Ding.

  The door to the Grazed Roc Inn opened with the familiar sound of the bell, followed soon by another noise that made everyone inside stop for a moment—and then laugh.

  It was the sound of a creaky floorboard. One that only newcomers ever stepped on…

  (...Why are they laughing? What’s happening? Did I miss something?)

  Alex asked himself and, of course, got no answer. He sighed and stepped forward toward the counter to ask for a room.

  Behind the counter stood a giant of a man—bald, with a scar running down from his head. One of his eyes was blinded, clearly from an old injury. His entire face seemed to scream, “I’ll kill you if you don’t pay me.”

  Alex was nervous, to say the least.

  “Uhh... hello. I was told to come here for the, uh... new adventurer discount on rooms. Oh—and Miss Taria said hi,” Alex said, trying his best to get the words out as he’d practiced.

  (Come on, Alex. You practiced this for minutes before coming here! How can you mess it up this bad?! Now they all hate you!! ...Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but still.)

  Alex sighed in relief as the giant man walked off somewhere and soon returned with a key.

  “Room 13. Second floor on the right. Bathrooms are out back. If you want food, it’ll cost extra. The room alone is 3 sol for a night. With food, it’s 5 sol. And tell Taria to fuck off and pay me back.”

  With those words, the man walked away toward what Alex presumed was the kitchen, mostly due to the clanging pots, pans, and the aroma of food.

  He sighed and walked toward the stairs leading to the second floor.

  “Guess not everyone’s gonna be nice, huh?” he whispered to himself as he reached his room.

  He looked at the door and waited for a second as the symbol on it translated in his head.

  “Yep, this is it… haaah.”

  Alex opened the door. Inside was... surprisingly not that bad.

  It was clean, without any dust or debris. The bed was made, there was a small table for sitting, and on it sat a candle with what Alex assumed were matches. Not that he needed them, but still—not terrible.

  There was also a small chest near the foot of the bed, most likely for storing his stuff—if he had any.

  Alex decided to just lay on the bed to test it out.

  “Not... bad. Not good either. I can work with this for now at least.”

  He hummed for a moment, then got up. Four sol remaining. Not great.

  “I should eat something… I haven’t had a single meal all day long since I woke up here... but getting a meal means talking to that guy again… mmm, fine, I’ll go down,” he lamented, then with an exaggerated groan stepped down the hallway and back to the first floor.

  He went to a seat where he saw what appeared to be a menu.

  (Huh... aren’t most people illiterate here? What’s the point of this then?)

  Alex opened it and then realized the point.

  Ahhh, pictures... that makes sense. Just because you can’t read doesn’t mean you can’t draw... and there is writing too, though it’s pretty small and hard to read. Let’s see...

  He took a moment to look at the options.

  Grazed lizard liver... no. Boiled fish... nuh-uh. Gurak steak... I don’t know what that is... hmmm, come on, there’s gotta be something I recognize!

  Ah-hah! There—soup! With extra bread as well, why not?

  After picking his meal, he went to the counter and rang a small bell on it.

  Instead of the giant, scarred man, a much smaller, far more normal-looking person appeared—wearing what Alex presumed was this world’s version of a chef’s hat.

  “Hi, can I get, uhh... the soup with extra bread, please?”

  The man looked at him with surprise—genuine shock on his face. He opened his mouth and asked:

  “You’re... from Notra too? Hah! Welcome, brother! How can I help? The soup—right! On the house! You have no idea how happy I am to meet a fellow countryman!” the chef said enthusiastically.

  Alex’s reaction was confusion.

  (...What? Notra... that’s not Earth... does—does he think we’re from the same place? Why?)

  (The cheat ability I got! Did it make it so I spoke the same language as this guy? That’s probably it.)

  Alex was pulled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. It was the chef, and he seemed to have a question.

  “Tell me, brother... truthfully. What has happened to Birana in the last few years? I haven’t gotten any news at all! I send messages every day, yet... no response. I’m afraid something has happened—what with the war…”

  Alex looked at the man. His face showed anxiety, fear... and most of all, hope.

  Alex thought for a moment, then decided to lie—sort of.

  “Well, brother... it’s not great. Communication was cut off last I remember. As for the war... bit of a stalemate. We take, they take. It’s not great.”

  (Please buy it, please buy it, pleasssssssse...)

