I yawned, my mind racing as I replayed the chaotic events of the last few hours. Once the "feast" had concluded, a heavy lethargy had settled over the settlement. Guardian’s team had piled into their new hut, while the rest of the tribe simply collapsed onto the cold stone floor wherever they stood.

  Morkish had confirmed my suspicions regarding the sleeping arrangements. Apparently, the Old King had always slept right there on the throne. He must have had a terrifying grip on the tribe to trust that no one would slip a rusted blade between his ribs in the dark. I wasn't quite that confident in my own authority yet, so I had ordered Morkish to stand guard while I caught some shut-eye.

  To my surprise, I woke up a few hours later feeling completely recharged. It seemed goblins didn't require much rest; after only four hours, the exhaustion had vanished, replaced by a strange, buzzing energy.

  I sent a weary Morkish off to sleep and began my rounds. Most of the tribe was still out cold, but the sound of my footsteps echoing through the cavern eventually roused the others. The total lack of security, even during sleep, was deeply concerning. I had relied on Morkish to wake everyone if trouble arrived, but "relying on the Shaman" wasn't a sustainable defense strategy. I needed to fix that immediately.

  After doing a quick sweep to see if any more runts had "spawned" from the dirt, none had, I gathered the tribe. While they rubbed the sleep from their eyes, I took a moment to pull up my status window and examine the changes.

  Name: King

  Race: Goblin

  Class: None (Lv 4)

  Profession: Goblin Chieftain (Lv 1)

  Strength: 5

  Dexterity: 3

  Constitution: 5

  Intelligence: 2

  Wisdom: 2

  Charisma: 3

  Free Points: 2

  I was more than satisfied with the new Profession. Beyond just the title, I felt a subtle shift in my presence, a sense of weight and gravity I hadn't possessed before. I focused on the class icon to read the detailed description.

  [Goblin Chieftain] The [Goblin Chieftain] is the central pillar of a Goblin settlement. While most goblins live in chaotic anarchy, the Chieftain introduces Order and Hierarchy. This class does not just represent strength; it represents the "Will of the Tribe." As the Chieftain grows in level, his subordinates become more disciplined, productive, and loyal. Stat bonuses per level: +1 Wis, +1 Int, +2 Char, +2 Free Points.

  I whistled internally. Six attribute points per level was an impressive haul. The system had automatically funneled four of them into my non-physical attributes, which explained why I suddenly felt much more "composed."

  But the real prize was the new skill that had appeared alongside the profession:

  [King’s Spirit (E)] – Your commands carry a supernatural weight. Goblins are significantly less likely to desert, rebel, or question your orders. (Effectiveness scales with Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma.)

  Seeing the new skill, it finally made sense why the system prioritized what I had originally dismissed as "magic stats." Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma weren't just for casting spells; they were the fundamental tools of a ruler. If I wanted my orders to stick, I needed to be more than just the strongest monster in the room.

  I closed my status menu and took a quick look at the Civilization Core. There were no new notifications or buildings unlocked yet, so I shifted my focus back to the immediate needs of the tribe.

  With Alpha Squad sidelined due to their injuries and the Runtmaster’s team still lacking anything resembling an actual school, I decided to put everyone to work. I ordered the entire tribe to venture into the nearby tunnels to gather more of the black wood Guardian had used for the first hut. I had learned from Morkish that these strange trees grew sporadically in the dampest corners of the caves, their dark bark often covered in thick clusters of glowing mushrooms.

  We spent the first few hours playing lumberjack. I kept my hand on my hammer the entire time, crossing my fingers that we wouldn't stumble into another nest of spiders. Luck was on our side, and we managed to haul a decent hoard of timber back to the settlement.

  While Guardian’s team set to work on a second hut, I gathered the rest of the tribe for a different project: armory production. Our current weapons were rusted, blunt, and broken scraps of metal. Against spiders, those were death traps. We needed reach. We needed something that could keep those scything legs at a distance. That’s where the spears came in.

  In my old life, I had never even held a spear, let alone made one. Everything I knew came from movies and TV shows. I figured it couldn't be that hard; you just take a long stick and make it pointy at one end. How difficult could it be?

  Apparently, very difficult.

