Later that night, the village was quieter than usual, the usual cacophony of goblin chatter replaced by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. Luke sat near the newly constructed latrine, watching as more and more goblins wandered over to use it. It was a strange sight, seeing them line up—some curious, others hesitant—but they were slowly getting the hang of it.
The latrine had already made a difference. Instead of feces scattered haphazardly around the village, the mess was now centralized. It wasn't perfect—some goblins still squatted wherever they pleased—but it was a start. Progress, however small, was still progress.
As each goblin finished their business, a faint ping echoed in Luke's mind, followed by a holographic notification:
[A goblin used the toilet. You earned 0.5 Tech Points.]
At first, it was satisfying. Each notification was a tiny reward, a reminder that his efforts were paying off. But as the night wore on, the constant pinging became grating. By the tenth notification, Luke's patience was wearing thin. He clenched his fists, his claws digging into his palms, and whispered under his breath, "Can you turn off the notifications for that?"
The system responded immediately, its voice calm and mechanical.
[Certainly, Host.]
"Thank you," Luke muttered, rubbing his temples. The silence that followed was a relief, but it didn't last long. His mind was already racing, planning the next project.
The goblins' huts were barely functional—little more than piles of branches and leaves propped up against each other. They offered some shelter from the elements, but not much. If the village was going to survive the coming seasons, they needed proper structures. And for that, they needed better tools.
Luke sighed, leaning back against a tree. The goblins' current tools were a mishmash of stolen weapons and scavenged scraps. They had nothing suitable for cutting down trees or shaping logs. To build anything substantial, they'd need an iron axe. And to make an iron axe, they'd need a furnace. And to build a furnace, they'd need clay.
His thoughts turned to the small cave near the village where the goblins fetched their water. He'd found a moderate deposit of iron ore there, along with some coal. It wasn't much, but it was a start. If they could mine enough iron and coal, he could design a furnace. But without clay, the furnace would be impossible to build.
Clay. It was the most important resource for early industrialization, and yet it was the one thing they didn't have. Luke frowned, staring at the ground beneath his feet. If he used his Resource Detection skill, he might be able to locate a clay deposit nearby. But even if he found one, digging it up would be another problem entirely.
"If only there was a river nearby," he muttered to himself. "Clay's always easier to find near water."
But there was no river, at least not one he'd discovered yet. That left him with only one option: digging. The thought made his shoulders sag. Digging for clay would be backbreaking work, especially with the crude tools they had. But what choice did he have?
For now, though, he pushed the thought aside. The night was quiet, the village peaceful. It was a rare moment of rest, and he intended to enjoy it. He leaned his head back against the tree, closing his eyes, as the night deepened, the village grew quieter, the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl breaking the silence. Luke was still leaning against the tree, his mind drifting between exhaustion and the endless list of tasks ahead, when a goblin approached. It was Tog, one of the younger goblins, his oversized ears twitching nervously.
"Lok,"
Luke's eyes snapped open. He'd almost forgotten about the prisoner. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, his muscles protesting the movement. "Alright. Take me to him."
Tog led the way, weaving through the village toward a small hut on the outskirts. It was heavily guarded, with a half-dozen goblins standing watch, their spears clutched tightly in their claws. Luke nodded to them as he approached, and they stepped aside to let him pass.
Inside the hut, the human prisoner—Solus—was sitting upright, his back against the wall. His hands and feet were bound tightly with vines, and his eyes widened in terror as Luke entered. The man began speaking rapidly, his words a jumble of sounds that made no sense to Luke.
"Calm down," Luke said, raising his hands in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. But the man kept babbling, his voice rising in pitch. Luke frowned. "I can't understand you."
He turned his attention inward, addressing the system. System, are there any available skills to understand his language?
The system's response was immediate.
[I can scan his native language if you place your hand on him.]
Luke hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer to the prisoner. Solus flinched, his eyes darting around the hut as if searching for an escape. "Relax," Luke said, though he doubted the man could understand him. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He reached out and placed a hand on Solus's shoulder. The man stiffened, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. A moment later, a holographic wave emanated from Luke's hand, scanning the prisoner from head to toe. Solus's eyes widened in shock, but before he could react, the system displayed a new notification:
[Skill: Native Language Vhalterra: Diomanum Dialect
Cost: 120 Tech Points
Purchase | Decline]
Luke's eyes widened. What? How come it's so expensive?
The system's tone was almost mocking.
[You can still decrypt his language on your own, if 120 Tech Points is too expensive for you.]
Luke gritted his teeth, his frustration rising. He didn't have time to learn a new language from scratch, not with everything else he had to do. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll buy it."
