Long ago, in a dark cave that smelled of blood and damp earth, a human girl lay on a pile of dry straw.
Her body was thin. Her skin was pale. Her clothes had long been torn and clung to her body like a second skin that could not be removed.
Her eyes stared blankly at the dark ceiling of the cave, no longer crying, no longer screaming, no longer hoping.
Her belly—was swollen.
Not from food.
But from something growing inside her.
Something that was not human.
The cave was full of goblins. They came and went with rough movements, hoarse voices she never understood, and horrible laughter.
But the girl no longer cared.
She was only waiting.
Waiting for it all to end.
And one night—
her belly began to contract.
She screamed. For the first time in weeks, a sound came out of her mouth. Not a scream of pain. But a scream born of pure fear—because she knew what would come out of her body.
The goblins around her began to gather. Their yellow eyes watched with cold curiosity. Some laughed. Some approached. But none helped her.
The girl kept screaming. Her hands clawed at the straw beneath her. Her nails broke. Blood flowed.
And then—
a tear.
From inside. From below.
CRRRRAAAAKKK—!!!
Blood sprayed violently. Not amniotic fluid. Not clear liquid like a normal human birth. But blood. Dark. Thick. Flowing profusely from between the girl's thighs, seeping into the dry straw, staining everything with an unnatural blackish-red.
And from that torn opening—a small creature emerged.
Its body was small. Its arms were thin. Its skin—pale purple. Not green like other goblins. Not grey like a long-rotted corpse. But pale purple—the color of a dying twilight. Cold. Without light. Without warmth.
The small creature fell onto the straw soaked in blood. It did not cry. Did not struggle. It simply opened its eyes—small, pale yellow eyes, brighter than other goblins. Sharper. As if it saw the world with an understanding no newborn should possess.
Above it—the girl was still breathing. One last time. Her breaths were short. Gasps. Blood continued to flow from her body. The pain she had endured for months—now slowly faded. Replaced by emptiness.
But strangely—she was not afraid.
She looked at the small creature beneath her. The creature that had just emerged from her womb. That had torn her from within. That had killed her.
And in her final moments—her lips moved.
Not to curse. Not to cry. But to smile. A smile she had not felt in a long time. A smile born of a relief so deep—that pain no longer mattered.
"...finally..." her voice was barely audible. Soft. Like a whisper long held back. "...I..." her breath began to fade. "...am... free..."
Those words left with her final breath.
And her eyes—once full of fear, once full of despair, once full of invisible wounds—now lost their light. But remained open. With a smile on her face. A genuine smile. The smile of a girl who—after so long—could finally leave.
Silence.
The small creature stared at the lifeless body.
No tears. No guilt. No sadness. Only an empty gaze—as if observing an inanimate object that no longer held its interest. It felt nothing. From the beginning, it had never been able to feel what humans called "affection" or "compassion." It watched its mother die—blood flowing from a torn body, a pale face with a final smile it did not understand. But its heart—if it indeed had one—remained silent. Still. Like stone.
It did not feel loss. Did not feel grief. Did not feel that something precious had just vanished from this world. All it felt was—desire. The desire to survive. The desire to grow. The desire to understand the world that had birthed it without ever asking it to be born.
It looked down. At its hands still stained with blood. Its mother's blood. The same blood that flowed through its veins. Then—it licked it. The blood tasted warm. Salty. And something else—something it could not explain. But it did not care. It only wanted to survive. And for that—it had to be strong.
In its childhood, young goblins were released to hunt alone. That was the rule in this nest—only the strong had the right to live. The weak—would become food for others.
The pale purple-skinned goblin did not move on instinct alone. Unlike its siblings, who immediately ran wildly toward the first sound or movement they heard, it stopped. Still. Observing.
It waited behind a rock, hiding its small body among the roots protruding from the cave wall. Its sharp eyes caught small movements among the bushes—mice, lizards, occasionally a rabbit too slow. It did not chase. Did not pounce without thinking. It waited. And when a large rabbit passed too close to its hiding spot—it moved. Not with claws. Not with teeth. But with a stone. A sharp stone it had picked up from the ground, held tightly in its small hand, and thrown with strangely perfect accuracy.
THUD—! The stone struck the rabbit's head. The animal fell. Motionless.
The purple goblin walked closer, staring at the result of its hunt with a blank expression, then carried the carcass back to the nest. It did not know where it learned to throw stones. Did not care. What mattered—it could eat. And it could live.
