Gribnox was anxious but realized that a lot of unnatural things had begun to happen ever since Byung arrived, yet this was as far as the connection went.
It was no secret that there was a mole within their ranks, but since the reports went to a superior goblin, they hadn't minded. It was still within their race. But what if the reports were being sent to someone else entirely… someone from a different race?
Murkfang sat in front of the orc named Borg. Everything about the orc was intimidating, yet he didn't exude the same suffocating fear Drekk carried. Drekk was a killer through and through, a creature molded by years of trauma, and the knowledge of what he was capable of only amplified the danger he radiated.
But the orc before him was different. Nothing was known about him, and there was no bloodlust oozing from his body. Instead, there was something else—wisdom. A sharpness the naive goblins lacked.
"I apologize for coming here suddenly," Borg opened, his calm tone kicking off the conversation. Him being here already eliminated him as the attacker on their settlement—the timeframe didn't match up.
Still, it was only logical to place suspicion on the orc, and Murkfang did just that. He had goblins standing by, ready to act should Borg attempt anything. He knew he would lose a number of them, but together, they should be able to bring down a single orc.
"What do you want?" Murkfang asked bluntly, no patience for roundabout talk.
"I have come with a proposal," Borg answered, just as Gribnox walked in.
"A proposal? Why did you not hand in a prior notice like your people always do?" Murkfang pressed further.
Borg paused. He understood that whatever came out of his mouth could easily escalate the situation.
"My race? We are of the same line," Borg countered smoothly, though this wasn't what he believed when speaking to his fellow orcs. Hypocrisy.
In truth, he despised goblins. To him, they were perverse mockeries of the superior orcish line. The thought of them reproducing with his kind repulsed him beyond belief. But none of that showed on his face. Murkfang remained unaware of how deeply Borg loathed them.
"Lineage? Last I checked, you orcs hated us…" Gribnox interjected.
"That is a strong word," Borg replied with a light chuckle, brushing aside their suspicions. And it was working—they couldn't connect the dots.
Logically, it was impossible for the one behind the attack to also be here. Even with a horse, the timing didn't line up. But that didn't erase the possibility that Borg had orchestrated it. Murkfang, however, couldn't get a read on him. He knew he wasn't good at this sort of game.
"Borkle!" Murkfang suddenly roared, his voice so loud it startled Gribnox. There was no reason for him to shout that way.
Borkle barged in. The orc didn't so much as flinch; he knew full well there was nothing they could do to him—not with their rusted weapons. He could crush them with little effort. Their body language alone told him they weren't capable of even scratching him.
"Yes boss!" Borkle said, though he didn't assume a battle stance.
"Get me 402," Murkfang ordered.
Gribnox raised a finger, interrupting before Borkle moved.
"What is it, Gribnox?" Murkfang asked with a raised brow, clearly irritated at being cut off.
"He has a name," Gribnox replied with a smirk, almost smug in being the only one who knew it.
"A name? But the naming ceremony hasn't been held," Murkfang thought to himself. He didn't say it aloud—there was a guest present. But he planned to correct his partner afterward.
"He goes by the name, Byung," Gribnox revealed.
That was the first thing that drew a reaction from Borg. This wasn't a goblin's name, meaning it couldn't have been bestowed by their own. Then how had he acquired it? And why did it sound so human?
Borg realized he might have stumbled into something dangerous—proof that goblins were no longer the simple-minded creatures he thought them to be.
"Fascinating…" Borg muttered under his breath.
—
Elsewhere, in a place enclosed and secured like a military camp, Drekk presided over his domain. He was a powerful goblin who had amassed wealth, not through mining like the others, but through outsourcing. His goblins carried out security tasks no one else wished to touch.
It was, in truth, an excuse—an excuse for his goblins to linger near orc territory. They were limited to the outskirts, yes, but even that allowed Drekk to scout and observe the orcs while bending no rules. After all, he was in charge here. The only authority above him was the Goblin King.
The most powerful being among their race, the Goblin King's face had never been seen. His very existence was often dismissed as a myth, a story to keep goblins in check.
Drekk had heard of the attack, and he knew this was the line that would eventually be crossed. Many underestimated what goblins were truly capable of. But this… this wouldn't have happened had his people not abandoned what they once were over a thousand years ago.
Once, they were warriors—conquerors who took what they wanted, forcefully replenishing their dwindling numbers. Had they continued that way, however, extinction would have been inevitable.
That was why the race had chosen a different path. A path that worked. Their numbers had swelled again, no longer teetering on the brink. They had grown strong in silence.
Now, Drekk waited to see if this act of aggression would be enough to force the Goblin King himself into action.