MBGSP chpt 63 thru 66

Hey Goblin Fans! Coming in hot with 4 more chapters for this week to bring us up to parity +8. Sorry I'm a little late in getting these posted, the last couple days have had some pretty interesting developments that I'm not quite ready to make public yet! But since this is Patreon, I'm willing to let slip that I've been offered a multi-book deal for MBGSP, with additional competing offers likely coming soon. Please keep that knowledge here! I haven't accepted anything yet, as I'm still weighing my options. But this is a huge opportunity since I had hoped to transition into being a full-time author within the next 1-2 years.

What does it mean for you guys? More goblins, basically. With the financial future of the story secured up through 3 or perhaps more books, it means continued regular updates, more readers, and possibly more Patreon subscribers, which then translates to even more advance chapters as more time is spent writing ahead. Now, those chapters will come down when it's time to publish full books, but that won't affect anyone keeping up with MBGSP as it updates here or on Royal Road. Thank you guys for helping to make this story so successful.

Scott Out

Chapter 63 - Marching Orders

<Your tribe has decreased to 189 members.>

<Your tribe has not been well fed for multiple days. The spawning bonus for being well-fed has been rescinded.>

<Your tribe has increased to 199 members.>

While my taskmasters had their instructions to iterate on the designs for the rest of the day, I made progress turning copper wire, a spare metal shaft, and some permanent magnets into our first electric motor prototype. It wouldn’t spin until I also rigged up our first battery, but it felt good to have something to do with my hands. Around lunchtime, a shadow started to loom over me, too large to be even a hobby.

“Alright boss, ‘ere ye go!”

Promo handed down the first complete rifle with a barrel attached. I took it, and nearly fell over forwards with the weight of the thing.

“Oof!” I huffed.

“Need a hand, boss?” asked Armstrong.

I struggled to raise the gun level. “Just gotta get used to the weight. Going to be a two-goblin team, I think. Like the heavy slingers,” I said. “Let’s get this this test fired.”

My guard captain touched his fingertips together. “Maybe you ain’t should be the one what does the testing? What if it blows up?”

“If it’s lethal, it’ll transfer to another member of the tribe anyway. But I’m not going to be anywhere near this thing for the test shots. We’ve got a setup with cord and I—” I looked up at the scrapper taskmaster. “You just want to be the first one to shoot it! You scoundrel.”

Armstrong at least had the decency to look guilty. “Chuck’s lads got the cliffies and Eileen’s got got the gliders and she’s not even a hobbie! Even Neil’s boys got their poppers. What do the scrappers got?” he opened his hands, empty palms up. “We dress up like bushes an’ call out croc-knocker movements. I know it’s importy, but I was just finking maybe my lads could get the first o’ the boom-tubes.”

I looked down at the heavy rifle of ceramic and steel in my hands. “Boom-tubes, eh?” I looked at him. “Well, these certainly suit your sneak attack bonuses.”

“Whacha say, boss?” asked Armstrong.

“I’m actually trying to hand it to you right now, but it’s too heavy,” I admitted.

Armstrong grinned, reached down, and plucked the rifle out of my hands.

“We’ll make ‘em lighter,” said Promo. “Once we get ‘em figured out.”

While it wasn’t exactly a feather for the scrapper, hobgoblins had substantially more mass, and Armstrong could swing the rifle and level it without help. He started aiming down the length of the barrel at a night haunt carcass the wranglers had managed to bring down in the night while the rest of us slept, making small explosion noises each time he worked the action. The gun wasn’t loaded yet, but the action still gave a meaty chunk with each crank of the lever underneath, and a thunk with the pull of every trigger dropping the heavy hammer. I wanted the parts to be as robust as possible so that they’d function even if the goblins decided to use them as clubs, instead.

“Ammo,” I called. Neil brought over a basket of bullets, and I took a handful of the fired shells that looked close in size to the rifle. I didn’t know if there were actual bullets made out of ceramic on Earth or if they would even work, but we didn’t have lead yet. Heck, I didn’t even know if these would penetrate the leather and iron armor that the javeline maulers wore, so I’d set up an impromptu firing range with bits of salvaged porkbelly armor scraps and even a couple of roof tiles fired to ceramic plates.

