When the three owners of my current contracts finally arrived on the same day to pick up their trained goblins it was alongside a small truck hauling a horse trailer. However, instead of horses there were goblins wearing muzzles, cones, and cuffs while being dragged toward my front gate. A large round man in a bright blue suit was calling the shots for the handlers of the goblins while two other people from different vehicles were parking on the curb.
Instead of greeting my customers myself because their goblins were currently sparring each other and Poniard in the yard, I tossed the gate key to one of the hobs nearby and said, "Let them in."
Knowing the key was for the front gate because they already had keys to get out on their patio, the hob dropped their wooden play sword to pick up the key from the ground and hurry to the gate.
Even though the property now covered an entire neighborhood block and had several foundations laid to place buildings on, the original two-acre property remained unchanged except for the addition of a warped and glowing pine tree growing in the dead center near the exercise pavilion. With a grade of C, the pine tree was more than enough to act as an exposure source and slowly raise the MP levels of the goblins while they trained.
Sadly, I had found the tree too late to really put to use with this set of goblins.
When the hob returned leading the customers and their entourage over, it quickly gave me the key while ignoring the chattering and shrieks of the strange goblins. Unlike the ones in my property, the goblins brought here were gray-green mountain gobs who would evolve into trolls. There was immediately friction between them and the goblins I had trained.
Until they started getting on Poniard's nerves, though, because he whipped right around and unleashed a hissing roar that echoed around the neighborhood. With the darkness element lines of his face and neck glowing from the projection of mana in his voice, Poniard silenced the new goblins with a soul-crushing terror.
"Poniard really does have magic," the fat man in the suit notes with no small amount of reverence in his voice. "I thought it was originally something of a gimmick but… wow!"
"Lying would be bad for business," I reply while sizing the man up. Even if I was still equal to shit as a mage I could FEEL that this guy was giving off a larger MP radiation than I was. Similar to when I was still F grade and got too close to the C grade cleaners outside of portals. "Did you bring them here for training?" I ask curiously, wishing I could ask why this man was even bothering with E grade goblins at all.
Glancing at the wild goblins chained together, the man shakes his head and says, "Not quite. I was hoping to do us both a little favor. I wanted to check the skills you imparted on my goblin so I brought these strays to fight it. You don't mind them killing here, do you?"
Thinking of the area where I planned to place a greenhouse for growing magical plants, I point to back side of the property and say, "Over there will be fine, the entire back of the property along the fence is going to become a greenhouse, dead goblins will fertilize the soil with MP for when I start planting. But… you brought nine goblins and you came to pick up one?"
Smiling brightly, the fat man in the suit says, "Allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Wilson Fjord and I am the vice leader of the Hunting Hounds clan. We're not big like guilds but we do well for ourselves, we're fairly popular for our work in mid-level dungeons. However, I am the only person in my family who can fight as a Protector and I am also a very busy man. To help us both, I brought these goblins to test the different weapon and combat skills you taught all of our goblins. If my goblin can kill three different goblins with its different unarmed and weapons training, it will become my daughter's bodyguard and you can use the video of the fighting as advertisement."
Thinking of the first time I had pitted Poniard against another goblin, an F grade mountain goblin, I simply shrug and say, "Since it can land a punch on Poniard's body it can kill these goblins. How do you two feel about risking your investments?"
The next customer was a slightly short Hispanic fellow with a very broad and stocky build, he simply shrugged and said, "I'm buying the goblin as a gift for this healer girl I started dating a while back. She might dump me, so I don't really care, but if she stays with me I don't mind knowing the goblin is good. Besides, using a sword and shield, this goblin is already better than the wild ones."
Chiming in at the end, a guy who was only a little older than I was with a tall but skinny build says, "I bought mine because I'm a water mage and water magic can be pretty slow, knowing it can kill three different goblins in a row in three different ways would make me much happier."
"Yours goblins only have unarmed and one weapon style," I inform them frankly, wondering if they had forgotten this important fact. "The third weapon skill is the weapon they not only pick for themselves but also the one you teach them yourselves. Since I captured and trained them, you guys need a method of bonding that will not only show you're better than they are but will also show you can make them stronger. They follow the strong by instinct but they choose to follow those that make them stronger."
"I was going to give my third goblin a knife and have the one you trained fight unarmed," Mr. Fjord says calmly while the others actually looked surprised by what I told them.
I could only frown at the second guy and say, "While one of mine would be one hell of a gift, GOBLINS ARE NOT GIFTS! Most of them are just barely smart enough to be re-homed without attacking their new owners. You want to give a tank-trained goblin to a healer who never even knew about it? You better start taking her to a dojo for your dates. Now, I'm confident enough to let you all risk your goblins like this, but I'm going to have to hold onto yours until you bring your girlfriend here to pick up her gift so the goblin knows who is responsible for it."
