The dark cell of Dwarven prison smelled bad, like old water and rotten wood. The air was heavy and hard to breathe. There was only one small ventilator high on the wall. A thin line of weak light came through it, barely touching the cold stone floor. The rest of the room was covered in shadow.
From the ceiling, something round was hanging.
It looked like a giant cocoon made from thick thread. The threads were white and tightly wrapped, forming a strong, soft ball. It swayed gently back and forth in the still air.
Inside it was Gobta.
Gobta, a short hobgoblin with purple spiky hair and a round, goofy face, was trapped inside what Rimuru-sama had called "Bagworm Hell." It was round in shape, made from strong thread, wrapped around him like a hanging nest.
This was the punishment Rimuru-sama had given him. It was called "Bagworm Hell."
Even though the name sounded scary, it did not hurt at all. The thread was soft against his body. It did not cut into his skin. It did not squeeze him too tightly. In fact, it felt strangely comfortable, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.
At first, Gobta had tried to escape. He twisted his body. He pulled with all his strength. He even tried to tear the threads apart. But no matter how hard he struggled, the threads would only stretch a little and then pull him back. They never snapped. They were strong and unbreakable.
When he moved too much, the whole cocoon would swing wildly from side to side. It would sway across the dark cell like a hanging lantern in the wind. After some time, he stopped fighting. He realized it was useless.
Now he just hung there quietly, rocking slowly.
The worst part was not the cell. Not the smell. Not even being tied up.
The worst part was being left behind.
Rimuru-sama had gone out to the night shop with the others. Gobta imagined the bright lights, the warm food, and the cheerful laughter. He could almost hear them having fun without him.
His round face puffed slightly in disappointment.
He also wanted to go.
The cocoon swayed gently again.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
He wanted to go too.
That thought returned again and again, circling his mind the way he himself circled the room whenever he swung too hard.
Still, Gobta was not one to surrender immediately. After resting for a moment—purely to "regain strength," of course—he gave Bagworm Hell a few more honest attempts. He flexed. He twisted. He tried a sudden dramatic jerk he was fairly sure looked impressive from the outside.
The cocoon stretched slightly.
Then it pulled him back into place with gentle, unshakable confidence.
Gobta swung forward.
Then backward.
Then forward again.
After a while, the struggle turned into a slow, lazy rocking. The cell creaked softly with each pass. It was, in a strange way… peaceful.
Since escape seemed unlikely—very unlikely, almost heroically unlikely—Gobta decided to try something smarter. He closed his eyes and focused, attempting to summon his partner, the Storm Fanged Wolf. Surely his loyal companion would come charging in and dramatically rescue him from this unfair, thread-based injustice.
He concentrated.
Nothing.
He tried again, this time with more seriousness.
Still nothing.
After several increasingly desperate attempts, he stopped and blinked at the darkness.
"…Ah."
Right. That kind of summoning wasn't so simple. Even Captain Rigurd couldn't just casually call a partner across any distance at will.
Gobta puffed his cheeks.
"Rimuru-sama is really stingy… I only had a little sleep," he grumbled under his breath.
Honestly, this was excessive. He had barely dozed off on their boring discussion. Barely.
He shifted slightly inside the cocoon.
Still… it didn't hurt. The threads were soft. They didn't itch. They didn't squeeze. If anything, it felt like being suspended in a snug hammock made by someone who was mildly disappointed in you.
"It's free time now," he muttered to himself.
Since it wasn't painful and he couldn't escape, there was no reason to waste energy. He could treat this as… enforced rest. Strategic rest. Yes, that sounded much better.
He swayed gently in the darkness.
"I should just wait until Rimuru-sama comes back tomorrow. Surely he'll let me down."
He nodded to himself, as much as one could nod while fully cocooned.
"I just need to be patient this night."
And in the quiet cell, Gobta began practicing the most difficult skill of all:
Waiting.
...
It was strange.
One day had passed… and Rimuru-sama still hadn't returned.
At first, Gobta wasn't worried. They were probably just enjoying themselves.
