RUSTY
"Jiho," Jiwoo's voice was a tired rasp, and his eyes narrowed in disapproval as he forced himself to sit up, “none of the spoils belong to you."
"I was giving moral support," Jiho protested, gripping the [Ranger]’s scimitar defensively. “It is one of my many skills.”
"Please, go on," Sooji mocked, "What skills are those again? The only class skill you have is [Identify], and you didn’t even use that on the [Ranger]."
“I’d scanned him already,” Jiho said. “I knew you guys had him.”
"Jiho was very helpful," Seok said in a strained voice, still curled up on his bedding, always ready to support his cousin.
“Codswallop,” Jiwoo swore, “give Seok the sword. He earned it.”
“I can have it?” Seok sat up, grimacing. “Really?”
Rusty watched the brewing conflict with concern. He knew the goblins bickered, and there was no real malice in it, but it was the first time he had seen Jiwoo assert any proper authority. The gang bent around Jiho’s whims, but it may have simply been the fact that there was no powerful will among them to resist him. Was Jiwoo the real leader, after all?
Jiho harrumphed, tossing the scimitar dangerously close to Seok as if it was of no value to him. He rounded on Sooji. “Who are you to say I have no skills? You’re not even a real shaman, Soo. You can’t do anything!”
Chul laughed, still giddy with success, apparently unphased by the gang’s close brush with death. "He's got you there," Chul said. “You’re smart with a sling, but not much of a [Shaman].”
"Excuse me?" Sooji replied, her tone sharp. "You know very well I have a skill. But it only works when we really need it. I can’t just use it whenever I want.”
"When we really need it?" Jiho challenged, crossing his arms defiantly. "When we're all about to die? How about then? I didn’t see you praying when the heroes attacked."
“It doesn’t work like that,” Sooji insisted. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”
Rusty found his gaze drawn to the Ranger’s body. He had never seen a dead man before, and he didn’t like how it made him feel. The humans were evil; he knew that. All he had to do was think about the goblin children he had seen with arrows in their backs. This man had done that. He wasn’t sad that the [Ranger] was dead. What made him sick was what had happened back at the camp. He couldn’t get the children out of his head. Having the man who had done that here with them, so to speak, made it worse rather than better.
Chul sensed his unease and wrapped him in a loose hug. “It’s okay,” he said, “you get used to it.”
"Get used to what?” Rusty asked. The idea of growing accustomed to violence made him shudder, even though their survival could depend on it.
“Everything,” Chul replied simply. “No matter what happens, you get used to it. That’s what I think.”
From his seat, Jiwoo divided up the spoils, pointing out items as he went. He assigned the bow and arrow to Sooji, and claimed the knife for himself. He said Chul could have the survival tools, an announcement that delighted the young goblin to no end. The coin pouch, he added to his own collection, and he said Jiho could have the man’s boots and clothes, though they were all obviously too large for him.
After that, the goblins shared out smoked beetle meat and settled in for the night, leaving the [Ranger]’s body to bloat by the firepit. Rusty curled up beside Chul. His thoughts were a whirlwind of images and sensations, the sound of metal clashing against metal, the taste of man-flesh, and the sight of blood staining the ground beneath small green bodies.
"Get used to it," he whispered once more, as if saying the words would make it true. A memory stirred within him, something foggy, little more than a feeling. Thinking about the goblin children opened a hole in his belly, a deep well of emptiness he hadn’t known was a part of him. He felt drugged and listless, like he had taken a tincture of dankroot. Only Jiho hadn’t given him any. Had he had children of his own? Of course, he hadn’t. He was just a hatchling.
Rusty fell into a restless sleep full of dreams of humans. They wore strange clothes, and lived in strange houses, clean and bright, lit by glass orbs housing the caged spirits of lightning. There were children in his dream, two of them, but he couldn’t see their faces. Then an alarm went off, and the dream splintered into a thousand irreconcilable pieces.
"Turn that stupid thing off!" Jiho shouted from behind his curtain.
It was a [System] notification. Rusty quickly summoned his screen while Chul blearily rubbed his eyes beside him.
New Material has been added to your hoard.
Toy Soldier (1)
Bowl of Broken Glass (1)
Rotten Egg (1)
Low-Quality Comb (1)
Broken Pocket watch (1)
Ruined Map (1)
Shells, Assorted (7)
You have gained 112 experience.