Armstrong pulled the action on the rifle back, and I loaded a handful of bullets into the internal magazine. Armstrong closed the action and I retreated to a safe distance as he peered through the sight.

“Like this, boss?” he asked, swinging the muzzle around.

“Don’t point that at us!” I shouted. He snapped the business end back down range and sank into his shoulders in shame.

“Just take it slow. Breath in, out, aim, and shoot,” I said, trying to remember any advice I’d seen on cop shows over the years. “Squeeze, don’t pull, keep both eyes open, lead your target, relax, but hold tight, square your feet, an—”

Neil nudged me.

“Right. Just pull the trigger.”

I hadn’t expected it to work on the first try. And in fact, the boom was so loud and the gout of fire and smoke so great, I thought the rifle had exploded in my sapper’s hands. But about a meter to the left of the piggy armor I’d strung up, a water cask at the other end of a spiraling smoke trail blew a leak and started pouring out its contents.

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Gobby-fingered blast’ems.>

<Goblin Component Technology unlocked: Combust’em chambers.>

<Goblin Component Technology unlocked: Gyro-smoothed grooves.>

<Goblin Component Technology unlocked: Pinny sparkers.>

<Goblin Component Technology unlocked: Springy mags.>

<Goblin Component Technology unlocked: Steely bores.>

<Goblin Component Technology unlocked…

Every goblin in the village dropped what they were doing. At least, the ones who had bothered still pretending to work. The first thing I heard when the ringing of my ears cleared was the roar of the horde flooding to the firing range faster than the penetrated water cask was flooding the end of the lane. Armstrong had to hold the rifle above his head, and even then goblins tried to climb up him or gnaw at his legs to bring the burly hobgoblin down.

“Back! Back!” I shouted over the noise. Amazingly, they listened. But they were all making kr-pow! noises and miming firing rifles of their own.

“No shortage o’ willing hands, ‘warrant,” said Promo. He lifted his ceramic mask and rubbed the fur on his chin. “Got a few ideas what to make them manageable for the shorties.”

For my part, I just wondered why I’d been so afraid of this. Guns were loud, fast, and explodey. Everything an astronaut needs in life. “Armstrong!” I shouted over the din.

The hobgoblin looked down at me.

“Shoot it again!”

Boom!

This time the round hit one of the piggy stand-ins. A smoking hole appeared in the leather jerkin.

“Again!”

Boom!

A support beam snapped above the ceramic tile, causing a bridge between two structures to sag and then splinter.

“Again!”

Click.

A dud. Armstrong cycled the action, ejecting the unspent round and cycling a new one.

Boom!

The thin ceramic tile cracked, and fragments of the bullet ricocheted off. Not a penetration, but it had certainly destroyed the integrity.

I nodded to myself.

System, how many of these can we make with current material stores?

<You currently have enough steel, wood, and clay to make 22 blast’ems of various barrel lengths, and enough unprocessed iron ore in Huntsville for an additional 31. Ceramic barrels may be substituted for an additional 16 with slightly reduced reliability.

You currently have enough clay, dung, sulfur, and charcoal to make 2142 rockettes.>

We couldn’t dip too much into the clay that we wouldn’t have enough for ceramic parts when the Ifrit arrived. But fifty rifles would arm a full quarter of the tribe. Combined with slingers, poppers, and cliffords, that might just be enough to push the piggies out of Canaveral, and maybe even out of our neck of the jungle for good.

Or until Habberport sent forces even more dangerous. The jungle forest was on our side, being restrictive to traverse as anything larger than a dwarf. I imagined humans would have a tough time getting through the underbrush. But if anyone on this world was versed in human ingenuity, it was me. I didn’t doubt they’d come eventually.

I waved down

“Get the prototypes to the hunters so they can keep the tribe fed. I want us cranking these out as soon as we’ve got material for them.

“When will we take back Canaveral?” asked Armstrong.

I looked at Promo. “How many of these can we make in a day?” I asked.

He did some counting on his fingers. “With the igni working on barrels and receivers exclusively? 12, thereabouts,” he said. “More with more help.”

I opened up the system window and transferred additional goblins under his team from Buzz and Sally. “You have it,” I said. looked back up at the scrapper. “Four days.”