"…They probably stayed somewhere else," Gobta told himself, trying to nod but mostly just swaying.
Still.
His stomach growled.
Honestly… he was hungry.
"I wish they'd come back soon…" he muttered into the soft threads, staring at the thin slice of light on the wall as if it might answer him.
…
By the third day, however, even Gobta's optimistic imagination began to crumble.
Rimuru-sama and the others still hadn't returned.
Now he was worried.
But—
"This isn't the time to worry about them!" he suddenly declared to himself.
Because at this very moment, Gobta was facing a crisis far more immediate.
Hunger was troublesome, yes.
But there was something even more serious.
Something urgent.
"Pi—"
"Gorogorogoro..."
"My stomach hurrrts…"
Gobta froze.
He had been bravely enduring his need to pee. A true warrior could withstand such trials. But now… something larger was approaching. Something inevitable.
His mental strength had been tested by countless battles, by harsh training, by Rimuru-sama's punishments.
But this?
This was different.
Below him, on the parlor floor of the room where he hung so tragically, lay a carpet. A very fine carpet.
If the floor had been stone, perhaps he could have accepted his fate as a warrior fallen in disgrace.
But a carpet?
If he defiled that carpet… Kaijin-san would definitely explode with rage.
Gobta swallowed hard.
"Rimuru-sama always says toilets and baths are unnecessary… like he doesn't really care," he reasoned desperately. "So maybe… maybe he won't get mad if I… you know… defile the room?"
Even as he said it, he knew the truth: this was no ordinary inconvenience.
This was a critical situation.
A legendary crisis.
"…I should do something…"
He wriggled slightly.
"W-wait—dangerous—!"
The moment he moved, the motion transferred to the threads. The cocoon began swinging back and forth, wider and wider, like a pendulum counting down to disaster.
In this situation, catastrophe was inevitable.
He couldn't cut the thread.
He couldn't summon help.
Rimuru-sama and the others were nowhere to be seen.
It was maddening—just doing nothing.
Greasy sweat slid down Gobta's temples. His vision blurred. The gentle sway of the cocoon, which had once been almost comforting, now felt like mockery.
He had tried everything.
"There's no way out…" he muttered weakly. "I've done everything…"
He let his head droop.
—I give up—
And yet, even in surrender, he couldn't fully give in. Something inside him refused.
Then, like a bell tolling in the depths of his mind, a mechanical, ethereal voice spoke.
It was so pure, so precise, that it felt like the heavens themselves were answering his desperate plea.
"Acquired Extra Skill: Adaptive Instinct."
"Huh… what is that!?" Gobta squeaked, eyes widening.
It took a moment for him to realize what had happened.
Did the heavens… bless me with strength?
Gobta had only the faintest idea about the "Voice of the World," but he knew about skills. Rimuru-sama, the direwolves—even some of the higher-tier monsters—could use them. Goblins, however… goblins were the lowest of the low. But goblins… goblins were the lowest of the low. In three generations, maybe one or two had ever been gifted a skill.
And Gobta? He had never had anything. Never.
And yet… instinctively, he understood what his new skill could do.
Extra Skill: Adaptive Instinct
Sub-skills:
•Minor Resistance Growth
After taking damage from the same source: small resistance increase (stacking slowly). Only works within the same battle.
•Pattern Familiarity
After witnessing a repeated attack: slight boost to reaction speed. Small increase in evasion against that specific move. Doesn't predict—just reacts faster the second time.
•Stress Adaptation
When pushed near defeat: brief boost to endurance. Reduced pain sensation.
•Minor Environmental Tolerance
Gradually adjusts to heat, cold, pressure, poison (very slow).
Four sub-skills was unusuall for a mere "extra skill". Gobta however didn't yet know the details.
He didn't fully understand how it worked. He didn't need to. The effects were already kicking in.
As his new skill passively activated—Stress Adaptation kicking in—Gobta felt the tension in his body ease slightly. The panic in his chest dulled, his muscles loosened a bit, and for the first time since being trapped, the situation felt… manageable.
He let out a shaky sigh.
…Okay. I can handle this… for now.
