The smell came before the sound.
Burned grease.
Old blood.
Accumulated excrement.
César raised his fist.
The goblins behind him stopped instantly.
"Here," César whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "The PigMan village."
From the top of the rocky outcrop, the scene stretched before them: crude huts made of hardened mud and bleached bones, surrounded by irregular stakes. Creatures with obese bodies, pink skin covered in coarse black bristles, and prominent snouts moved about lazily.
PigMen.
Taller than goblins.
Physically stronger.
"Listen carefully," César murmured without raising his voice. "I hope the victory against the Murlocs hasn't gone to your heads. This time we face stronger enemies. Among them are those who possess Mana. They are different from us and hold the initial advantage. This battle will not be easy. Many may die."
The goblins swallowed hard.
Many of them had known this moment would come. They had grown up hearing stories about the PigMan tribe—worshippers of a mysterious God, wielders of a strange Mana system, creatures who delighted in tearing off arms, crushing skulls, and devouring enemies alive.
César smiled with confidence.
"Many of you have advanced in the Mana system, and some have even formed their Mana cores," César said as his gaze passed over several goblins. Among them were his three brothers. To his surprise, all of them were Mana talents—perhaps due to their mother's influence.
"And although only a few have made great progress in forming an Aura core, many have accumulated Aura and opened their Aura veins. That is our advantage. We have our own power system."
He clenched his fist.
"We will not lose."
"Men," he said calmly,
"charge."
There was no further speech.
Only clear orders.
"Gob, flank from the east. No one enters, no one leaves."
"Gab, prepare the traps. Don't kill them yet. I want panic."
"Goby, burn the supplies. No food, no resistance."
The goblins nodded.
No one hesitated.
Fear was still there…
but structure kept it in check.
The First Scream
The first PigMan died without understanding why.
An improvised spear pierced his throat from the brush. Hot, thick blood burst out. He tried to scream—only a gurgle escaped.
Then another.
And another.
"KRRROOOO!" one finally roared, alerting the village.
Too late.
Smoke began to rise.
The huts burned.
PigMen charged out in a frenzy, wielding clubs, rusted blades, sharpened bones.
And then—
the traps activated.
Taut wires severed tendons.
Hidden pits swallowed heavy bodies.
Poison-coated stakes pierced flesh.
The PigMen screamed.
Not in rage.
In confusion.
"THERE ARE TOO MANY!"
"WE'RE SURROUNDED!"
"KILL THE SMALL ONES!"
César walked into the heart of the chaos.
He did not run.
He did not shout.
The PigMen saw him.
Small.
Green.
Slim.
One charged at him, raising a bone hammer.
"DIE, YOU LITTLE GREEN PIECE OF SHIT!"
From afar, Luna raised her hand.
The PigMan froze.
His eyes widened.
His body trembled—then ignited.
"Nice trick," César murmured as he watched his mother's attack succeed.
With a single motion, Gab drove his spear into the PigMan's neck.
Instant death.
The others stepped back.
For the first time…
the PigMen felt fear.
The Final Hunt
It was not a swift massacre.
It was methodical.
PigMen who fled were hunted by the Reconnaissance Corps.
The wounded were captured.
The leaders were marked.
César observed.
He had not lowered his guard. He knew this was far from over.
Though they had struck a heavy blow and caught the enemy off guard, anything connected to the gods was never simple.
The fighting continued. Aura warriors formed teams with ordinary goblins, advancing and besieging. Mages provided support from afar.
César pushed forward—but the deeper he went, the more something felt wrong.
There were not many warriors.
And the PigMen with monstrous crystals—those that should have been present—were missing.
Everything felt off.
When César finally reached the center of the village, what he saw shocked him.
It was some kind of ritual.
A shaman of a strange race danced around what appeared to be a blood-red apple. Around it stood several cages, holding members of various races—dark elves, gnolls, kobolds, PigMen, and lycanthropes.
All of them were dried up.
Dead.
Nearby stood several PigMan warriors embedded with monstrous crystals, being used—drained of power—to complete the cultivation of the fruit.
And at the center of it all sat an enormous PigMan, legs crossed.
If César was not mistaken…
That was the PigMan King.
At first, César was confused by the fruit.
But after observing it more carefully, his expression turned euphoric.
He knew exactly what it was.
Just as he suspected.
In the novel, there was mention of a strange PigMan—a mini-boss the protagonist was meant to defeat.
Among devil-humans, hybrids did not exist. Elves and humans could interbreed. Even dragons with elves or humans were possible.
But devil-humans could not.
A child would always inherit one parent's species. If one parent was a goblin, orc, or PigMan, there was a ninety percent chance the child would be the father's species.
But this PigMan was different.
He could create PigMan hybrids—PigMen mixed with humans, elves, dwarves.
Beings with the strengths and abilities of both species.
The novel described how this PigMan had begun cultivating and gathering power long before humans arrived, preparing to reach a high realm. If not for the protagonist's early discovery, he would have succeeded—until the protagonist and several guilds destroyed his army of hybrid offspring.
As for his power…
It was said to come from a strange fruit offered by a God.
And if César was not mistaken—
the fruit before him now
was the very fruit that had granted the PigMan King the ability to create hybrids.