Chapter 64  - Peppered Pork

<Your tribe has increased to 238 members.>

The piggies didn’t give us four days. Two days after the first rifles came off the line, A hunter spotted a group of maulers scouting the paddocks on the west side of the bluff. A day after that, a recon glider spotted a group of at least 25 of them on a direct route to our woefully depleted livestock pens and bomb fruit orchard.

I handed out rifles and ammo to as many goblins as I could, with scrappers each getting one and teams of 2 goblins getting one between each pair—one to shoot, one to act as a bipod in hopes we got a little more accuracy. The models we had for the non-variant goblins were lighter and shorter-barreled carbines, but they were still too heavy and we had far more goblins than rifles. I also gave some to the wranglers for them to shoot from the back of cliffords, in hopes that they could effectively harry the javeline. Every goblin going down the bluff had taken the time to appreciate the totems.

Armstrong and John led the infantry while Chuck led the cavalry. I had Eileen on the bluff above, ready to evacuate the Igni and the non-combat taskmasters to Huntsville in the event we lost. All in all, it was still a motley assortment armed mostly with spears and slingers. Part of me worried the maulers would smash right through our resistance.

It was smart of the piggies to attack the less defended territory at the base of the bluff and force us out from behind the fortifications to hold it, especially having already damaged our food security at Canaveral, the paddocks and groves weren’t defenseless. I watched as some of Buzz’s boys finished up a small tower with a heavy slinger mounted. There were several such platforms at my best guess of strategic locations. But we were out of time. I could hear the javeline war party through the trees. I made to grab a rifle to join the line, and my taskmasters damn-near tackled me.

“What is this?” I demanded, trying to wriggle free.

“You’re a king!” said Armstrong. “Start acting like one!”

“No fighting,” said Neil.

“Chuck!”

My wrangler boss looked conflicted. “I want you with us, boss. But… this is for the best.”

“Unhand me!” I ordered.

All of my taskmasters were powerless to resist the direct order of my goblin king class. All except one. Armstrong, as captain of my guard, could ignore my orders if it meant keeping me safe, and that’s exactly what he did when he stuffed me onto the freight elevator with three of his assigned goblins with orders to keep me from joining the battle.

I didn’t like that I was asking others to fight a battle I wouldn’t fight myself. But they were right. The risk of capture was too great, and then I’d be further than the hotsprings or the swamp. I’d be carted off to Habberport or wherever the javeline thought they could turn a profit for a talking goblin.

I made my way to the edge of one of the platforms on the west side of the bluff. My bodyguards chittered and looked ready to grab me, but I waved them off. “I’m not jumping,” I said. “But I still want to watch.”

My goblins had formed into loose ranks on the north side of the paddocks, while the cliffords had melted into the forest to the west. The group of almost 150 goblins, the greater share of my tribe, waited to receive the javeline with rifles, grenades, RPPs, shock spears, and more primitive weaponry. Behind them, heavy slingers and flexapults. Every bit of tech we’d developed was pointed squarely at the piggies. I just wish we had a good wall between us and not a paddock fence. But the javelines had forced our hand.

They didn’t have to wait long. I smelled the first ones before I saw the first scouts dash out of the forest with spears raise high to throw. The first few goblins in the western half of the line cracked off shots and the piggy fell mid-stride. But his spear was already out and it landed among the formation. The sound was like listening to bottle rockets fire off on the next street over.

<Your tribe has decreased to 237 members>

The second scout veered to the side and managed to avoid the shots, though several of the goblins tracked him and made to chase. I heard Armstrong yell for order and get the excitable riflemen back in ranks and squared off.

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Rockette rally>

I could see the wave of understanding pass through the ranks. The goblins shifted their positions in subtle ways: a few meters here, a step back there, angling rifles over and through the paddock’s northern fence. Somehow they seemed more ordered and less a gaggle—though, they were still very excited goblins with new toys. Many of them cheered the fallen javeline and waved guns in the air. Luckily, only a few fired off shots that spiraled up into the air.