However, Gobta didn't fully relax. He didn't know when Rimuru-sama would return—or how long this fragile peace would last.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, his mind cleared slightly. The dizzy swinging, the suffocating threads, the endless waiting… it had sharpened his focus.
In the midst of his desperate attempts to escape, a thought returned—the one he had ignored before.
Captain Rigurd couldn't summon a partner under difficult conditions. So how could he? Gobta, after all, was far from a shining example of goblin excellence.
But now?
"…I have no choice," he whispered.
He closed his eyes and poured every ounce of willpower into the attempt.
"I summon you—!"
This time, he didn't shout dramatically. He didn't need to.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A black cloud of smoke bloomed beneath him, spreading across the floor like spilled ink. It thickened, curling upward and filling the cell with a shadowy haze. Slowly, the smoke parted.
Where it cleared, a majestic wolf stood.
Its fur was deep black with a faint purple sheen, like storm clouds reflecting the last light of dusk. Sharp, intelligent eyes gleamed, scanning the cell with quiet awareness.
Gobta blinked. Once. Twice. "…Eh?"
His mind struggled to process what he was seeing. He hadn't truly believed it could work.
Then, like a bolt of realization, it hit him.
"Partner! You came!" Gobta shouted, voice bouncing off the stone walls. "If you didn't come any later, it would've become… a serious problem!"
The Storm Fanged Wolf tilted its head slightly, as if mildly puzzled by the outburst.
Truthfully, even Gobta didn't fully understand what had happened. He hadn't felt any response before—no connection, no signal. Perhaps it was his new extra skill, Adaptive Instinct, forcing the bond to respond. Perhaps it was everything he had endured: the hunger, the endless waiting, the humiliating swinging. His mental strength had finally reached its limit, and the wolf had answered.
Whatever the reason—
The wolf stepped forward and sank its sharp fangs into the thick threads of the cocoon.
The threads resisted, stretching stubbornly, as if unwilling to admit defeat. But the wolf didn't relent. Growl after growl, bite after bite, layer after layer of thread was torn apart.
Finally—
Riiip.
Fresh air rushed in, carrying the faint scent of the night. Gobta tumbled out in an utterly unheroic heap, landing on the floor with a grunt.
"Freedom…" he breathed, nearly in tears.
There was no time to celebrate. Though his Adaptive Instinct skill had temporarily alleviated his other pressing needs, nature's call demanded immediate attention.
He scrambled onto the wolf's back.
"Go!" he shouted.
The Storm Fanged Wolf moved like a shadow brought to life, sleek and silent. In seconds, they slipped past the edges of the Dwarven Kingdom.
Only when they were safely outside did Gobta jump down.
He ran a short distance away… and finally, at long last, answered nature's desperate call.
...
Rimuru, accompanied by the goblins and the newly joined dwarve trio—Kaijin and his brothers with toes—finally met up with the goblins waiting at the edge of the Jura Forest.
Their time in the Dwarven city had stretched to five long days. Things hadn't gone exactly according to plan, but for the most part, they'd accomplished what they had set out to do. Still… Rimuru couldn't shake the feeling that something had been forgotten.
Taking a deep breath, Rimuru began introducing Kaijin and his hapless friends to the goblins. "We'll be working together for a while," Rimuru explained. "So it's best to start on the right foot."
The dwarves, however, were having none of it. The sight of the Tempest Wolves had them screaming, jumping back, and waving their arms in terror. "Gaaahh! How could you ever…?!" they wailed, their voices perfectly synchronized.
It took several tense moments to calm them down, give them some breathing room, and prepare for the journey to the goblin village. Just as everyone was about to set off, a distant shout cut through the air.
Rimuru's stomach dropped. In the distance, a tiny dot grew larger, faster—approaching at alarming speed. Soon it became unmistakable: a spiky purple-haired goblin riding a Tempest Wolf was hurtling toward them.
"Oh… crap. I completely forgot about him," Rimuru muttered bashfully, scratching the back of his head.
