Chapter 39: Vrognut the Cleaver.
The night came once again, and the goblins were done making tools for the time being. They had enough to work with, though they still lacked the blueprints to forge weapons. Tools were different; they didn’t need to be sharp, only durable enough to dig deeper into the earth.
What mattered most was that they had learned how to retain the metal from the ore—a skill that was invaluable. Because of this, the goblins’ collective subconscious had shifted. They no longer simply wished to exist; now, they wanted to see what else they could create. Ambition, once foreign to them, was beginning to take root.
Byung had been the catalyst for this change, but even he knew it wasn’t enough.
A gentle knock at his door disturbed his thoughts. Byung was already settled comfortably on Maui’s bosom. Her breasts were soft, and he used them as pillows and a mattress at the same time—because why not?
Glancing at her, Byung noticed she had fallen asleep. Carefully, he slipped off her and went to answer the door.
Once again, he wondered why anyone would visit him at this hour. The thought took him back to his first day here. It had to be Murkfang—there was no other explanation—and if it was him, there must be a reason why he always appeared at such an hour.
Byung opened the door and stepped outside. Just as he had guessed, Murkfang stood waiting.
"We need to talk," Murkfang said plainly.
Byung’s first thought was that the bully he had beaten might have snitched, and Murkfang had come to confirm whether it was true.
Without a word, Byung followed him, though he quickly noticed Murkfang was leading him somewhere he had never been before. His surprise grew when he realized they were heading into one of the mines—deeper and deeper, farther than he had ever gone.
There seemed to be no end to the tunnels, and Byung’s guard went up. He couldn’t blindly trust Murkfang, not while being led into pitch-black darkness.
"Where take me?" Byung demanded, but Murkfang ignored him and continued walking.
That made Byung stop in his tracks. He was confident in his strength, and he knew Murkfang wasn’t a threat in direct combat. His system was constantly evolving and upgrading, but Byung couldn’t rely on it completely.
"I ask where take me?" Byung repeated, this time with resistance in his tone. If he was being led to slaughter, he had no intention of surrendering his life without a fight.
"We are almost there..." Murkfang muttered, and Byung finally noticed a faint glow ahead.
"Huh?" Byung thought to himself.
This wasn’t artificial light—it was natural. Which meant... an exit.
Byung followed Murkfang until they emerged into the open. He blinked, stunned by what he saw. This place was empty—utterly devoid of goblins. Not a single one in sight.
The realization made his chest tighten. If this path were ever discovered, it would grant anyone free access into their territory.
"I not understand..." Byung muttered, confused both as to why Murkfang had brought him here and why he was revealing this secret.
"Byung, I have something to tell you," Murkfang said.
Byung knew instantly that whatever it was, it had to be something important—otherwise, Murkfang would never have shown him this place.
A few days after Byung’s late-night meeting with Murkfang, it was still unknown what had been said between them. But their secret conversation wasn’t the most important development in the shifting balance of this world.
Far away, in the Eastern Province on the other side of the continent, a goblin unlike any other stood tall. He was far bigger than an average goblin, his right arm covered in tattoos, his entire body riddled with scars.
The goblins of this province were different. They were well-spoken, capable of forming full sentences with ease. Generations of breathing toxic air had forced their kind to adapt. This province was rich in volatile chemicals, and these goblins had become the miners who harvested them. The toxic atmosphere, deadly to most creatures, was their natural environment.
But this scarred goblin had found another way to entertain himself. He had set up a fighting arena. Goblins fought one another in brutal matches, and the champions earned the right to lay with one of the women he kept in cages.
This goblin was not even a Mogul, merely a Baron, yet there was no doubt his nature was darker than Drekk’s. His treatment of women was cruel—he kept them like dogs, feeding them from bowls, rewarding his warriors with their bodies.
This province was nothing like the Western Province. Here, everything was soaked in blood. To make matters worse, the Bonecrush orc tribe lived nearby, their presence shaping the goblins into harder, more ruthless survivors.
"Vrognut, we have received a request from the Western Province," one goblin reported to the scarred Baron.
This goblin was known as Vrognut the Cleaver, a warrior infamous for cleaving opponents in half with a single blow.
"Who?" Vrognut asked, raising a brow. Contact between provinces was rare, and he wasn’t expecting it.
"Drekk," the goblin replied.
Vrognut rolled his eyes. Despite Drekk’s title as Mogul, Vrognut was certain Drekk couldn’t stand against him in combat. The Western Province was not taken seriously; its mines were shallow, its dangers minimal compared to those in the East. Here, every extraction had to be done carefully, for one mistake could spell disaster.
Compared to that, Drekk was nothing but a tooth-fairy.
Still, Vrognut listened. The fact that Drekk had reached out to him directly—rather than the Mogul who ruled the East—spoke volumes. This was something Drekk wanted kept between them.
Vrognut considered the request carefully, surprised by its nature. Even the orcs in these parts, bloodthirsty as they were, weren’t foolish enough to tamper with the established balance.
But what made Vrognut feared most wasn’t just his strength or cruelty. It was the fact that unlike most goblins, he had crossed the unthinkable line.
Vrognut the Cleaver had killed his own kind—and he had enjoyed it.