<Your tribe has decreased to 234 members>

A loud mix of squeals and barks from the western forest alerted the gaggle to an incoming threat from that side, and several of the wranglers retreated. I spotted three of them without their gunners. The gun line shifted, and the main mauler force erupted from the trees.

“There he is!” I said, pointing at the largest of the pack. Hrott was leading the charge, big and broad with a spear raised overhead. Armstrong spotted him immediately, shouting back to the fixed positions.

The slingers on the towers let loose with sleds full of poppers, which landed on and around the force of armored javeline, causing a few to fall. Other positions flung rocks or shock darts, but they weren’t effective at that range.

Armstrong held his rifle steady, tracking the incoming force. The maulers hooves sounded like rolling thunder from where I sat on the bluff, and several goblins broke formation and ran in a panic for the southern forest.

<4 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 230 members>

What? They can do that?

<They are not slaves, Apollo. They follow willingly because they believe you will lead the tribe to greatness. Until you give them a reason not to.>

What? This whole time I’d thought it was an in-baked biological imperative they had no choice but to follow. Why now? They’ve faced death for me before.

<You stood with them, before.>

Ouch.

Still, most of the line held. Armstrong took his shot first, and then a wave of thunder that drowned out even the javeline charge echoed across the forest and cloaked the entire line in smoke. Several of the javelines fell. But not enough. The maulers split into two, one group charging straight into the fire with shields raised, and a smaller group circling around to strike at the pens with the livestock. Two more goblins threw down spears and ran for the trees.

<2 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 228 members>

I grit my teeth. Even King Ringo had come into the swamp with his boglins instead of hiding in his wooden castle. I glanced at my bodyguards, who chittered to themselves, looking alarmed as the javeline reached the line of goblins and started to jump the fence.

The gun smoke was thick, and it wafted up to the bluff smelling somewhere between the fourth of July and a cow farm. It began to drift over the line, obscuring the goblins and javeline both from my view. From within, I saw the occasional electric blue flash of a tesla wasp, or popper alongside the crack and whistle of the rocket rifle ammo.

<Your tribe has decreased to 220 members.>

<Your tribe has decreased to 215 members.>

<3 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 212 members.>

<Your tribe has decreased to 207 members.>

<5 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 207 members.>

Most of the goblins had held, and now the battle was joined. I had to hope they’d thinned the group enough because the maulers were absolutely deadly in melee combat with their strength, size, armor, and metal weapons.

Chuck chose that moment to bring the rest of his wranglers out of the woods in a red tide of barking and baying. And chuck himself was on the back of the adolescent stone sloth as it roared and trundled alongside the drooling cliffords. They smashed into the back of the javeline. Chuck and several others broke off to take down the pigs that were in the paddock, laying wonton slaughter to our dwindling livestock supply.

I let out a whoop as the javeline squealed in the smoke, but a squawk from one of my bodyguards brought my attention around. He was jumping up in down, pointing and chittering and making snort noises. I followed his finger just in time to see another two-dozen lightly armored javeline rutters erupt from the forest south of the bluff.

The maulers had been conspicuous on purpose to keep our eyes north while their lightly armored cousins snuck around behind the bluff. It was a double attack!

Chapter 65 - Flank Stakes

The goblins who had abandon the tribe encountered the new force coming from the south. They tried to turn around and run back for safety, but the second surprise attack of javeline were already too close. I didn’t stay to watch the new force cut them down. There was no time.

I turned and ran to the east side of the village where Eileen had the heavy gliders staged and ready for takeoff. My bodyguards squawked and chased after me.

“Eileen! Eileen!” I shouted.

My taskmaster turned in her pilot’s seat and peered down at me. “How’s the battle going?”

“The javeline brought up a second group from the south,” I gasped between breaths. “They’re going to hit the gunner from behind as soon as they deal with the stragglers. We have to do something!”

Promo lifted his ceramic mask. “So… we’re not sticking to the evacuation plan?”

“No!” I said.

The noblin grinned at me and jumped down. “Good. Can’t abide runnin’ fer my hide.” he raised his voice and his hammer. “Come on lads! Every dead pig is another taste of bacon!”

The evacuees cheered and rolled off the planes, but I held Eileen and her flight crews. “Not you,” I said. I pointed to the rocket boosters that gave the heavy gliders enough thrust to gain altitude and soar between Village Apollo and Huntsville. “I wish I had a better idea, but do you think you can get this hog in the air with just one of those?”