He tapped the Purchase option, and instantly, his mind was flooded with information. Words, phrases, grammar rules—it was like a dam had burst, pouring a river of knowledge into his head. But unlike the last time he'd acquired a skill, the process wasn't overwhelming. His increased INT stat seemed to help him process the information more smoothly.
When the flood subsided, Luke blinked, his vision clearing. He looked at Solus, who was still staring at him with a mixture of fear and confusion. This time, though, the man's words made sense.
"Please," Solus was saying, his voice trembling. "Don't kill me. I'll do anything. Just let me go."
Luke sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not going to kill you," he said, his words now fluent in the Diomanum dialect. "But you're not going anywhere until I get some answers."
Solus's eyes widened further, his jaw dropping. "You—you speak Diomanum? How?"
"That's not important," Luke said, cutting him off. "What's important is that you start talking. Who are you? Where are you from? And what were you doing near our village?"
Solus hesitated, his hands trembling as he adjusted the vines binding his wrists. "My name is Solus. I'm a support adventurer from the town of Dioma. My party… we were lost. We were supposed to head north of the Virmhan Dire Forest to join other adventurers for a quest. A quest to slay the dragon Lermullo. But we got separated, and… we didn't know where we were. We stumbled into this forest and… well, you know the rest."
Luke absorbed the information, his mind racing. A dragon. That explained why the party was so heavily armed. But it also meant trouble. If Solus's group had been part of something that big, their disappearance wouldn't go unnoticed. He frowned, his expression darkening as he processed the implications.
Solus, meanwhile, couldn't help but stare at Luke, his fear mingling with curiosity. "You're… too smart to be a goblin," he said hesitantly, his voice trembling. "Were you the one who shot Selina? The mage?"
Luke's eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm the one asking the questions here, human. Not you."
Solus flinched, shrinking back against the wall. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"You said you stumbled into this forest," Luke interrupted, his tone sharp. "Did you come across a river nearby?"
The support adventurer hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. It wasn't far from where the… incident happened. Maybe a mile or two to the east."
Luke's lips curled into a faint smile. A river meant clay. And clay meant he could finally build the furnace he needed. But he kept his thoughts to himself, his expression neutral as he studied Solus.
The human, however, couldn't hold back his questions. "The others… Ronald and Cray. Did they…?"
Luke nodded, his voice cold but matter-of-fact. "They're dead. It was for the security of the village. Any human warrior who saw a goblin near their town would've done the same."
Solus's face paled, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping in despair. "Am I going to die too?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Luke didn't answer immediately. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the hut, his gaze piercing. "Do you have a master? Someone who taught you magic?"
Solus blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. He hesitated, his eyes darting around the hut as if searching for an escape. But with his hands and feet bound and no way to fight back, he had no choice but to answer. "Selina and I… we were disciples of Magister Solmund. He's a high-ranking mage at the Holmuia Mages Tower."
Luke's expression didn't change, but his mind was working overtime. A mage tower. That meant resources, knowledge, and potentially powerful allies. But it also meant danger. If Solus and Selina were disciples of a magister, their deaths—or disappearance—wouldn't go unnoticed. And if Solus ever made it back to civilization, he'd likely return with reinforcements. Or worse, a full-scale assault.
Luke's thoughts turned grim. Solus was already a risk. There was no way the human wouldn't seek revenge, especially if he'd been close to Selina. And if he brought back a magister or an army of adventurers, the village wouldn't stand a chance.
For a moment, Luke considered his options. Killing Solus would be the simplest solution, but it wouldn't erase the problem. The mage tower would still investigate, and the village would remain a target. Letting him go was out of the question—Solus would undoubtedly return with a bigger catastrophe. That left only one viable option: keep him prisoner, at least for now, and use him for information.
Luke straightened, his expression hardening. "You're not going to die," he said finally, his voice firm. "But you're not leaving either. Not until I say so."
Solus looked up, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and relief. "What… what are you going to do with me?"
"That depends on you," Luke said, his tone icy. "Cooperate, and you'll be treated fairly. Try anything stupid, and you'll regret it."
The human nodded quickly, his fear evident. "I'll cooperate. I swear."
Luke didn't respond. Instead, he turned and left the hut, his mind already racing. Solus was a liability, but he was also a potential asset. If Luke could extract more information from him—about the mage tower, the adventurers, or even the dragon—it might give the village a fighting chance.
But for now, he had more pressing matters to attend to. The river Solus had mentioned was close. If he could find clay there, he could finally build the furnace and start producing better tools. And with better tools, the village might just stand a chance against whatever came next.