He hadn't meant to leave Gobta behind. Punishing him in Bagworm Hell for dozing off during serious moments had been enough; he hadn't intended to push it further. But what could he do? Rimuru had been arrested and dragged to the Dwarven King's court—he simply hadn't had time to rescue Gobta. Still… that excuse would never fly with Gobta, the airheaded fool.
The purple-haired goblin's wolf skidded to a stop just in front of Rimuru. Gobta leapt off, grabbed Rimuru, and began shaking him violently. "Why did you leave me behind?!" he demanded, his face comically close to Rimuru's, the shaking so intense it almost looked like strangulation.
Rimuru blinked, caught between amusement and mild panic. "I… I didn't mean to! Really!"
Gobta's wild flailing finally slowed, and Rimuru took a careful breath. To make it up to him, he offered a promise that lit up Gobta's round face with a mischievous grin.
"When we get back to the Dwarven city," Rimuru said, "I'll take you to a bar with pretty elves. Drinks included. My treat."
Gobta's eyes sparkled. "You… really mean it?"
"I do," Rimuru replied, still holding back a chuckle. "But first, let's get to the goblin village in one piece, okay?"
....
With that, they began moving through the forest.
Since there were extra members now, Rimuru had to transform into a Tempest Star Wolf to carry Kaijin and his brothers—Ranga, for his part, clearly wasn't fond of letting the dwarves ride him. He gave them a look that made his opinion painfully obvious.
So Gobta ended up riding Ranga as they sped through the Jura Forest.
Though Rimuru's transformed wolf form looked more refined and imposing, Ranga himself was incomparable to any ordinary beast. His dark purple fur shimmered under the forest light, a faint star-shaped mark gleaming on his body. A majestic horn rose proudly from his forehead, giving him an almost mythical presence. Among all the monsters Gobta had seen in the Jura Forest, none came close.
It still felt like a dream.
He—a mere hobgoblin—was riding such a powerful creature.
But Gobta didn't have the luxury of daydreaming for long.
They were running at nearly sixty miles per hour.
The wind tore past Gobta's face so fiercely that it felt like invisible hands trying to rip him off Ranga's back. His small, light body could easily be blown away if he lost focus for even a second. If he hadn't evolved into a hobgoblin, he wouldn't have lasted a heartbeat.
Even as he was now, it had taken time to adjust. At first, he couldn't even keep his eyes open because of the rushing wind. But the journey to the Dwarven Kingdom—riding all the way from the heart of the Jura Forest—had been good practice.
Now, he leaned forward instinctively, gripping Ranga's dense fur tightly as they tore through the trees like a streak of black lightning.
After successfully summoning the tempest wolf earlier, Gobta his connection to them had grown stronger—especially with Ranga. It hadn't even been the wolf that responded to his desperate summoning call. Maybe that was because Ranga had been assigned to him first, back when Rimuru named them all.
Gobta still didn't fully understand how summoning worked. It felt vague and mysterious. But somehow, guided by instinct, he could now repeat the process without much trouble.
Gobta might be an airheaded fool.
But he wasn't stupid.
In this world, strength was everything.
His trip to Dwargon had reminded him of that once more. Just before entering the city, they had been picked up and restrained by humans. That helpless feeling—it lingered.
Still, it wasn't his worst memory.
Once before,not long ago, he had been beaten black and blue by humans.
And it wasn't just humans. Monsters preyed on the weak too. That was the rule of the forest. The rule of the world.
Before, hoping to become stronger had felt pointless.
But now?
Now there was a crack of light.
A small, fragile hope.
And Gobta wanted to reach for it.
He glanced back briefly at his fellow goblins, who were struggling to keep up with their partner wolves' speed. A little light of determination flickered in his eyes that went unnoticed by everyone.
He tightened his grip on Ranga's fur
.
The wind howled in his ears as they blazed forward through the forest, a black flash cutting between the trees.
....
Author's Note: This is the part where they went to the Dwarven Kingdom, and this is one of Gobta's notable achievements among the goblins that set him apart, so I felt like this was the right place to start. If you like the story idea or have any thoughts about it, please comment.