  I wasn’t exactly proud of my first attempt. The tip was jagged and blunt, but at least it looked like a weapon. The rest of the goblins, however, were hopeless. They snapped branch after branch, putting too much pressure on the wood or simply hacking at it until it splintered into useless kindling. For a moment, I considered giving up and just letting them walk around with clubs, but I pushed through the frustration.

  After several more trips for wood, some of the runts actually began to produce decent results. I picked up one of the better-looking ones, and a system window flickered into view.

  [Pointed Stick – Common] "It’s a pointed stick."

  The system's description was incredibly lame, but it was a start. As I watched the runts work, a realization hit me: the young ones were learning significantly faster than the adults. Their minds were still flexible, whereas the older goblins were set in their primitive, clumsy ways. This gave me a much-needed spark of hope for the future of the tribe.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Hours later, we had a sizable collection of [Pointed Sticks] in various lengths. It was time to stop carving and start training.

  Once again, I found myself in a position where I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I wasn't a soldier, a martial artist, or even a particularly athletic person back on Earth. But I was the King, and the King couldn't look clueless. I reached back into my memory, pulling from every historical movie and strategy game I’d ever played, and began teaching them what I believed to be the basics: the simple, repeated motion of a coordinated thrust.

  "Keep the point forward!" I barked, pacing in front of them. "Stab and retract! Distance is your friend!"

  It took a significant amount of shouting and more than a few physical shoves to arrange them into rows. I tried to drill them in the most basic of maneuvers, walking in a straight line while keeping their [Pointed Sticks] leveled in the same direction. It was like trying to herd cats with spears.

  The goblins complained incessantly. Their high-pitched whines about "heavy sticks" and "tired legs" filled the cavern, but I was unmoved. I knew that the moment we faced another spider nest or a human scout, this collective discipline would be the only thing keeping them from being slaughtered.

  Eventually, the chaos began to resemble something functional. From my vantage point on the stone throne, I watched them move. It wasn't exactly a Spartan phalanx, some were tripping over their own feet, and others were accidentally poking their neighbors, but for a brief moment, they looked like a unit. A swell of pride, mixed with a genuine spark of hope, warmed my chest. Maybe, just maybe, I could turn this rabble into an army.

  When I saw their movements becoming sluggish and their focus drifting, I finally called an end to the session.

  "Enough!" I shouted, raising a hand. "Drop the spears for now. Brick, take the runts and search the main cave for fleshrooms. Stay within sight of the walls, I don't want to lose anyone to the dark today."

  I watched them scramble off, feeling the weight of the day settle into my bones. I was playing it safe, keeping them close to home, but I knew I couldn't keep them huddled in this cave forever.

  Morkish approached the throne, his eyes clouded with a dim, swirling green light. It was the look he got when he was sensing things beyond the reach of normal goblin ears.

  "My King," he rasped, "the wind in the upper tunnels... it smells of wet fur and cold hunger."

  My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a chill settle in my marrow. "The hunter’s dogs?"

  Morkish shook his head slowly, his gaze fixed on the darkness of the ceiling. "No. Something larger. The spiders are restless. They know we have been carving wood, and they are not pleased. A group is approaching our walls."

  "From where?" I demanded, standing up and gripping my hammer.

  He pointed toward a narrow, jagged rift in the cave wall. I walked to the edge of our settlement's fortification and climbed to the top. I squinted into the gloom, but I couldn't see anything yet. Despite the silence, a feeling of deep unrest gnawed at me. It seemed our first test as a tribe was arriving much sooner than I had planned.

  Behind me, I heard the scuffling of feet. Brick’s team was returning, their arms laden with the pale, pulsating fleshrooms.

  "How long do we have?" I asked Morkish, who had followed me up the wall.

  "It is difficult to say for certain," he whispered. "Perhaps a few minutes. They move with purpose."

  I grabbed a stick. I tightened my grip on the wood of my spear. "We won't hide behind a wall like cowering runts. We prepare for them here."

  Morkish nodded and gestured to his silent assistant, who scurried off to relay the command. Within minutes, the entire tribe had gathered. They stood behind me in a ragged line, clutching their rusted scrap-metal blades and our new [Pointed Sticks]. Even Trashmob’s wounded team had limped out of the hut. They looked battered, but their eyes were sharp. I wasn't sure if Morkish’s brew was that effective or if their high stats were simply forcing their bodies to heal at an accelerated rate.