Eileen glanced down. “Well, yeah, but not very high. What are we going to do with the other one?”

<Your tribe has decreased to 199 members>

“Point it at the porkbellies and turn it on.”

“You realize that you do this, we no longer have an out,” warned Eileen.

I nodded.

Eileen grinned and whistled for her crews to disconnect the safeties on all three aircraft. “Good. Can’t abide cowardice.” They scrambled down and within a few seconds, Eileen’s heavy glider was ready.

I flashed her a thumbs up. “Good luck!” I shouted of the clamor of every goblin still left on the bluff arming themselves and preparing to jump into battle. She reciprocated and her aft crewman lit the port-side rocket. The craft lurched, thrust vector uneven, and slid up the rails and into the air, much lower than I was used to seeing the heavy glider fly.

I ran back to the rest of the goblins who had grabbed whatever weapons were left—mostly slingers, spears, cleavers, and a few poppers that individual goblins had apparently stashed for a rainy day. One had a whole-ass bomb fruit, despite the prohibition in the village. Some had their personal gliders. I took one of them, and a popper, and held them over my head, trying to think of something inspiring to say.

“Come on, you apes! You want to live forever?”

That got one hell of a cheer. And these guys had never even seen Starship Troopers so they had no way to know I’d stolen it. But it did the job. The Tribe Apollo reserve howled, lifting their weapons over their heads. I ran for the west side of the bluff, followed by the whole gaggle of them.

<Your tribe has decreased to 202 members.>

<3 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 199 members.>

This time, my bodyguards made no attempt to stop me. They were just as caught up in the fervor. We ran, and like a blue, furry waterfall, toppled over the edge of the bluff to join the battle.

The rutters had finished with the stragglers and trickling deserters and were headed for a lethal flank at the rear of the wranglers. My glider hit the wind and opened with a snap of hide pulling taut, and I heard the others behind me doing the same. The rest dropped all the way to the base. I glanced back. Most of the goblins were holding on with one hand and held poppers in the other. The one with the bomb fruit was using both hands and holding the fruit with his feet. I have no idea how he’d managed to even deploy. Madness. I angled us southwest to intercept the wave of rutters.

The bomb fruit grove had slowed them down as they had to carefully navigate around fallen fruit, lest they meet a pulpy end. I angled us north of it, just as they arrived and saw the second wave of goblins led by Promo with his steel hammer and hooked rod leading the charge. For all I knew, this was their first time encountering a noblin.

“Now!” I shouted.

We dropped our ordnance on the rutters. Poppers and a bigger bomb fruit erupted among them. Lightly armored as they were, the explosives had a greater effect than they had against their larger cousins. Several keeled over, unconscious or dead. The rest stumbled but got clear and began to sling rocks and light spears skyward. A few goblins squawked as they were knocked off their gliders, and I held on for dear life when a spear ripped through my left wing.

<Your tribe has decreased to 192 members.>

I turned north, quickly losing altitude, and saw a lumbering shape barreling toward me. I angled the glider towards it and had just enough distance left in it to drop onto the back of the sloth bear, where Chuck steadied me.

“Boss?” What are you doing down here?” he demanded.

We rode past a trio of deserters, who looked up and saw me atop the sloth with Chuck.

<Your tribe has increased to 195 members.>

“Inspiring the troops, apparently!” I said. “Goblins won’t fight for a king that won’t fight for them.”

Chuck barked out a laugh. “Then you’re right where you ought to be! Let’s give the piggies what they came for!”

He spurred the sloth cub on, maintaining his footing. Two side-saddles had been rigged up on the flanks of the beast for goblin gunners, and I slid to one that had lost its gunner at some point. A carbine had been tied to a mount, so I worked the action back just enough to see the round still chambered. A basket of bullets jostled at my feet as the stone sloth bounded across the paddock.

The javeline rutters came at us, spears raised against the stone sloth, which was now substantially heavier than even one of their own. I screamed and fired as we trundled along, working the lever on the rifle and watching the tiny smoke trails smash basically anywhere but into the rutters. Marksmanship was apparently not one of my skills. I could lead a tribe, but not a target. I opened the action and stuffed another handful of bullets in.

