The little goblin hesitated, its gaunt fingers fidgeting with the loose threads of its ragged tunic. Its yellow eyes, wide with fear and uncertainty, glimmered faintly in the torchlight as Volk loomed above. The other goblins shrank back against the rocky walls, their expressions wary, but the little one seemed to draw strength from Volk’s intense gaze. Slowly, it began to speak.

“My father… he was strong,” the goblin said, its voice trembling but growing steadier as it continued. “Not strong like your ogres or orcs, but… clever. Always working, always building. He made things with his hands, strange things that glowed in the dark or sang when the wind touched them. The birdmen… they didn’t like that.”

Volk tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing with interest. He leaned closer, his towering figure casting an even darker shadow over the diminutive creature. “What things?” he asked, his voice low but commanding. “What did your father build that angered them?”

The goblin swallowed hard, its bony chest rising and falling rapidly as it tried to muster the courage to continue. “He made weapons,” it said finally. “Not like yours. Not swords or axes. He called them… tools. But they hurt the birdmen. My father said they were for protection, to keep us safe. But the birdmen came. They… they said we were dangerous.”

Volk’s brow furrowed, his sharp mind racing to piece together the fragments of the story. He crouched down, bringing himself closer to the goblin’s level, his voice softening slightly. “Go on,” he urged. “What did they do when they came?”

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The goblin’s face twisted in anguish, its memories clearly painful. It looked away, its voice faltering as it continued. “They came from the sky, screeching like demons. Their wings blotted out the sun. They tore through the village, breaking everything. They said… they said we didn’t deserve to live. That we were… abominations.”

It paused, its small hands clenching into fists. “My father tried to fight them. He used one of his tools—it shot fire, bright and hot, and it burned one of the birdmen’s wings. But there were too many. They broke his arms, ripped his tools apart. My mother… she tried to hide me, but they found us. They… they took me.”

Volk’s jaw tightened, a surge of anger flaring in his chest. “They took you to feed their beast,” he said, his tone icy. “And the rest of your people?”

The goblin’s voice broke as it spoke, tears streaming down its gaunt cheeks. “They killed them. All of them. My friends, my brothers, my mother and father. They said… they said it was punishment for defying them. And the children… they kept us alive, but only to feed the bird.”

The cave fell silent, the weight of the goblin’s story pressing heavily on everyone present. Even the other goblins, who had remained silent until now, bowed their heads in grief and fear. Volk stood slowly, his crimson eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and determination.

“And your father,” Volk said after a long pause. “These tools he made… did you see how he built them? Do you remember anything about them?”

The little goblin hesitated, its tear-streaked face twisting in concentration. “I… I don’t know,” it said finally. “I was small. But I remember… shapes. Pieces of metal, wood. They fit together. He would carve runes into them, whisper words I didn’t understand. And… there was light. A glowing crystal, blue and bright. He called it the heart.”

“The heart,” Volk repeated, his mind latching onto the detail. He crouched again, his intense gaze boring into the goblin. “Where did he get it? This crystal?”

The goblin shook its head, its expression apologetic. “I don’t know,” it said. “But he always said… the heart is the key. Without it, the tools are just… broken things.”

Volk’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A crystal that could power magical tools—if he could find something similar, perhaps he could arm his horde against the birdmen. The thought filled him with a flicker of hope, though it was tempered by the realization that such a discovery would not come easily.

“Your father,” Volk said after a moment. “Did he teach anyone else to build these tools? Are there others who know how to make them?”

The goblin’s face fell, and it shook its head. “No,” it said softly. “My father was the only one. He tried to teach, but… the others were afraid. They said his tools would bring danger, and they were right. When the birdmen came, they blamed him. They said it was his fault.”

Volk exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, but there were still so many questions, so many unknowns. He leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking to the other goblins.

“And you?” he asked, addressing the group. “Do any of you remember anything about these tools? Anything your parents might have said or done?”

The goblins exchanged nervous glances, their expressions uncertain. Finally, one of them stepped forward hesitantly, its voice barely above a whisper. “I remember my mother… she said the tools were powerful, but dangerous. She said they could hurt the birdmen, but they could hurt us too if we weren’t careful. That’s why no one wanted to use them.”

Volk nodded slowly, his mind racing. The tools were powerful enough to pose a threat to the birdmen, but they required skill and knowledge to wield safely. Without someone to guide them, they could be as much a liability as an asset.

Still, the potential was undeniable. If he could find a way to recreate these tools—or better yet, improve upon them—his horde might stand a chance against the aerial menace.

He turned back to the little goblin, his expression softening slightly. “You’ve been through much,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But your father’s work… it might be the key to your freedom. To all our freedom. If you can remember anything else, anything at all, it could make a difference.”

The little goblin hesitated, its expression conflicted. Finally, it looked up at Volk, its yellow eyes filled with a mixture of fear and hope. “I’ll try,” it said softly. “For my father. For my people.”

Volk nodded, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good,” he said. “Then we have a starting point.”

He straightened, his gaze sweeping over the group of goblins. “You’ve survived despite everything,” he said, his voice firm and commanding. “You are stronger than you know. And together, we will make those who hurt you pay.”

The goblins stared at him, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. Slowly, one by one, they nodded, their fear giving way to a flicker of determination.

Volk turned back to the little goblin, his crimson eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. “Tell me everything you can remember,” he said. “Every detail, no matter how small. And together, we will turn that knowledge into power.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep