a snow-dusted tree and slammed his fist into its trunk, leaving it buried there as he trembled with rage.
"Human..." he snarled. "Wretched man-filth."
He had ruled Kragmôr for decades. Torn it from elf and dwarf alike. United goblin tribes from the north and east beneath his banner through blood and fear. And now he was nothing. Cast out by a single man - a powerful one, no less.
Urzak's mind raced. Fear would not save him. But hatred? Hatred could be fashioned into a weapon.
Through the veil of snow, he glimpsed distant peaks rising in the west. The jagged silhouettes of the High Caldera. His lips peeled back into a feral grin.
There were other tribes there. Creatures older and crueller than goblin-folk. Things that owed him favours, or hungered for chaos.
Urzak tore his fist free from the tree, leaving a crack in the bark.
"If hold and tribe belong to humans now…" he growled, "then Urzak bring bigger monsters."
The blizzard answered with a howl.