  Before I could ask, a frantic pattering of feet echoed from the tunnel in front of us. A high-pitched, terrified scream ripped through the air, a sound I was becoming far too familiar with. A runt was running for his life.

  "Follow me! Spears high!" I roared, jumping down from the wall and landing hard on the cavern floor.

  I had my knife and hammer tucked into my belt for emergencies, but for now, I held a long [Pointed Stick] just like the rest of them. I started at a steady jog toward the tunnel entrance, the tribe following behind me in a disorganized but determined pack. A part of me screamed that this was a mistake, that I was risking the entire tribe for a single, low-level runt. But I needed everybody I could get, and more importantly, my people needed to blood their spears. They needed the experience. They needed to level up, or we would never survive the next week.

  The screams grew louder, accompanied by the rhythmic click-clack of many legs on stone. I skidded to a halt and leveled my spear.

  "Behind me, runt!" I ordered as the small green figure burst into our light, clutching a mangled arm. He looked at me with a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated hope.

  I drew in a deep breath, my lungs burning with the damp cave air. "Black Hand Tribe!" I shouted, the [King’s Spirit] skill making my voice boom with unnatural authority. "No matter what crawls out of that hole... stand your ground! Kill them all!"

  Three spiders, larger and more aggressive than the ones before, surged out of the shadows. The silence of the cave died instantly, replaced by the chaos of war.

  [Spider – Lv. 2]

  [Spider – Lv. 3]

  [Spider – Lv. 2]

  The three predators skidded to a halt, their many eyes reflecting the faint green light of our tribe’s glow. They seemed startled by the sight of a coordinated wall of goblins rather than a single, fleeing runt. But the hesitation lasted only a second. With a series of aggressive clicks, they charged.

  "I’ll take the big one! Focus on the other two!" I yelled, my voice cracking slightly under the strain. I stepped forward to intercept the Level 3 spider; if I could keep the strongest one occupied, the rest of the tribe might actually stand a chance.

  I lunged, thrusting my spear toward the creature's cluster of eyes. The spider was frustratingly fast, shifting its weight and dodging the wooden tip with a grace that mocked my clumsy effort. It began to circle me, looking for an angle to strike, but before it could lunge, a bolt of emerald energy hissed past my ear and slammed into its side.

  The spider screeched, its attention snapping toward the back of our line where Morkish was undoubtedly chanting. It momentarily forgot about me, its primal instincts demanding it silence the source of the painful magic.

  I didn't let it. I stepped into its path, forcing the duel to continue.

  The spider reared up, its front legs snapping like giant shears. I dived to the left, the stone floor scraping my shoulder as a leg stabbed into the dirt where my head had been a second before. I scrambled up and lunged again, but the spider swept a middle leg in a low arc, forcing me to hop back. We danced in a deadly circle; every time I moved to thrust, the creature tilted its carapace, causing my spear to slide harmlessly off its armored sides. It lunged with its mandibles, and I barely jerked my torso back in time, feeling the wind of the snap against my chest. It was a stalemate of misses and near-disasters.

  Finally, I saw a flicker of an opening. As the spider adjusted its footing, I thrust the spear with everything I had, aiming for the soft joint where the leg met the head. The tip landed, but instead of piercing, it merely skidded across the carapace.

  The spider didn't miss its chance this time. A heavy, barbed leg descended on me like a falling spear. I raised the wooden shaft of my spear horizontally to block the blow.

  Crr-ack!

  The quality of my "Pointed Stick" was finally put to the test, and it failed miserably. The wood splintered in the middle, the force of the blow nearly numbing my arms. I stared at the two useless pieces of wood in my hands, dumbfounded for a heartbeat, before survival instinct took over. I hurled the pointed half of the broken stick directly at the spider’s face.

  As the creature flinched, I hold the other half and snatched the hammer from my belt. I charged into the spider's reach, the most dangerous place to be. It tried to impale me with a lethal downward strike, but I used the remaining stump of wood in my left hand to parry the leg just enough to clear my path.

  I closed the distance until I could smell the rot on its breath and swung the hammer in a violent, upward arc. The metal head connected squarely with the side of its skull with a sickening, wet crunch.

  [You have killed Spider – Lv. 3]

  [Congratulations, you have reached Lv. 5]

  [New Class Selection available]