We reached the line and the sloth reared up, sweeping its long claws into the first rank of javeline. It was all I could do to hold on as the enormous creature twisted and slashed. It spun us around, and I spotted a familiar face.

“Rotte!” I shouted. “Come and face Apollo!”

The javeline scowled. He still bore the scars on his face and chest from his fight with Armstrong. And, I hoped, on his backside from where I’d hacked him with the scrapper’s knives. He leveled his spear and leaned into a charge. “I make talking goblin sorry!”

I yelped and ducked as Rotte drove his spear forward. The wide, leaf-shaped blade trimmed the fur on the top of my head and skipped off one of the sloth’s clay plates. I popped back up and angled the rifle over the edge of the basket, and at this range even I couldn’t miss. I screamed and fired as fast as I could work the action. The porkbelly who had captured me blew back, staggered by at least one successful hit as blood spurted from his shoulder.

But he wasn’t done. He swept his spear in a broad arc, and the blade caught the ropes binding the basket to the side of the stone sloth. I ducked again as the basket fell and rolled on the ground, watching the world spin through the opening. The butt of the rifle smacked me in the face every time the barrel caught on the ground, until it came loose and the basket finally stopped.

I pulled myself out of the basket, stumbling, barely able to walk—only to see the rutter charging at me with his spear, Chuck chasing him on the stone sloth. I scrambled for the rifle and basically tripped over it, falling on my ass with it in my hands. I opened the action and grabbed a handful of rockettes that had spilled out of the basket with me, barely managing to stuff them in the right way around and close the action before the rutter was on me. I pointed it up at the hulking shadow and fired as fast as I could.

Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!

Rotte slowed, hit several times. “I make… talking… goblin… sorry…” he said, words slowing. Chuck and the stone sloth caught up. The wrangler taskmaster reached down with his cleaver and finished the job with a clean slash to the side of Rotte’s throat.

“Nicely done, boss!” he shouted down. I was too dazed and dizzy to reply.

With their leader dead and their own forces out of reach, the line of rutters began to falter. We’d met the flanking attack and stalled it out, and now the reserves from the bluff were about to swing around for a pincer movement. Chuck pulled us back out of danger so the sloth could catch its breath. The only thing missing was…

A loud shriek drew my attention around. Eileen had brought the heavy glider and ignited the second booster. Only, the lines were so jumbled that there was no way to separate pig from goblin at the front lines. Eileen and her crew bailed out of the heavy glider as it picked up speed, rocketing toward the front line.

Do javeline have blast resistance?

<I still won’t tell you that was a good idea.>

The glider struck, and a bright flash and shockwave knocked me right over and sent me tumbling.

<Your tribe has decreased to 183 members>

<Goblin technology unlocked: Bigger goblin blastics>

I rolled upright, looking at the roiling cloud of smoke and dust. Shapes spun every which way through the air, and some of them landed near me. It was raining goblins. And less savory bits (unless you are a goblin).

“What was it you said, boss?” shouted Chuck over the echo of the explosion. “Pork rinds to the ionosphere? Whatever that is?”

A grin split my face. I laughed and laughed.

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Strategic bomb-‘ems>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Shock and awe>

I glanced behind. What few rutters were left had turned tail. I saw one fall as a goblin landed on its head and bounced away, still screaming. All in all, I was surprised the blast had only killed 12 goblins in the thick of things. I’m sure there would be more needing prosthetics in the interim.

Chapter 66 - The Tails of Two Piggies

I found Armstrong dusting off his fur near the blast site. The other scrappers held a javeline mauler that I recognized.

“I know you,” I said. “You’re Hrodd.”

“Hrott,” he snarled. “What is become of Rotte?”

I glanced back toward the reserve that I’d led down from the top of the bluff. “Dead,” I said. “He’ll trouble me no more.”

Hrott surged against the scrappers, and very nearly got loose. He was in his teen levels, after all. Quite a force to be reckoned with. It was no surprise he’d survived the blast.

