Without a word, Gloria slung the archer’s arm over her shoulder and looped her own arm around the girl’s waist for support. Together, they navigated the cluttered cave, careful not to tangle the chain bound to Gloria’s shackles.
“You seem to be… well-informed about what’s happening here,” accused Morgana. “Who are you, exactly?”
“As I mentioned before,” reiterated Gloria, her voice steady. “I’m just another prisoner, like yourself.”
Morgana frowned, skeptical.
“However,” continued Gloria, “since I’ve been here a while, I’ve had plenty of time to piece together the nature of the operation happening in this cave.”
“Operations?” Morgana’s frown deepened in disbelief. “But they’re just goblins! How could—”
“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” Gloria interjected calmly. “The goblin chief is far from ordinary; it possesses frightening intelligence. The truth is… this place is being used as a base for conducting genetic experiments, with young girls serving as unwilling hosts for these tests.”
The color drained from Morgana’s face as the woman’s words sank in. According to Gloria, the sickening operation had been ongoing for well over a year. During that time, it became evident that the goblin chief was a rare and anomalous monster. It had somehow recognized that conceiving offspring with human women resulted in smarter and stronger goblins.
Using transformation magic, the goblin chief cleverly assumed the guise of an old man to submit job requests at the guild, luring in weak and unsuspecting adventurers. This method served a dual purpose: not only did it provide a means of acquiring young, fertile hosts to bear offspring, but it also ensured a steady supply of easy prey as the male adventurers were often hunted for sport before being devoured.
The chief recognized the risks of stealing livestock, which could provoke the ire of farmers and draw unwanted attention from the guild or bounty hunters. However, when adventurers went missing, no one seemed to come looking for them.
Gloria observed Morgana’s gaze lingering on a group of goblins toiling over a hot stove. “It was essential to ensure they kept the hosts properly fed and nourished throughout their pregnancy.”
Morgana frowned, unimpressed. So that’s why they were bringing back all the monsters they had hunted.
Apparently, the goblins and bandits shared a symbiotic relationship, with each party capitalizing on the strengths of the other. The bandits imparted their knowledge of cooking and shelter-building to the goblins. In return, the bandits enjoyed the goblins’ formidable numbers and claimed ownership of any valuables acquired from their victims.
Morgana’s expression had turned ashen as she listened, a mixture of pain, despair, and rage washing over her as they approached the campsite where the goblins were busy preparing a large pot of stew.
“Be careful,” Gloria cautioned. “These goblins may answer to the chief, but that doesn’t mean they’re rational. Whatever you do, avoid provoking them.”
Morgana’s gaze swept over them with disdain. Nearby, four young girls sat at the front of their tents, their clothes ragged, their bodies motionless. Morgana couldn’t bring herself to meet their eyes. She knew that the loss of her leg and her place as an adventurer seemed trivial compared to the anguish and hopelessness these girls endured.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Her contempt flared as she regarded the byproduct of the monsters’ genetic experiments. Four goblin toddlers frolicked and played in the heart of the campsite, the raging fire from the primitive stove casting a warm glow on their features.
Unlike typical goblins with round bellies, crooked teeth, and disproportionate limbs, these children looked different. Their pale green skin was smooth as silk, their eyes round and innocent, and a pair of tiny horns protruded from their foreheads. Their skin was so pale that the green pigmentation was barely visible.
“…They look so human,” Morgana’s voice quivered.
Gloria looked on with a bittersweet expression.
As Morgana continued to observe the children, gradually, the unfounded accusations—her own misery, the loss of her friends, and the plight of the surrogate mothers—that she had projected onto them began to fade away.
As she gazed at the toddlers, who now cowered in fear from her icy stare, their uncanny resemblance to human children struck her deeply. They hadn’t chosen this life, nor had they asked for any of it. They were innocent beings born into a cruel world, just like any other baby.
Finally, Morgana swallowed her nervousness, her gaze drifting to the women by the tents. Like Gloria, they were all bound by shackles and long chains, but unlike herself, they hadn’t surrendered to despair.
Instead, their eyes shimmered with a blend of tenderness and resilience as they watched the children. It was evident that they didn’t view the toddlers as monsters, but rather as precious extensions of themselves. These innocent beings served as their rays of hope, the unwavering source of strength that sustained them through their harrowing existence.
As if sensing the softening of her tension, one of the toddlers timidly approached her, cheeks flushed with anticipation, its round eyes gleaming with hope. Just as their fingertips were about to meet—
BOOOOM!
An explosion erupted at the entrance of the cave, hurling a goblin’s body into the air, its form cleaved in twain. Blood sprayed like a fountain, painting the cavern walls in crimson hues. Through the veil of gore emerged the bandits, their faces twisted in sadistic glee.
“I hereby declare the annulment of our alliance!” bellowed the bandit leader, his voice laced with venomous intent. “Prepare to taste the steel of our blades, you wretched bastards!”
With a menacing smirk, he signaled his comrades, and the cavern descended into chaos as swords clashed and screams pierced the air.
A bandit, his face contorted in a mask of rage, lunged at a goblin with his sword raised high. With a savage roar, he brought the blade down, cleaving through the creature’s shoulder and sending it crashing to the ground in a pool of its own blood.
A savage cry tore from the lungs of another man as he charged into the midst of the monsters, his axe swinging in a deadly arc. The weapon bit deep into the flesh of the nearest creature, ripping through bone and sinew with sickening ease.
A burly bandit wielding a massive warhammer waded into the fray. With each swing of his weapon, bones shattered and bodies crumpled under the force of his blows. Goblins screamed in agony as the warhammer descended upon them, crushing skulls and pulverizing flesh with brutal effectiveness.
Suddenly, amidst the frenzied melee, the goblin chief emerged from the shadows, perched upon a lofty rock, its silhouette looming ominously. With a malevolent grin, it raised its staff, unleashing a dark miasma that engulfed the battlefield.
The bandits, caught in the suffocating embrace of the foul magic, found themselves paralyzed, their limbs rendered useless as the goblins seized the opportunity to close in for the kill.
Battle cries echoed off the cavern walls as the goblins descended upon their helpless prey, their vengeful weapons slashing and hacking with ruthless efficiency. Limbs were severed, blood spattered the ground, and the air was thick with the sickening scent of death.
The toddlers scurried back to their mothers in fear while Morgana watched the bloodbath unfold from the plateau, horror etched on her face.
In the heart of the chaos, the bandit leader fought desperately against the onslaught, unaffected by the incapacitating magic that paralyzed his comrades. With hate burning in his eyes, he glanced up at the goblin chief, his blade stained with the blood of his enemies. But it was a futile struggle, for in the end, darkness claimed them all, leaving nothing but carnage in its wake.