"Hu-umans," Si-Pon coos derisively from its perch on the pine ten yards away before flying off toward the back of the property.
"Did that bird just talk?" Mr. Fjord asks with wide open eyes watching the bird's retreating figure. "What the hell was that bird just now?"
"Lightingale," I reply simply while turning away to follow the bird's example, leading everybody to the back of the property. "It's a close relative to the phantomgales. They're a somewhat classified sentient species from beyond the portals who are basically aliens made of energy more than animals. This one is the first of its kind to be discovered and I have no idea why it still follows me around."
Nobody really said anything in response to this, probably because they were confused by how annoyed I sounded with the last sentence. However, the water mage soon asks, "About that tree, though. Isn't that a… well… what used to be a northern pine? How did it grow like that and what made its needles turn into metal?"
"Metal?" I ask in surprise, having had no idea that the blue and green pine needles were metallic beyond their odd weight and shininess. It was a magical plant, that could have been anything.
"Oh, yes, it's metal," he assures me with a bit of pride in his voice. "Not only was I a metallurgist before the portals and those towers, but I have a lightning rod wand on me that I use for giving my water magic an extra kick. The rod is attracted to the tree, which means the needles were magnetic. Since they're blue, the needles are roughly sixty percent cobalt. Cobalt is good alloying material, too, it increases wear and abrasion resistance in steels as well as increases its heat resistance similarly to carbon and when mixed with something like vanadium it helps tighten the steel's structure and grain so its stronger and can hold a sharper edge for longer."
"No shit," I find myself saying as my thoughts race with the implications. One upper C grade needle per pound of No-MP scrap should make more than a pound of mid D steel. "I got a guy with a printer who would be overjoyed to hear about that. Tell you what, you just got a free needle."
"For real?!" The young man exclaims suddenly. "From the length and thickness those things have to weigh around a quarter of a pound. I'm only E grade but that tree feels like its above D grade so I could use the needle as a wand or to make a new wand."
"I don't care, they'd have never left the tree if you had never said anything," I say with a shrug as the customers, handlers, both groups of goblins, hobs, kobolds, and I finally arrived at the back fence of the property. "Si-Pon, I'm going to have to rely on you for turning the soil and distributing the fertilizer," I say loudly to the bird who was relaxing on an electrified fence not too far away. Remembering that his mana is his literal blood, I add, "Do you need a catalyst or anything?"
"Pon-pon can," is the bird's simplified response, either saying it would use Poniard's mana for the job or that Poniard could do it himself.
If we were not currently in front of company I would scold the bird about its behavior in front of company. As it was, I could only shake my head before flippantly waving at Mr. Fjord. "Your daughter, your goblin, your plan, get to it. Poniard, draw a line from corner to corner across here and the same across here," I add so that Poniard uses raw death energy to bring two foggy lines of purplish black mist up from the ground.
They each stretched from one side of the ten-acre square property to the other with about fifteen yards of space between them. Forty-five feet was a great width for a greenhouse that was going to be several hundred feet long, especially one that would be floored and partially buried to contain MP radiation. "I'll have to do more fertilizing at a later date, but once the bodies are mulched there should be enough to mix up."
"I can tell you try to remain efficient when you do things," Mr. Fjord praises while having his men carry a goblin over the line. They had to carry it because the goblin began shrieking and fighting as soon as it neared the death energy. "Even spur of the moment things."
"Let nothing go to waste," I say by was of both agreement and acknowledgment. "Its your goblin, now, so take it into the fighting zone and give it the kill order. Poniard, calm the gray one down by telling it you'll let it out if it wins."
While Mr. Fjord approached the white marked goblin wearing only its quilted canvas sparring gear, Poniard hisses to get the mountain goblin's attention. When he has it, he points at white mark and speaks a few sounds in goblin. The once fearful and agitated grayish goblin soon calmed down as a resolute expression narrowed its eyes at white mark.
After walking his goblin unarmed into the fighting zone, Mr. Fjord takes two steps back before saying, "Kill."
Both goblins reacted at the same time, closing the short distance between each other in a few steps apiece. However, where the mountain goblin leaped into the air for a pouncing tackle the forest goblin I had trained simply lowered itself into a sliding crouch. Hopping up once the enemy goblin had missed its landing, the goblin I trained twists around in midair and spears his leg out to kick the mountain goblin in the back of its neck as it was standing up.