  Alex begged whatever god was up there to help him out.

  As for the reason he lied—connections. And, well, it felt right.

  God, that makes me sound like a monster, Alex thought, but quickly dismissed it.

  The chef looked at him with a complicated expression—both understanding and not quite believing.

  “I... I see. Yes, that makes sense. The civil war has been... rough the last few years. Good thing I made it out. But my brother is still there, in that hellhole. If only I could do something... But let’s forget that for a moment. You said soup with extra bread, right? I’ll get you a bowl…”

  The chef turned and yelled in a heavily accented voice,

  “Boss! Soup with double bread! On me!”

  Then he turned back to Alex and said, “Go have a seat. If possible, I’d like to talk more. My name’s Afrand. What about you?”

  Afrand offered a smile—a genuine smile, as if he were happy to finally see someone from home, to hear about it… even if the news wasn’t good.

  Alex felt his sins crawling on his back—or maybe that was just sweat. He sighed, and with a dramatic and slow movement of his head, looked Afrand in the eyes and said:

  “Alex... I’m only half, you see. Not quite a countryman. That’s how I got out.”

  Alex once again begged whatever deity was listening to let Afrand buy his bullcrap. He felt like he was on the edge of a cliff, about to be pushed in. But just before that happened, he was rescued by none other than Afrand.

  “Ahh, I see. That makes sense. I was wondering why you didn’t have red hair, haha. Well, who cares? Half a brother is still a brother! If you need anything, just say so—I’ll see what I can do to help!”

  Alex sighed and smiled, though internally he was thinking:

  (...I’m gonna pay for this at some point, aren’t I?... Yeah. No, I definitely am. I just lied to an innocent man about something serious... just to do it… Am I a bad person?)

  After eating his soup—accompanied by enthusiastic waves from Afrand every so often, which nearly made him choke out of guilt—he finally made it back to his room.

  “I’m just gonna go to sleep. I’ll pay for my actions tomorrow… maybe.”

  He then tried to fall asleep.

  ____________________

  ““What are we hunting again?” Ania asked her teammate Henry as she cast a Shockwave enchantment onto her mace.

  “Goblins,” Henry answered, his voice echoing slightly as he led the group of three deeper into the tunnel. “There’s been a group terrorizing the local villages. Once we’re done, take the ears and eyes—nothing else from the goblins. As for the rest of what might be down here, that’s free game.”

  Ania groaned. “Goblins? Again? What is this, the third time this month? Gods, I hate goblins—they're the worst type of monsters…”

  She trailed off when she noticed the silence behind her. Both Henry, the team captain, and Arva, their mage companion, had stopped in their tracks and were staring at her.

  “Ania… don’t tell me,” Arva said slowly. “You… you hate goblins?”

  He sounded genuinely hurt, which confused her.

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  “Uh… yeah? I mean, they suck. All they do is—well, I don’t really know what they do. I just don’t like them.”

  Henry gave her a shocked look.

  “Look, all I’m saying is… they shouldn’t have hurt people. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have to hunt them.”

  Arva wasn’t having it.

  “So all humans should be hunted because bandits exist?” he asked sharply.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Ania looked back and forth between the two. “How does that have anything to do with what I said?”

  Arva’s eyes narrowed. “So just because there are bad goblins, all goblins should suffer? Ania… it’s the Year of Our Emperor, 832. The goblin tribes gained independence five years ago. Don’t tell me you’re against that. Are you against National Goblin Day? Did all those goblin deaths mean nothing to you?”

  Ania blinked in disbelief. “What?”

  Henry cut in, his voice low. “Enough. You’ll alert them. Crap—twelve o’clock! Three hostiles. Two melee, one ranged. Arva, Ania—formation, now!”

  Henry raised his tower shield just in time. Arva stepped back, hands beginning to glow with arcane light. Ania summoned a quick Light spell, illuminating the narrow tunnel.

  A goblin with a rusted sword lunged for Henry, aiming for his feet. Henry kicked forward with his shield, smashing the goblin in the face and sending it stumbling. Ania stepped in and cracked her mace against its skull—almost finishing it. As the goblin weakly raised its fist, the Shockwave enchantment triggered, sending a concussive pulse through its head and splattering it across the tunnel wall.