New Level achieved (2).
You have 5 unassigned skill points.
“Wow,” Chul said, slowly reading over his shoulder, his mouth forming the words as he went. “It tells you all the stuff you have.”
“I like that feature,” Rusty agreed. His main status screen had added a new section below his skills for his hoard. So, it looked like the [System] was going to give him a running total of everything he collected. The options available for assigning his skill points were the same as before: [Material Mastery], [Physical Mastery], [Movement Mastery], and [Breath Mastery]. He didn’t regret putting everything into [Material Mastery] before. As he had stated, he liked knowing where his stuff was. That being the case, his experiences over that last day had convinced him of the need to diversify.
He put one point into each of the four skill options, and one extra into [Physical Mastery], speaking to the [System] in a low voice so as not to disturb the other goblins. This way, he would at least be able to investigate what each of the abilities did without investing too much in any one of them. Chul’s warmth beside him was a comfort as the young goblin continued to read with difficulty. His bleary eyes focused on the gleaming screen hovering above the young dragon, and he suddenly shot straight up.
"You're level 2!" Chul screamed, startling the rest of the den into wakefulness. The goblin gang rubbed their eyes, trying to make sense of the commotion.
"Wha...?" Jiwoo muttered groggily.
"Rusty leveled up!" Chul repeated, beaming with excitement. "He’s a super dragon!"
“Don’t you mean super ‘scaly dog’?” Rusty asked him.
Chul blinked down at him in confusion. “They aren’t the same thing?”
"Really?" Jiwoo asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He hobbled over to study the screen. "That was quick. How long do you think before we need a bigger den?"
“I don’t know,” Rusty said, “won’t I just get bigger as I age?”
Jiho had successfully roused himself, adjusting his hair in a handheld mirror after ambling into the center of the den. “I doubt it,” he said. “Age might have something to do with your growth, but dragons get bigger as they advance in level. Everyone gets attribute boosts eventually. A dragon might get a size boost as well.”
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Chul gaped. “You think so?” He grabbed Rusty. “We have to find you more stuff! You’re going to get so big!”
“Go out if you want,” Jiho said, “but stay close to the den. Just because the humans are gone doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous.”
“How do you know they’re gone?” Rusty asked.
Jiho shrugged. “It’s the way things work. The Junkmaster lets in a raid, and the goblins get a period of recovery. The raid’s never last more than a day.”
“Let’s go!” Chul commanded, shoving Rusty’s backside. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”
“Okay, calm down.” Rusty rose, his dreams, and the terrors of the previous day, momentarily forgotten. If nothing else, he wanted to see what his new skills could do. He followed Chul out after the young goblin heaved aside the door, and the cool, damp air of the junkyard brushed against his scales, a relief from the hot, smoky atmosphere of the den.
"Ready for more treasure hunting?” Chul grinned.
"I guess so," Rusty replied, suddenly hesitant. The den, his lair, was a safe place, at least nominally distinct from the hazards of the wider world. Outside of it, there was no telling what could happen. A part of him wanted to turn around, bunker down, and sleep for a year or two. Except that sleep wasn’t a terribly inviting prospect. He couldn’t remember his dreams, only how they had made him feel. Hollow. Still, he didn’t want to disappoint Chul, and his [Material Sense] was already giving him a host of fuzzy impressions of possible additions to his hoard.
Together, they ventured further into the junkyard. Midden was the size of a city, and they could easily avoid the areas where the tribe gathered while still keeping out of sight of the wall. Rusty marveled at the expanse, wondering how anyone could see what he saw and come away thinking it was only trash.
"Look at this!" Chul exclaimed, picking up a twisted piece of metal out of a fresh pile of garbage. The wagons brought in new loads every day, so the junkyard was always changing, always new. What the metal fragment was doing in a mound of fish bones and spoiled vegetables was an open question, but Rusty supposed it didn’t matter. "What do you think about this?"
“I don’t know,” Rusty said, inspecting the item. His material sense wasn’t giving him anything, which meant the object wouldn’t be worth experience if he added it to his hoard. Assumptions aside, he still wasn’t entirely sure how the determination was made, what made one castoff piece of junk valuable and another not, but there was no arguing with the [System]. “I don’t think I want it.”
