Chapter 9: Seeds of Prosperity

The hatchling sat at the center of the cave, his glowing eyes fixed on the gathered elders. Their wrinkled faces were lined with worry, their hunched forms trembling slightly as they exchanged nervous glances.

"Let's talk about improving this place," the hatchling said, his tone calm but firm. "You've pledged your loyalty to me, so it's time to rebuild. I want ideas—how can we fix this mess?"

The elder goblins hesitated, their murmurs barely audible. Finally, one of them spoke up.

"Sir Lord," the goblin began cautiously, "the Rusty Stone Tribe has drained us of resources for years. Our tools are broken, and we lack the strength to gather what we need. Even our hunters…" He trailed off, his gaze lowering.

The hatchling's claws tapped against the stone floor. "Then you need a different approach," he said, his voice sharp. "What about trading? You mentioned merchants before."

Another elder nodded hesitantly. "Yes, Sir Lord. Long ago, we traded with passing dwarven merchants and the Gold Goblins. They paid well for the plants that grow here."

The hatchling's eyes narrowed. "Dwarves and… Gold Goblins?"

The elder nodded again. "The dwarves were few, but they valued the healing herbs and intoxicating plants for their brews and medicines. The Gold Goblins… well, they're a rare kind of goblin. Wealthy and proud. They can sense gold in the earth and often seek out valuable items to trade."

The hatchling tilted his head thoughtfully. "And how do you contact them?"

"They used to pass by regularly, Sir Lord," another elder explained. "But with the Rusty Stone Tribe controlling this area, they stopped coming. If we could send word that the Rusty Stone Tribe no longer rules here, perhaps they'd return."

The hatchling's tail swayed behind him as he considered the idea. Merchants who value rare plants… This could work.

Just then, the young goblin piped up, bouncing on its heels. "Sir Lord! Sir Lord! I have an idea!"

The elders groaned softly, but the hatchling raised a claw to silence them. "Go on," he said, his glowing eyes fixed on the young goblin.

The small goblin grinned widely. "We could sell the plants again, but we don't have to wait for them to come! What if we send someone to them instead? Like… a messenger!"

The hatchling blinked, his claws tapping thoughtfully. Not a bad idea.

"And!" the young goblin continued, nearly tripping over his own excitement, "we could make the plants look even better! Like tie them up with shiny stuff! Merchants love shiny stuff!"

The elders exchanged uneasy glances, but the hatchling smirked faintly. "You're not wrong," he said. "Presentation matters. If we're going to trade, we need to make these plants look valuable."

He turned back to the elders. "Where did the dwarves and Gold Goblins pass through? Is there a specific route?"

The elders nodded. "Yes, Sir Lord. The dwarves traveled through the mountain paths to the west, and the Gold Goblins came from the golden hills to the south."

The hatchling's claws scraped against the stone as he straightened. "Then we'll start there. We need to send a message—quietly. If the Rusty Stone Tribe finds out, they'll try to stop us."

The elders nodded, their expressions a mix of relief and determination.

The young goblin clapped its hands excitedly. "We're going to be the best traders ever, Sir Lord!"

The hatchling smirked, his tail swishing behind him.

This could be the start of something big. If we do this right, the Rusty Stone Tribe won't just lose control—they'll lose everything.

The hatchling stepped back from the group of goblins, his glowing eyes flicking upward as he called to the system.

"Time left for the mission?"

The familiar chime echoed in his mind, followed by the display of a glowing text.

[System Alert]

Mission: Survive for 24 Hours

Time Remaining: 19:04:12

He let out a low growl, his claws tapping against the ground. Still a long way to go.

His stomach rumbled, a low, almost embarrassing sound that made the young goblin glance at him curiously.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Sir Lord," the goblin chirped, "are you hungry?"

The hatchling grunted in acknowledgment. More than I thought. His mind wandered back to the system notification he'd seen before—a failed attempt where the goblins had boiled the egg into a soup. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

Let's see if they can manage it without burning the place down this time.

He turned to the elders, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. "Prepare a meal," he commanded. "A soup. And don't burn anything."

The goblins exchanged nervous glances, their whispers filling the air. The elder goblin stepped forward, bowing low. "A… soup, Sir Lord? What shall we use?"

Without a word, the hatchling swiped his claw through the air. The system's inventory interface appeared, and with a flick of his mind, he selected the Clawstalker's body.

In an instant, the massive corpse materialized in front of him, its lifeless form hitting the rocky ground with a heavy thud.

The cave fell silent.

The young goblin's jaw dropped, his wide eyes darting between the body and the hatchling. "W-wait… is that… is that the beast you killed?"

The hatchling nodded, his expression unreadable.

"But… but it was gone! I thought it vanished into thin air! Sir Lord, it's like… magic!"

The elder goblins were equally stunned, their eyes narrowing as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing.

"This… is it spatial magic?" one elder whispered, his voice trembling. "Like the dwarves and Gold Goblins use with their rings?"

Another elder leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the hatchling. "But… that's ancient magic. Only the wealthy or powerful possess such abilities. How…?"

The hatchling didn't offer an explanation. He simply stood there, his claws resting lightly against the ground as he watched their reactions.

The young goblin bounced on his toes, his excitement bubbling over. "Sir Lord is amazing! He's even stronger than the Gold Goblins! They just have rings, but you can do it without anything!"

The elders' respect deepened, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief.

This will work in my favor, the hatchling thought, his smirk returning. Let them think it's magic. It'll keep them in line.

"Prepare the soup," he growled, his voice breaking through their stunned silence. "I want it ready soon. And remember—don't burn anything."

The goblins scrambled into action, their awe giving way to frantic obedience. The young goblin darted toward the others, shouting orders as if he were the hatchling's second-in-command.

The elders exchanged quiet murmurs, their gazes lingering on the hatchling as they worked.

'He's not just strong, one thought, his wrinkled face betraying his awe. He wields powers beyond our understanding. Truly… a lord worthy of following.'

The hatchling sat back as the goblins bustled around him, their hurried movements accompanied by the occasional clink of crude pots and the crackling of a small fire. The air began to fill with the faint aroma of cooking meat, though it was far from appetizing.

He let out a low growl, his glowing eyes flicking upward as he called to the system once more.

"Profile."

The familiar chime rang out, and the text appeared before him.

[Player Profile]

Name: Unnamed Hatchling

Level: 2

HP: 8/8

MP: 10/10

Species: Blackscale Wyrmling (Dark Variant)

Title: Hunter of Predators

His claws tapped idly against the stone floor as he stared at the glowing words. His gaze lingered on the word "Unnamed."

A name… he thought. I should probably come up with one. I can't just keep going as 'hatchling.'

He closed his eyes, trying to dig through the murky haze of his memories. A faint image surfaced—papers, a desk, maybe a screen. But his name… it was gone.

His claws twitched in frustration. What was it?

The harder he tried to focus, the more the memory slipped away, like sand through his claws. Finally, he sighed, the sound low and resigned.

Let's just get a random name.