After it was old enough to join hunting parties, for the first time, it saw human females being brought into the nest. The elite goblins—hobgoblins, larger and stronger—had already taken their share first. The human women's bodies were dragged roughly across the ground, covered in wounds and blood, before being locked away in a cave.
The pale purple goblin observed from a distance.
It did not understand. Why were its own kind so obsessed with creatures called "women"? They were fragile. They died quickly. Just like the mothers in their nest. Just like its mother.
It watched how other goblins scrambled, pushed, shoved each other for a chance to get close to those captives. They laughed. They screamed. They behaved like creatures that had lost all reason.
But the purple goblin—only watched. From a distance. With unblinking eyes. No desire. No lust. Only confusion. It did not understand why they wasted energy on something that did not last long.
But it did not care.
What mattered—it could eat. And it could live.
One day, while exploring the forest alone—not to hunt, but to escape the noise of the nest it had always hated—it found something strange among the bushes.
A rectangular object. Stiff. With thin sheets bound together.
A book.
It had never seen anything like this before. In its nest, there was no such thing as "learning." No one taught letters. No one explained the meaning of strange symbols on paper.
But—
it was curious.
Its small pale purple fingers touched the rough, yellowed surface of the paper. Some pages were torn, decayed by age. Some were damp and ruined. But a few—were still legible.
It opened the first page.
Its eyes stared at a series of completely foreign symbols.
It did not understand.
Not a single one.
But—
something inside its head moved.
Not a memory. Not a voice. But a burning curiosity.
It kept staring.
Hours.
Day after day, it returned to the same spot. It carried the book to a brighter corner of the cave, where light from a crack in the stone could still penetrate the darkness. It sat. Still. Staring.
At first, it only saw meaningless scribbles.
But slowly—
something began to change.
From words it often heard from human captives—words spoken aloud—it began to match them with symbols on paper.
"Water."
It recognized that word. The captives often said it when they begged for a drink.
It searched for symbols that might relate to that word among the legible pages. It was not easy. It took days. But when it found it—when it realized that a certain symbol appeared repeatedly next to a picture of water droplets—
something clicked inside its head.
"Fire."
Another word it often heard. The captives spoke it with fear when they saw torches in goblin hands.
It found a different symbol. With a small flame picture beside it.
"Strength."
A more abstract word. But the captives spoke it with hope—or with fear.
"I want to have the strength to escape..."
"...they have power we cannot fight..."
It did not fully understand. But it began to see the pattern.
Every symbol had a shape. Every shape related to a sound. And every sound had meaning.
It did not learn in days. Not in weeks.
It learned for a month.
Sitting in a dark corner of the cave.
Flipping through the same pages.
Repeating the same symbols until it memorized them by heart.
It had no teacher.
No one taught it.
But it had curiosity—and that was enough.
Until one day—
it could read.
Not all words. Not perfectly. Many symbols were still foreign. But it could grasp the meaning of short sentences. Of paragraphs that were still intact.
And among the legible pages—
it found something that would change everything.
"Goblins can evolve."
It read that sentence over and over. Its eyes did not blink. Its heart—if it had one—beat faster.
"Goblins evolve into Hobgoblins."
"Hobgoblins then choose different paths."
The first path—Warrior.
"Hobgoblins become Goblin Warriors."
"Goblin Warriors become Goblin Champions."
"Goblin Champions become Goblin Generals—war leaders commanding armies on the battlefield."
The second path—Leader.
"Hobgoblins become Goblin Lords."
"Goblin Lords become Goblin Kings."
"Goblin Kings become Goblin Emperors—rulers of vast goblin kingdoms, commanding not only with strength, but with strategy and politics."
The third path—Sorcerer.
"Hobgoblins become Goblin Shamans."
"Goblin Shamans become Goblin Elder Shamans."
"Goblin Elder Shamans become Goblin Overlord Shamans—beings nearly impossible to achieve, capable of summoning creatures from other dimensions and reshaping battlefields with magic."
The fourth path—Mounted.
"Goblins become Goblin Riders."
"Goblin Riders become Goblin Knights—fast and deadly mounted warriors."
It slowly closed the book.
Its fingers were still trembling.
Not from fear.
But from something else.
All this time, it only knew one way to survive—to become stronger than others.
But now—
it knew there was another path.
A path that did not require muscles.
A path that did not require violence.
A path that required knowledge.
It stared at the book for a long time.
Then—
it hid it in a safe place.
Hidden in a crack in the stone that only it knew.
And for the first time in its life—
it had a purpose.
Not just to survive.
But to become something.
It did not know if it could achieve the path of the Goblin Shaman.
