Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP-Chapter 312: Ambition

Grakk stood motionless for a few seconds, his gaze fixed on me as though trying to measure something beyond what was visible.

Then, without warning, he turned toward the goblin who had made the report, and his axe moved in a single, clean arc.

The blade cut through the air with brutal efficiency, and the goblin's head separated from his body before he even had time to react. It hit the stone walkway once before rolling to a stop, while the body remained upright for a fraction of a second longer before collapsing.

The report had been accurate.

But for some reason, it hadn't mattered. Rest in peace, poor goblin.

Grakk bent down calmly, as if retrieving a dropped tool rather than the severed head of his subordinate. His massive hand wrapped around the scalp, lifting it effortlessly.

And then he threw it.

WHOOSH!

The head tore through the air toward me with enough speed to make the sound whistle faintly, and my eyes widened as I was a bit surprised at the force behind the motion.

But I tilted my head slightly to the side before it reached me.

The head passed inches from my face, the displaced air brushing against my cheek before it slammed into the ground behind me.

BOOM!

The impact burst it apart with a wet, concussive crack, fragments scattering outward like a dropped watermelon.

I didn't flinch.

I glanced briefly at what remained before lifting my eyes back to the captain.

Grakk's expression hadn't changed.

He lifted one hand and made a short, sharp gesture, and immediately, several goblins along the wall adjusted their stances. Bows were raised. Arrows were drawn in unison, their tips angled downward toward me.

I could see tension in their forearms, hear the faint strain of bowstrings being pulled to full draw.

They were waiting for his command.

Grakk spoke, his voice steady and carrying easily across the clearing:

"Intruder. I will give you a couple of seconds to state your purpose before we put an end to your life. Use that time well."

The tone was deliberate and measured to purposefully establish dominance before blood was shed. The head of the decapitated goblin was probably thrown aimed for the same reason.

To scare me.

But I found it rather laughable.

I had faced opponents who truly radiated true danger, creatures whose mere presence bent the air around them, whose footsteps cracked the earth, whose eyes carried the weight of something ancient. Most recently, the herd of behemoths, led by a level seventy matriarch whose aura alone dwarfed anything this captain could muster.

Compared to that?

Grakk was an ant.

I cleared my throat lightly, not out of nervousness, but because I wanted my voice to carry clearly.

"Your leader," I said calmly. "Tell him to come see me."

There was a slight pause.

Several goblins atop the wall froze, their bows still drawn but their expressions shifting from hostility to disbelief. Even the archers who had been prepared to release seemed momentarily confused.

Grakk's eyes narrowed with irritation.

"What did you just say?" he asked, his voice dropping a fraction lower, the calm now edged with warning.

I didn't look away.

"I said," I repeated evenly. "Your leader. Tell him to come see me."

Grakk's eyes narrowed into thin slits, the faint lines around them tightening. He didn't answer me immediately. Instead, he shifted his gaze slightly to the side and spoke to his subordinates rather than to me.

"Fire."

The command was simple.

Dozens of bowstrings released at once.

The sound came first, a sharp, collective snap, followed by the hiss of arrows cutting through the air as they descended toward me in a tight arc. They weren't random shots either. The angles were disciplined, layered, meant to overlap and eliminate blind spots.

I didn't move.

The arrows struck.

Or rather, they reached the edge of my personal spatial threshold and lost momentum instantly. Each shaft stopped a few inches from my body, as though hitting against dense resistance, before clattering harmlessly to the ground around my feet.

The goblins on the wall stiffened. Several of them immediately nocked fresh arrows, muscles tightening for a second volley.

But Grakk raised his hand.

The movement was sharp and decisive.

The second wave halted.

I saw it then.

Not an expression of anger but curiosity.

His gaze locked onto me again, studying rather than dismissing.

"You…" he said slowly, the tone less dismissive now. "Who are you?"

I met his eyes without hesitation.

"The name's Eli," I replied evenly. "Chief of the Jade Midget Clan."

I let the title settle for a second before continuing.

"And I request a meeting with your chief."

"You… you're a Chosen, aren't you?" he asked, and this time there was something different in his tone.

Excitement.

"Yes, I a..."

WHOOSH!

I didn't get to finish my sentence as the air split sharply as a spear cut through it at high velocity, tearing toward me with lethal intent, aimed precisely at my throat.

The moment it entered my immediate spatial radius, [Fractured Existence] reacted automatically. The space around me destabilized just enough to alter the spear's trajectory and momentum without visibly bending it. From the outside, it appeared as though the weapon simply stopped inches from my neck, suspended in invisible resistance before dropping uselessly to the ground.

The shaft hit the earth with a dull crack.

BOOM!

An impact followed immediately after, and I looked ahead to see that something had dropped from the wall.

The smoke cleared, revealing Grakk, whose boots had struck the ground hard enough to fracture the packed soil beneath him, dust rising around his legs as he straightened.

He held an axe in each hand, both blades thick, chipped, and clearly used in more than training. Then he began walking toward me.

"Finally…" he said, a grin spreading across his face as he rolled his shoulders once, as though loosening tension. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for a Chosen to show up."

The excitement in his voice wasn't subtle now.

I studied him more carefully.

The expression on his face wasn't fear or loyalty-driven aggression.

This was ambition.

He wanted something.

And I had a feeling I knew what that something was.

But too bad. He was never going to get it from me.