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Goblin Chapter 277: Lord of the Mine
🕑 Added 2025-10-22 09:07:56 +0000 UTCTo be honest, Gauss had seen many monster lairs by now.
But setting numbers aside, this kobold town was the most “properly” laid out he’d seen—rough and chaotic, yet maintaining a peculiar order, a kind of savage vitality.
A simple road ran before him. Many kobolds walked along it. Their ranks were easy to tell at a glance: common kobolds were thin, with dull scales; elite warriors were much bulkier—several sizes larger—wearing iron armor.
Some special kobolds rode giant lizards, darting quickly along the main way. These riders, instead of heavy armor, wore soft robes; when they passed, the small common kobolds on either side gave way and lowered their heads.
The hierarchy was ironclad.
Through the spider’s eyes, Gauss quietly watched the monster town. In cracks along the roadside, the controlled spider hopped nimbly, dodging kobold claws from above.
Soon it passed several zones and the food sources became clear: dense beds of mosses and fungi in big plots; in other sunken pits, hordes of black crawling grubs and rats were being raised as reserves. Kobolds were tossing fodder into the pits as Gauss watched.
It also looked like his earlier guess—that the kobolds weren’t going outside—might be wrong. Wagons rumbled by on the road with timber, beasts, and other supplies. Clearly they had hidden exits for forays.
The more he saw, the more he felt the master of this nest was no simple creature. How else do you keep such wild monsters in line?
Before he knew it, he’d crossed the outskirts and reached the inner zone.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
At the forges, kobold smiths hammered glowing billets into tools and weapons. Finished goods sat nearby—not refined, but the cold shine on the edges was deadly enough: knives, crude shortswords, spearheads, piles of arrows, pick heads, trap parts, ingots—plenty of variety. Kobolds’ other famed skill besides mining is smithing. Unlike humans or dwarves, they don’t chase craft or beauty—only utility, using their instinctive sense for ore and metal quality, rough-smelting with heat and hammer.
Give a kobold tribe a vein and a fire, and basic smelting/forging will follow—so innate it’s like a bloodline trait.
The pity is… their other nature is hating sapient beings—despising all other humanoids, with a tilt toward cruelty. They worship the strong, especially dragons. That makes them a built-in threat to humans—an enemy camp by default.
Gauss’s mind skimmed through kobold lore as his gaze fixed on the near-mountain of ore and arms: a nest that enforces “lockdown,” keeps internal order, and stockpiles weapons, ore, ingots.
To what end? What was the leader planning?
Raid Gold & Silver Town? Quietly stockpiling for a later campaign?
From what he had, he couldn’t say. A mysterious fog seemed to hang over the whole place. It was too calm—so unlike a monster nest that only when he’d passed the slaughtering pens and seen butchers go blood-mad had he glimpsed the usual brutality.
“Rrrah rrrah!” several kobolds barked. Curious, the spider scooted closer. A ring of smiths huddled around a rock. In the cracked husk, a crystal-clear mana stone gleamed—egg-sized, high quality, a fiery red hue with a fire-aspect thrum.
“Nice. A good piece,” Gauss thought. A natural crystal like that would fetch dozens of gold, at least. The kobolds’ eyes lit up too; excited yips spilled out. Kobolds have an irresistible urge to hoard coins, gems—anything that sparkles—just like dragons.
Just as Gauss figured they’d pocket it, they instead called others over. A kobold shaman rode up on a giant monitor, bearing a burning white candle. The smiths fell prone as it entered. It chattered at them, then picked up the red crystal.
A shame Gauss only had the spider’s vision shared—no Comprehend Languages like this. He wanted to hear what had them stirred.
Under the shining eyes of the smiths, the shaman turned with its guards and set off toward the center. Gauss bounced the spider twice—he didn’t see why they were so thrilled. They looked like sad corporate drones in his old world who’d been promised the moon—hyped even after the boss left.
He hitched a ride on the shaman’s robe, then onto the monitor’s back. With so little mana poured into this tiny body, he had to ration.
The monitor left the smoky forges and headed toward the core, unimpeded. This shaman had priority—common kobolds, elites, even other lizard riders all made way. The mount was the largest of the lot.
On this “top-tier limo,” Gauss reached the heart. Unlike the dim outskirts lit only by moss, the core was bright and open, with no cramped buildings.
The glowing moss above had been cultivated and transplanted to give a warmer, golden light—like permanent sunset. The floor had been laid with neat stone bricks. Elite kobolds and sharply dressed shamans clustered here, their faces lit with fanatic zeal.
If Gauss had had a heart, it would have slammed—he sensed the nest’s secret was about to break the surface. He scrambled onto the shaman’s robe and hid in a fold, peeking through seams.
Every kobold here bent low—even the haughty shamans—like servants before their lord.
So… who was “lord” here?
Swaying with the shaman’s stride, he felt the slope rising—and heat. He could sense the spider’s other feelings: temperature climbing fast—hotter than the forges. Heat welled up from below—geothermal vents? Not comfortable for kobolds—cold-blooded, unlike warm-blooded dragons. They need moderate climates.
So what was this?
His curiosity burned—like nearing the true “boss.”
“Come on—hold together,” he urged the spider’s dwindling mana. Thought burned energy too—he emptied his mind and let the body move.
The shaman’s tremors grew with every step inward and upward, clutching the crystal. It lowered its proud head; heat soaked its scales—but it reveled in it. Its heart hammered.
Finally, it topped a low hill: a flat, walled platform. The ground lay strewn with shiny objects—metal bits, pretty stones that might be worthless—but in sheer volume, impressive. In the center sat a true hoard: gold ingots, loose silver, gemstones, a few mana crystals.
Gauss guided the spider out from the robe. The shaman prostrated and placed the red crystal on the heap. The “treasure” avalanched. A dark-red scaled claw shot from the shadow of the hoard and snatched the rolling crystal—thick-jointed, red-tipped talons.
The hoard’s owner stirred; sound grew and a red shape rose, lifting its upper body.
Gauss’s pupils jolted wide through the spider’s eyes.
A powerful beast, armored in red scales—not smooth like a serpent’s but rough like cooling lava, ridged and menacing. Under the golden moss glow, it radiated a crushing presence. A thick, graceful neck; a brutal head with a long muzzle studded in spines; horns along the skull; vertical dark-gold pupils cold and impatient—yet when it gazed at the crystal in its claws, a flicker of fondness and possessiveness.
It stepped out of the hoard—massive limbs set firm, a heavy tail swiping gems aside. Body alone, not counting neck and tail, roughly the size of a car.
“Rrraah!”
A pleased growl; sulfurous white vapor wafted from its nostrils—like a micro volcano simmered beneath its skin.
Unease pricked Gauss’s excitement. Was this… a juvenile red dragon?
The raw power and beauty slammed him—terrifying, precious, unexpected—backing the kobolds, and yet… in such a foul place?
Where was the dam?
The red roared again; heat blasted from mouth and nose. No… He narrowed on its movements—something was off.
This wasn’t a red dragon.
It was a drake.