  Before Ania could recover, a smaller goblin rogue came darting in with twin daggers, aiming straight for her arms. Suddenly, a blast of solid air slammed into the rogue’s face—Arva’s spell. He quickly followed it up with a second one, forming his hands into the shape of a beast’s jaw. A torrent of flame spewed forth, unfocused at first but enough to make the goblins recoil. The archer in the back took a direct hit as Arva clenched his fingers, focusing the flames. It seared through the archer’s chest.

  The rogue goblin tried to recover its footing—only to have its skull crushed under Ania’s mace.

  “Is that all of them?” Ania asked, panting.

  “Yes,” Henry replied. “Now keep quiet. We’ll talk about your apparent goblin discrimination after we get back to the guild.”

  Ania opened her mouth to protest, but one look from Henry shut her down immediately.

  After several minutes of silence, Ania couldn’t take it anymore.

  “These walls are really smooth… Did the goblins do this?”

  Arva sighed. “No. These tunnels are made by the Giant Gurak Bug. See those smaller holes along the side? Those are from the larvae. The mother digs the tunnels to feed on minerals, lays eggs, and once they hatch… well, she gets eaten. The larvae then tunnel outward on their own.”

  “How do you know that?” Ania asked, genuinely curious.

  “I studied at the Sonthoron Academy. Magic department,” Arva replied, not even looking at her. “I told you that when I joined the party. Three years ago.”

  Ania blinked awkwardly. “Oh… right.”

  Desperate to change the subject, she quickly asked, “So… those goblins. They were using metal weapons. Like, real ones. What’s with that?”

  Arva looked at Henry, who responded only with a disappointed shrug.

  “What?” Ania asked defensively.

  Arva sighed deeply and said, “Gods above… I’ll explain once we get back. But for now, just—don’t say anything about goblins. At all. Or I swear I’ll lose it.”

  _____________

  ““Mhm… that’s twenty-three goblin ears and eyes. That’ll be five poli and fifty sol. Have a nice day.”

  The guild clerk handed over the reward with practiced indifference.

  The trio—Ania, Henry, and Arva—sat down at a nearby table, the weight of the mission still lingering.

  Ania crossed her arms and frowned. “Okay, now can you two please tell me what’s wrong with you? Why did you both act like I insulted your gods just because I said I hate goblins? They’re just monsters!”

  She threw her arms up in frustration. Arva took a long, controlled breath, clearly trying to keep his temper in check.

  “Goblins aren’t monsters, Ania,” he said tightly. “They’re people.”

  Ania blinked, then scoffed. “Then why do we kill them? Why do we butcher them, take their parts, just like we do with actual monsters and wild beasts? I’ve never seen us do this with bandits! We’ve taken out human criminals before, and we didn’t rip off their ears!”

  Her voice rose slightly, more out of confusion than aggression. Arva pushed back from the table, face tense, about to snap. Henry held up a hand to stop him.

  “Let me handle this,” Henry said calmly. He looked at Ania.

  “Do you know what a goblin is, Ania?”

  She opened her mouth, hesitated, and said nothing.

  “No, I didn’t think so,” Henry continued. He leaned forward, lowering his voice just a bit.

  “To put it simply—goblins don’t reproduce the same way humans do. They don’t have families or children in the way we understand them. For a goblin to create new life, they have to give up a part of themselves—literally. A piece of their own body becomes the start of a new goblin. It’s a sacred act to them. A sacrifice.”

  Ania’s expression faltered, but she stayed quiet.

  “When a goblin commits crimes—raiding villages, killing innocents—the punishment isn’t execution. Not in their culture. When we kill them and take their ears and eyes, we’re not collecting trophies. We return those parts to their tribes.”

  Henry gestured to the leather pouch on the table that held the bloody tokens.

  “Those parts hold meaning—especially for the northern tribe, the one closest to us geographically. Eyes and ears are sacred to them. Sight and sound represent wisdom and memory. When we return them, the tribe uses them in a ritual that allows the goblin’s essence to become the seed for a new one.”

  Arva finally spoke again, quieter now. “It’s not about vengeance. It’s about redemption. They believe even a violent death can give birth to something peaceful. That through creating, a goblin can atone for destroying.”

  Ania looked down at the pouch in a new light. Her voice was soft now.

  “I… didn’t know.”

  “Most people don’t,” Henry said. “But next time, try asking before you decide something—or someone—is a monster.”