Did not know if the book was true.
But it would try.
Because if it could evolve—
then it would never be prey again.
Over time, other goblins began to follow its lead—not because it was the strongest, but because it was the smartest. It knew where prey hid. It knew when to attack and when to retreat. And for the first time, a group of goblins moved not by instinct, but by strategy.
Until one day, its hunting party encountered different humans.
Not farmers with wooden axes. Not old women with canes. But armed human women—four of them, in light armor and gleaming metal weapons under the sunlight.
The goblins, usually so bold against helpless humans, now hesitated. They glanced at each other, unsure whether to attack or flee.
But the purple goblin, who had been leading its group for some time, only watched. It observed. Its pale yellow eyes traced the movements of the four humans. Two carried swords. One carried a spear. And one more—carried a staff. A simple wooden staff with a blue stone at its tip—and strangely, that stone was faintly glowing.
"Tch. Goblins again," one of them said with annoyance. "Just kill them all. We don't have time to play."
They began to move, but the purple goblin immediately signaled with a hand gesture. Scatter. Avoid. Flank from the sides. It did not need to shout. Did not need to give loud orders. The goblins accustomed to its hunting strategies moved as instructed.
They scattered. Disappeared among the trees. Waiting.
But—the woman with the staff raised her hand. "Stop." Her voice was calm.
The goblins, who had begun to move, suddenly halted—not because they heard her command, but because something stopped them.
A wall of water. Thin. Transparent. But solid.
"GIIK—!!" Several goblins who ran too fast slammed into the wall and were thrown back, their bodies drenched and trembling.
The purple goblin froze. Its eyes widened. Water? From a staff? It did not understand. It had never seen anything like this before. But its instinct was already moving faster. "GIIK—!" it shouted, signaling retreat.
Too late. Two sword-wielding women moved swiftly, cutting through the confused goblins. One slash. Two slashes. Three goblins fell in seconds.
The others began to panic. They ran chaotically, losing direction, losing strategy. And the purple goblin—could only watch. From behind a bush. Its body trembled. Not from fear. But because it realized something. These humans—were different. They had power it did not understand. And for the first time—it wanted to understand.
Years later, after it had become the leader of its own larger, more organized group, it encountered two beings different from ordinary humans.
One night, as its hunting party moved along the edge of the forest, it caught an unfamiliar scent.
Not the scent of village humans.
Not the scent of adventurers.
But the scent of something else.
It signaled its troops to stop. They hid among the trees, waiting, watching.
And from behind the bushes—
it saw them.
A pale-haired woman in a tattered robe, and a young girl wearing an upside-down smiling mask.
They walked without sound.
Without torches.
Without fear.
As if this forest was their backyard.
The purple goblin did not know why it was drawn to them. Perhaps because they were different. Perhaps because it wanted to know. Perhaps because it heard a faint whisper in its head—a whisper that said they were not ordinary humans.
"GIK..." it called softly. The goblins behind it followed.
They crept among the trees. Waiting for the right moment.
But—
"You know, Adelia, we're being followed."
The pale-haired woman's voice was calm. Not surprised. Not wary. Just calm.
The girl beside her laughed softly. "Hihihi... I know, Mistress. I've known for a while."
The purple goblin froze.
They knew?
Impossible. It had been so careful. It had made sure there was no sound, no scent, no trace left behind.
But the woman kept walking without looking back. As if the presence of the goblins behind her was no more threatening than mosquitoes at night.
"How many?" the woman asked.
Adelia tilted her head. Her upside-down mask moved slightly. "Hmm... about twenty? But only one is interesting."
"Which one?"
"The one in the back. The purple one."
The pale-haired woman stopped.
For the first time—she turned.
Her eyes locked directly onto the purple goblin.
Exactly.
As if she had known where it was all along.
The purple goblin could not move.
Could not flee.
For the first time in its life—it was afraid.
Not because of a sword.
Not because of a spear.
But because of that gaze.
A gaze that saw it not as a threat—but as something interesting.
"You..." the woman's voice was soft. "...are different."
She smiled. A strange smile. Not warm. Not cold. But full of calculation.
"You're not an ordinary goblin, are you?"
The purple goblin did not answer. It could only freeze.
The woman stepped closer. One step. Two steps. The goblins around the purple one grew restless. Some growled. Some retreated.
But the purple goblin—remained still.
"You..." the woman stopped right in front of it. "...want me to lend you power?"
The purple goblin could only stare. It did not fully understand the word "lend." But it understood "power."
It nodded once.