After having spent several weeks working out by running or fighting for hours while wearing as much as their own body weight in sand, the goblin's legs were the strongest parts of its body. After weeks of training those legs in a cross-combat martial art like Eskrima where getting kicked in the face was every bit as likely as getting stabbed in the foot, that kick alone had been honed to a certain level of expertise. The goblin only had one two jumping kicks to practice, anyway.
When the extended heel of his foot connected with the back of the other goblin's neck just an inch or so above its shoulders, the goblin's head stretched forward like a limp accordion with several more inches in length than before. Then, it kissed the ground after simply dropping face-first like a broken toy.
There was not even any blood shed on the ground, meaning there was just one big piece of fertilizer still lying there.
In less than one month of hardened training and sparring, I had managed to cram almost two months worth effort into this goblin's body. This might not sound like much, but the goblins only had about ten moves per style and had logged many hours a day practicing all of them. In about twenty days they had at least one hundred hours of combat training per style.
On top of the increases to their physical strengths thanks to my healing artifact in their training, this meant that Mr. Fjord's goblin's first attack was probably its favorite and most lethal maneuver. "Next," I say calmly while the others were still recovering from what had happened, walking about ten yards down the fence for the next fight.
This time, though, I sent Si-Pon to fetch the starter kits I had set aside in the building for the goblins. When he returned with three large aluminum briefcases, I presented the white marked goblin with a pair of large ivory hatchets with crescent shaped faces. The mountain goblin was given a simple iron rod to defend itself with.
"Kill," Mr. Fjord announces loudly, signaling for his goblin to start.
Obliging his new owner by rushing in, white marker closes the ten yards of distance on the goblin who cautiously stood its ground in a few bounding steps. However, after having fought with Poniard nearly every day since it officially started its training how could it blindly rush in on an opponent? It was much smarter than that, by now.
As I hoped, the goblin stops just a few feet out of reach of the goblin and sidesteps in at an angle to goad the other goblin into attacking. Once the goblin lashed out with a thrust of its iron rod, white mark swatted the heavy rod out of its way with the side of one ax before lunging straight in. feinting a chop at the goblin's head by simply raising the other ax, white mark tricks the mountain goblin into raising its guard.
Filling the opening with a thrust of the curving point of the hatchet he had defended with previously, white mark stabs the other goblin with his hatchet just under the sternum and twists while shoving the goblin backward and to the ground. A few seconds of struggling to get up again later, the second mountain goblin simply gave up and died. Now came the real test.
Just ten more yards down the line, an unarmed white mark and a knife wielding mountain goblin stood only a few yards apart from each other in the fighting zone. Neither of them were attacking yet, though, because Poniard was baring his teeth in their direction. Until, of course, Mr. Fjord called out, "Kill!"
White mark never even moved despite the other goblin suddenly twitching after hearing the dangerously familiar word. Every time a mountain goblin in the fighting zone heard the word 'kill' so far, it had died. Even though this one was armed it was too afraid to rush in after having witnessed the first goblin's death at the end of a single attack.
However, white mark continued to just stand there and stare at the other goblin until a full minute had ticked by. Finally, the goblin with the small six-inch bladed steel knife moved in. They simply stepped in once and start swiftly thrusting their knife forward again and again while just out of reach, probing white mark's defenses and reflexes.
A slight shuffle, another thrust, and the outer layer of quilted canvas training armor over white mark's shoulder was torn. White mark never even looked at it, simply taking a very small step back to continue playing the other goblin's game of reach. If I was the other goblin, I would have known then and there that something was wrong because I had just touched the opponent and received almost no reaction.
The mountain goblin, though, was an idiot despite his cautious fighting style. He perform another small shuffle and stabbed the knife straight at white mark's chest. White mark caught the goblin's arm just behind the wrist in one hand, slapped the other hand on the back of its arm behind its elbow, and broke its arm.
Without ever letting go, white mark snatched the other goblin in while keeping its hand closed around the knife and was just about to make the other goblin shiv itself when I softly say, "Enough." White mark stopped on a dime after just barely penetrating passed the goblin's soft leather shirt and pricking the skin. Then he shoved the losing goblin away and held the knife by the blade before holding it blindly out to the side.
"Is he giving me the knife?" Mr. Fjord asks after a minute or so of simply standing there and staring at the goblin.
"One of our practices is that the goblins must hand over their weapons respectfully to a superior at the end of their training exercises," I explain with a shrug. "It's something Poniard started because the goblins started getting mad about getting slapped around even while armed. Instead of giving their weapons up, they would throw them at the ground or just all over the yard to make Poniard pick them up. That did not last long AT ALL. Who is next?"
*