  "Okay, okay, hold on," Ania said, raising her hands. "You said goblins don’t make more of themselves like we do… So what, do they just… plant the parts and they grow? Like a seed or something? Are goblins... plants?"

  Henry and Arva looked at each other, both wearing the exact same expression of exhausted disbelief.

  Then they sighed in unison.

  "Look, Ania," Arva said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "If you really want to learn about this, I can take you to meet my old magic teacher. He’s a goblin—from the northern tribe. Taught at the academy back when I was studying magic. If anyone can explain goblin culture in a way you’ll understand, it’s him."

  Ania nodded, already intrigued. "Okay, yeah sure. But until then, can you at least answer a few more questions? Because right now, I have no clue how goblins even function."

  Arva sighed again, deeper this time, but nodded. "Fine."

  "So," he began, adjusting his posture, slipping into a lecture tone, "goblins don’t… mate. Not in the way humans or elves do. Instead, when they want to create new life, they literally rip out a piece of themselves. Could be anything—an eye, a finger, a patch of skin, doesn’t really matter. Each tribe has its own traditions, though."

  "Wait," Ania cut in, "you said something about ears and eyes before, right? That’s a tribe thing?"

  "Right," Arva nodded. "The northern tribe—the one closest to us—prefers ears and eyes. They believe those parts carry memories, instincts. The southern tribe uses the heart, because they think emotion and willpower are the most important. Eastern goblins go for the brain—intellect and foresight. And the western tribe? They use fingers, since they value skill and dexterity."

  "Weird," Ania muttered, but she was clearly fascinated.

  "Anyway," Arva continued, "when a new goblin is born from one of these parts, they don’t start out entirely blank. They retain fragments of memory, a kind of... inherited instinct from the one who created them. It helps them grow faster, adapt better. They might remember how to speak, how to hold a weapon, even pieces of strategy or magic."

  Henry chimed in. "That’s why goblin society evolves fast. They build on their ancestors—literally. And even if their lifespan is short, their learning curve is steep."

  Arva nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. My teacher—Professor Zreek—he was from the northern tribe. Got into the academy when he was twelve. Finished top of his class in elemental theory. And that was in a class full of humans, elves, and even a couple dragons."

  Ania blinked. "Wait, dragons can go to school?"

  "Focus," Henry said flatly.

  "Right, right," Ania said quickly. Then paused. "So… are all goblins like that? Smart, I mean? Capable of that kind of stuff?"

  Arva shrugged. "They can be. Just like humans can be scholars or bandits. Some goblins choose violence. Others choose science. It's the same choice we all get. That's kind of the point."

  Ania leaned back, quiet for a moment. "Huh... Okay. Yeah. I really didn’t know any of that."

  "Most people don’t," Arva said, a little softer. "And that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?"

  "You're really passionate about this, huh Arva?" Ania asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and surprise.

  Arva nodded, the usual sharpness in his expression softening a bit.

  "Well, yeah... I spent a few years living with the northern tribe. With my master. Before I joined up with you guys, I stayed in the village, learned their ways, their language, their magic."

  He leaned back in his chair, eyes distant for a moment as if remembering something.

  "It wasn’t just research or some assignment from the academy. I lived with them. Ate their food, joined their rituals, helped raise their young. And they treated me like family."

  Ania blinked, clearly not expecting that level of depth.

  "So wait… you weren’t just taught by a goblin—you actually lived with a whole tribe?"

  "That’s what I said, isn’t it?" Arva gave her a small smirk.

  "It changes your perspective when the people you’re supposed to see as monsters are the same ones who help you when you’re sick, teach you how to shape wind into a blade, or share their last bit of food with you just because you look cold."

  Henry stayed silent but gave Arva a respectful nod, clearly knowing this already and letting him speak.

  "You can’t live among them and not come to understand them. Or at least respect them," Arva continued, now more serious.

  "So yeah... when I hear someone casually say they ‘hate goblins’ like it’s nothing? Yeah, I take it personally. Because I’ve seen the look in a goblin child’s eyes when they find out another village was wiped out. I’ve heard the elders argue about whether it’s even worth trusting humans anymore."

  There was a beat of silence.

  "Damn," Ania muttered. "I really didn’t think about any of that. I mean… monsters are just monsters, right? That's what I was taught."

  "Yeah," Arva said softly. "That’s what everyone is taught."