“I kill talking goblin for this!” he roared, spittle flying from under his helmet. “Lord of Habberport pay big for your capture, but I will bring him only your head! Will slaughter your—”

“Armstrong!” I said, holding my hand out. He dropped his rifle into it, and it very nearly drove me to the ground. I swung it around, struggling to lift it to point at the mauler chief’s chest.

Boom!

A red button blossomed on Hrott’s chest armor. His words choked off as blood pumped out of the wound. His legs gave out under him, and the javeline leader sagged to the ground, head drooping forward. His captors tentatively let his arms drop. They fell limp at the javeline’s sides.

I handed the rifle back and raised my voice. “Take his helmet, and their tails! We’re making a new totem to commemorate this day!”

A resounding cheer erupted from the surviving goblins. They pulled knives and cleavers, each one eager to be the goblin that claimed the prize. They swarmed in, and I backed out of the press to take a breath.

The brothers had menaced my tribe almost since the day I arrived on Rava. They were responsible for hundreds of goblin deaths, including several that had happened through lethal wounds dealt to me personally. More than that, they were disgusting traffickers of goblin parts. This wasn’t like Ringo and his under-educated swamp boglins. I wasn’t here to make friends with the Javeline. They lost that chance. I wanted them out of my forest.

There were other survivors, of course. But the tribe had a food shortage. Seemed like an easy two-birds-one-stone kind of situations.

System, how many days can the tribe subsist off the fallout from this battle?

<Approximately 18 days worth of javeline meat at current population exists on the battlefield, with another 2 day’s worth scattered to the area beyond by the blast.>

We’d lost enough goblins and gained enough piggies to stave off our immediate food concerns. A little pork goes a long way, and I had no doubt the noblins would stretch every meal out of it that they could. But they’d be back to hammering iron soon enough. Industry awaited. And now, the biggest obstacle to our tribe’s growth had been soundly defeated.

I summoned my taskmasters for a pow-wow while the tribe began the task of collecting anything of value from the battlefield—a task that would likely take the rest of the day and a good portion of tomorrow.

“I know you all wanted to keep me safe,” I said. “But it’s clear that I can’t just sit back and let the tribe do the dirty work. I can’t just be a king, I have to be a leader. Starting tomorrow, we’re re-staffing Canaveral. Now that our tribe is safe, the next priority is food security, and then unification of the other bluffs.”

“And tonight?”

“Tonight we’re going to friggin’ party!”

                            *

Turns out goblins can get drunk of fermented bomb-fruit juice if you get at it before it goes explosive and boil the volatile bits out. Thank God for the igni bonus to heat-based crafting. The moon was fully lit by the time I stumbled over to the cuddle puddle and collapsed on top. But before I could go to sleep, the System notification window popped up. I squinted and waved it away, but it was insistent.

<Your tribe has won a great victory! For successfully winning your first war and creating a commemorative totem, you have earned the following bonuses:

A 1-time spawning bonus.

A new skill has been unlocked - War Chief - your presence within 100 chooms (plus 10 chooms for every 100 members of your tribe) now increases the combat power and crafting speed of all goblins by 10%

You have unlocked an additional variant choice based on your status - you may choose between Obblyn Partizans or Noblin Canoneers.>

Well, seeing as we’d just won a huge victory in large part thanks to firearms, some bigger goblins specialized in carting around some heavier firepower seemed prudent. If I had to guess, the rounds we were using were about equal in power to a small pistol round, or maybe a varmint rifle. That was enough for goblin-sized threats like the javeline, who were only slightly taller than we were. But it was only a matter of time until we came across something needing more oomph. Goblins being only a meter tall and about as strong as a six-year-old somewhat limited their proficiency with higher calibers.

Give me the Noblin Cannonneers.

<Error. Please select a valid option. Your choices are Obblyn Partizans or Noblin Canoneers.>

The Cannonneers, please.

<Error. Please sele—>

Christ, the second one!

<Approved. Noblin Canoneers will now spawn as part of your tribe.

Sleep well, King Apollo.>

*          *                  *

The spell was a success.

But where are they?

The stars are blind in this matter.

The Great Spirit is silent.

We will scour the globe.

There is no need. If the stars are blind…

…then they are shadowed…

…by Raphina’s watchful eye.

(Actual end of Arc I)