Just once.
The woman smiled wider.
She turned to Adelia. "Adelia... bring out one of those fragments."
Adelia laughed eagerly. "Finally, Mistress is using this?"
With a quick motion, Adelia's small hand reached into her robe. And when she pulled it out—there was a small fragment in her hand.
Irregular in shape.
Like a broken piece of crystal.
But from within—there was a faint glow. Pulsing. Alive.
The woman took the fragment from Adelia's hand. She looked at it for a moment, then at the purple goblin.
"You're curious about power, aren't you?"
The purple goblin did not answer. But its eyes—could not look away from the fragment.
"You want to become strong. You want to evolve. You want to become more than just a goblin."
The woman raised the fragment a little higher.
"I can give you that. But you must pay me with time."
The purple goblin did not answer. But its eyes—could not look away from the fragment. Its head tilted slightly—a sign that it was processing those words.
The woman smiled. "You will become strong. You will become a leader. You will live longer than any goblin. But one day—I will come to call you. And you will do as I command."
The purple goblin was silent.
It did not fully understand.
But it understood one thing: this was an opportunity.
An opportunity that would never come again.
It nodded.
Once.
The woman did not wait any longer.
Her hand moved fast—
HER CHEST HAD ALREADY BEEN PIERCED.
Not with a sword. Not with a spear. But with her own hand.
The woman's five fingers pierced its chest like a knife through butter. The purple goblin had no time to scream. No time to struggle. Only its eyes widened—surprised, afraid, and confused.
But—
the pain did not come.
All that came was something entering.
The fragment.
Entering through its chest. Entering its body. Merging with its blood. Merging with its soul.
"GRRRRRAAAAAAHHHH—!!!"
The scream erupted from its mouth without its awareness. An aura of darkness exploded from its body, enveloping it like living mist. The ground beneath it cracked. The surrounding trees shook.
And from its head—a strange voice echoed.
Cold.
Mechanical.
Emotionless.
[Notice]
[Unique Skill: Predator's Harvest — Acquired]
Then—
the purple goblin fell unconscious.
Its small body collapsed to the ground. Motionless. But still breathing. Still alive.
The pale-haired woman watched it for a moment. Then she wiped her hands of the blood—blood that was not hers—with a casual motion.
Adelia approached, staring at the purple goblin with curiosity. "Mistress... will it survive?"
"Yes." The woman's voice was flat. "It will survive. And it will become strong."
She pulled her hood up. Half-covering her face.
"See you in 500 years."
Her voice was soft. Almost a whisper.
"Become a strong goblin for me."
Then they both left.
Leaving the purple goblin lying in the middle of the forest—with a power it did not understand, and a purpose it did not choose.
Years passed.
The pale purple goblin did not die.
It survived.
And every day—every week—every year—it grew stronger.
Not only because it grew bigger.
Not only because it learned more.
But because something inside it—something planted in its chest along with that fragment—kept working.
Every time it killed, it felt something enter its body.
Not just flesh.
Not just blood.
But something else.
Memories.
Skills.
Power.
[Skill: Predator's Harvest]
From the first human it killed—a hunter lost in the forest—it gained the ability to track prey from a distance.
From another goblin it defeated in a territorial dispute—it gained greater physical strength.
From a black wolf it hunted for three days and nights—it gained speed and reflexes no ordinary goblin possessed.
From a wandering mage who got lost in its nest—it gained knowledge of magic.
Every death gave it something.
Every prey made it different.
And slowly—very slowly—it changed.
Its pale purple skin grew darker. Its thin body began to fill out. Its eyes, once merely curious—now held wisdom no goblin should possess.
It no longer only understood human language.
It could read it.
It could write it.
It could wield it.
And from the pages of that old book it had found years ago—it knew that it had achieved something rarely achieved by any goblin.
It had become a Goblin Shaman.
Not only because it had learned magic.
But because it understood how the world worked.
That true power did not come from muscles.
Not from swords.
But from knowledge—and from the ability to take what belonged to others.
500 years later.
The Goblin Shaman prepared to perform the ritual it had been waiting for.
Its yellow eyes gazed at Cecilia's body floating beside the seed crystal, now fully corrupted by its own darkness.
"I...will...summon...it..."
"The...wish...of...that...person..."
"The...wish...of...that...pale-haired...human..."
"From...500...years...ago..."
"Will...finally...be...fulfilled..."
"And...I..."
The Goblin Shaman paused for a moment, a horrible smile spreading across its face.
"I...will...become...a...goblin...overlord...shaman."