“Okay,” Chul said, undeterred. He tossed the scrap aside and started digging through the pile. “There’re some good bones in here though. Do you want bones? I like chewing on them. They make my throat feel all tingly when I swallow them.”
“You shouldn’t eat fishbones,” Rusty said.
“Why not?”
“Um, they’re kind of sharp, I think.” He supposed the goblins had eaten worse with no harm coming to them, but the last thing he wanted was for his new friend to choke to death because he was too willing to put anything he found out here into his mouth.
“Mhmm,” Chul hummed through a mouthful of fish bones, “but it’s a good kind of sharp, right?”
As they continued their search, Rusty closed his eyes to get a better idea of what his sixth sense for trash was telling him.
“Over here,” he said, nosing through some broken ceramics. He felt what he was looking for before he saw it, and plucked it out with his teeth, presenting it to Chul.
“A spoon,” the goblin grinned. “Nice!”
It was wooden, obviously hand-carved by someone without much practice. It looked to have been well used, however, as the bowl at the end was very worn, and had a few bite marks along its edge. Rusty could feel the innate value in the object, and now that he had it, he never wanted to be without it. It was a struggle for him just to allow Chul to stow the find away in a pouch, but he reminded himself there were more treasures to be found, and it would be silly for him to walk around with a spoon in his mouth all day. It wasn’t as if his friend was going to steal the spoon. Was he? Rusty banished the thought. He was being ridiculous.
Over the next hour, they found several more treasures, a stained silk flower, a cracked leather belt, and a cat skull. His material sense assured him they would all be worth experience once they were added to his hoard.
They were sorting through rotten foodstuffs to take home to the gang when they were met with a competitor; a chunky, belligerent rat. It challenged Chul for ownership of a hunk of worm-ridden cheese, rising on its hind legs, fully as large as Rusty. Its fur was an uneven patchwork of dingy grays and browns, twisted and matted with the grime of its surroundings. It only had one eye, as the other was a festering wound, no doubt the result of a previous territorial dispute. Thick rolls of fat bore testament to its status among rodents, and it showed no signs of apprehension at being confronted by a goblin or a dragon hatchling.
Chul stood his ground, drawing the same sharpened spoon he had not long before used to attack the human [Ranger]. The rat was unimpressed, dropping back down on all fours, its pudgy legs bunching for a leap.
“Get out of here, ratters,” Chul warned, “this is my haul.”
The rat lunged. Its incisors, long and yellow, snapping at Chul’s outstretched hand.
"Ouch!" the goblin shrieked, retreating a step. “You’re a bad rat! We will never be friends!”
Rusty acted on instinct, taking a deep breath before unleashing a noxious cloud of brownish gas. He only had one rank assigned to his breath weapon skill, so it was as weak as it could be, but it was sufficient for a single fat rat. The rodent sniffed the air, its whiskers twitching, and its belligerence was replaced by confusion. It sought to escape the cloud, and ended up turning in circles, its legs no longer entirely under its control.
Chul leaned in, interested, and sniffed the gas.
“Oooh,” he said, “good one. My face feels all gummy.” He opened and closed his mouth. “Oooh, what is that?”
“My breath weapon,” Rusty explained, watching as the rat collapsed on its side, its legs kicking uselessly. “You probably shouldn’t breathe it in.”
“My lips are numb,” Chul said, swaying. “What flavor is this?”
Rusty used his head to nudge his friend away from the cloud, which dissipated in a few seconds. “I have no idea,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Mmmm’ine.” Chul mumbled. “Lemme getarut.”
The goblin stomped on the rat’s head until it stopped moving, then picked it up by its tail.
“Oooh,” he said. “My head’s all tingly. When did you get a breath weapon?”
The effect of the gas was wearing off quickly.
“I leveled up,” Rusty said, “remember? You were there when I selected it.”
“Oh yeah,” Chul flung the rat over his shoulder. “I wasn’t paying attention. Reading’s hard, you know.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Better than okay,” Chul grinned, “my scaly dog is magic.”
