The forest had long been a sanctuary—wild, untamed, but home to many. Beneath its ancient canopy, life thrived in tangled harmony. Under Oni's rule, the scattered goblin clans were united, their savage skirmishes quelled into uneasy truces. The countless battles that once tore the land apart had finally quieted, replaced by a fragile calm that settled over the dense thickets and shadowed glades.
Yet, peace was a delicate thing. The forest's very heart—the dark, untouched center—remained a danger zone, where monsters of terrifying strength dwelled, and where even the bravest dared not tread. It was here that Oni, the Goblin King, made his home. But even the forest's depths could not hide its secrets from the outside world.
Beyond the towering trees and mossy stones, in the vast human nations that sprawled across the continent, change came steadily. Cities rose, laws were forged, and traditions hardened into pillars of culture. The Eastern lands sharpened their focus on martial arts—a discipline of body and mind, where strength was honed through endless training, chi was mastered, and every movement became a weapon.
Meanwhile, the Western kingdoms delved deep into the mysteries of elemental magic, bending fire, wind, earth, and water to their will. They studied ancient tomes, chanted incantations, and practiced spells, unlocking the primal forces that shaped the world.
Both sides sought ever greater power—more strength, sharper skills, and deeper knowledge. But as their training intensified, so did the limits of their bodies and minds. There was a ceiling to what they could achieve, a boundary imposed by mortal flesh and fragile spirit.
So their eyes turned outward.
Whispers spread across taverns and market squares of a creature unlike any other—a monster whose power eclipsed all known beings. The Goblin King, a name spoken with equal parts fear and awe. Legends said his core was unlike any other, a radiant source of strength capable of shattering mountains and cleaving steel.
To the ambitious, desperate, or foolish, the Goblin King's body was a prize beyond value.
Weapons forged from his bones, armor blessed with his essence, and core fragments capable of unlocking unimaginable power. They believed that harvesting the Goblin King's remains would break through their limitations and catapult them to the pinnacle of strength.
Fueled by greed and arrogance, hunters, adventurers, and scholars banded together. They formed parties, delving deep into the forest's heart, hacking through the thorns and cutting a bloody path. Every expedition left destruction in its wake, scars on the land and fresh wounds in the fragile peace.
Oni watched from the shadows, pain twisting his chest.
He bore no hatred for humans. His dream was fragile but pure: to forge a world where monsters and men could coexist, respecting each other's right to live and thrive. It was a vision born of hard-won peace, not conquest.
But each human incursion shattered a piece of that dream.
The humans were relentless. They hunted not to conquer, but to claim.
They sought to capture the Goblin King alive—not to kill, but to dissect, to study, to understand. They carried ancient scrolls inscribed with runes, enchanted seals to bind and suppress, and weapons forged from rare metals that could pierce even the toughest hide.
When they finally found Oni, it was under the darkest cloak of night.
His wife lay sick, pale and fragile, her breaths shallow in the dim light. Oni tended to her with gentle hands, whispering soothing words as his heart beat heavy with worry.
The humans struck without warning.
Their weapons flashed in the moonlight, spells flared and crackled in the air, and the forest exploded into chaos.
Oni fought fiercely but with caution. He did not want to risk harm to his family or the forest he had sworn to protect. His strikes were measured, precise—a dance of defense and restraint.
The battle was brutal and swift.
Blades clashed, sparks flew, and the air grew thick with the scent of blood and burning wood. The cries of combat echoed through the trees, piercing the silence of the night.
But the humans held a secret weapon—an ancient monster seal, carved with arcane runes that drained Oni's strength and blocked the flow of his core's power.
Oni's fury twisted into desperation.
Bound by the seal, the immense power that had once made him a king was shackled, reduced to a shadow of its former self. His claws could no longer rend steel; his roar lacked the command that once rallied the forest.
The humans seized their chance.
They took his son and daughter hostage, their eyes cold, merciless, and unyielding.
Oni's heart shattered into a thousand pieces, torn between rage and helplessness.
Their demands were simple and cruel: surrender your life, or your family dies.
Oni, the first and greatest Goblin King, stood in the face of annihilation.
There was no victory here—only sacrifice.
With his heart heavy as stone, Oni bargained with the humans, striking a grim deal: his life in exchange for the safety of his family.
They promised.
And with the weight of that promise crushing his soul, Oni ended his own life. The forest seemed to still, mourning the fall of its king, the echo of his final breath lingering in the cool night air.
But the promise was broken.
The humans—cold and heartless—slaughtered Oni's wife, son, and daughter.
Their bodies were dragged away, desecrated, turned into trophies and materials for power-hungry weapons.
The dream of peace was shattered.
The forest wept in silence.
Yet within the shadows, a new force stirred—a soul reborn, destined to carry Oni's will forward.