The pair returned to the den with their spoils, finding it transformed. Decorations of colored cloth and glass were hanging on strings from the entrance, and the interior was lit by a candle, rather than the firepit. The gang had cleared out the main area, sweeping it out and disposing of the body while Chul and Rusty were gone, and an array of their collective treasures were laid out on a colored cloth near the entrance.
“Surprise!” Sooji shouted, startling Chul. “We’re having a party.”
Chul clapped his hands, quickly catching up, and Rusty looked around at the gang. Seok was feeling better, his broken arm wrapped in a sling, and Jiho was prying open a glass jar with a knife. Jiwoo was sitting beside the candle, and he gestured to the items arranged along the cloth.
“It’s not every day a member of the gang gains a level. We decided to celebrate.”
“Is all this for me?” Rusty asked, looking over the trove. They had brought him bent horseshoes, a few chain links, and an unpaired slipper; broken arrow shafts, a segment of rope, and a bit of cracked pottery. All of it had come from their personal collections, and all of it triggered his material sense. “Thank you. These are wonderful.”
Jiho succeeded in popping open the jar, which had been sealed with leather, and smelled it, wrinkling his nose.
“This is definitely ready,” he said.
“A toast!” Jiwoo proclaimed, “to the newest member of the gang.”
The goblins produced mugs and cups, and a bowl for Rusty, before pouring out the liquid, which stank of fermentation.
“What have you got there?” Sooji asked Chul, who held up the rat for all of them to see.
“Lunch,” Chul proclaimed, and the gang cheered. Sooji took the rat outside to skin and gut, while the others drank. The drink was awful, but the goblins seemed to enjoy it, and Rusty didn’t mind the warm feeling it put in his belly. Jiwoo produced another jar when the first one was empty, and Seok stood up for the group to perform a song.
"Gather 'round, ye goblin kin, grab your mugs of murk and grin, dance and stomp and sing with glee, in our den of infamy,” he sang, and Jiho slapped his own face.
“You’re butchering it,” he said.
“Why don’t you sing it then,” Seok shot back, his cheeks darkening.
Jiho tried to demur, claiming that his throat was sore, but the others clamored for him to perform, and he soon came around.
“Very well,” he said, “if only to save us from Seok.”
He cleared his throat and began.
“Rusty nails and broken glass, treasures of our goblin class. Guzzle down the waters still, sons of filth and daughters ill. To battles won and foes forgone. Loss forgotten, woes begone. Stamp your feet, and cry the night, for all to hear, the goblin blight!”
Rusty couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The words were a little silly, but Jiho’s voice was not at all what he expected. It filled the den, pitch perfect, and made him feel light and happy in a way the drink could not. The goblins all clapped, demanding that he continue, but Jiho sat down, a pensive look on his face.
“That’s enough for one celebration. Where’s the rat meat?”
It took a while longer to cook, but Jiwoo filled the time with a story about his younger days exploring Midden and hunting junkworms. For once, the goblins did not argue about anything. They talked about the treasures they had shared with Rusty, where they had found them, and what made each piece special. They had stolen the slipper from a human hero, and Sooji swore the horseshoes were lucky. The rope had once been a belt that Jiwoo had worn for years, and the pottery shards had come from a vase Seok had tried to use to grow flowers.
The rat wasn’t entirely done when they began eating, but neither the goblins nor Rusty minded in the slightest. Laughter and chatter filled the den, and the candle burned down. Rusty felt more at ease among the goblins than he had since his hatching, but he couldn’t entirely banish the thoughts nagging at the back of his mind. The humans, the raid, it still hung over them, even if the gang seemed to have forgotten.
"Will the tribe be okay?" Rusty asked Chul, his voice barely audible above Seok again bursting into song.
Jiwoo heard him and gave his opinion before Chul could answer.
"Who cares? Goblins are born, goblins die. That's the way things are." He shrugged and dug into a hunk of fatty rat meat.
The other goblins seemed unperturbed by this harsh reality, but Rusty couldn’t bring himself to accept it. As he watched them laugh and joke, he couldn't shake the feeling that they deserved better, that their lives were worth protecting. And not only them, all the goblins. He looked at each of their faces; Jiwoo's cheeks stuffed with rat meat, Sooji's warm smile, Chul bobbing his head to Seok’s off-key rendition of a goblin drinking tune.
"I won't let anything happen to you," Rusty promised himself. “Not any of you.”