Chapter 386 No one noticed the goblin in need, only his captors.

As the night deepened, the crackling of the campfire softened to a gentle murmur, its glow casting long shadows across the quiet campsite. The adventurers on guard stood vigilant, their sharp eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of trouble. David and Olivia sat by the campfire, chatting. Beyond the flickering light, the forest stretched endlessly, its depths filled with the sounds of rustling leaves, distant hoots of owls, and the occasional chirping of unseen insects.

Later that night, David had finally given in to exhaustion and retreated to his small tent. His sword lay within arm’s reach, his breathing steady and deep as he took a much-needed nap. Even in rest, his face was creased with the faint tension of a man always ready to wake at the first sign of danger.

Meanwhile, in the creaky wooden wagon, the lone goblin remained awake. He was curled up in the corner, his frail body resting against rough planks, the cold floor offering little comfort. He didn’t seem to mind—his focus was elsewhere.

His bony fingers traced gentle circles over his bloated belly, his sharp nails scratching lightly against his stretched green skin. His breathing was soft, rhythmic, as he murmured in hushed whispers.

His yellow eyes gleamed in the dimness as he spoke, his tone filled with a love so raw and pure it almost ached. He cradled his belly as if it were already full of newborns, rocking slightly, humming a tune only he knew.

“My little ones… my precious ones… Shhh, it’s okay… no need to be afraid… papa is here. I will keep you safe, yes, I will, my sweet ones. Yes, I will. You will be good… you will have a good life. No cages, no whip, no hunger, no pain… I promise you…”

He sniffled, rubbing his face against his arm before gently stroking his belly again. The goblin curled in on himself tighter, his frail fingers splaying protectively over his swollen belly. The night air was crisp, sneaking in through the cracks of the wooden wagon, but he barely noticed. His focus was solely on the warmth beneath his touch—the tiny, fragile eggs growing inside him.

His breath trembled as he whispered, his voice carrying all the love his weary heart could muster.

“My sweet little ones… my perfect, precious hatchlings… you must be hungry soon, yes?” 

His thin fingers traced careful circles over the taut skin of his belly.

 “It is a long journey, but you are not to hatch yet… too soon... Papa will keep you inside for a bit longer. Grow big and healthy, with big ears. Shhh, little ones. Not yet, not yet… Papa knows you are eager, but the world outside is cold, and you are still so small.”

His claws—gentle, so gentle—danced along the taut skin, following the faint press of tiny limbs turning in their fragile shells. A soft chuckle escaped him as one particularly restless hatchling kicked, the motion sending ripples across his belly.

"Ah! Strong one, aren’t you?" He pressed a palm over the spot, as if to soothe. 

"But patience, little one. Grow big first. Grow strong. You will have Papa’s ears, yes? Big and fine, to hear all the secrets of the world. And Papa will teach you… teach you the safe paths, the quiet places, where the bad things cannot find you."

A small, shaky smile flickered over his lips, only to fade just as quickly. His throat tightened, his yellow eyes glistening in the dim light of the moon filtering through the gaps in the wagon.

“I know… I know it is scary,” he murmured, his voice cracking as he sniffled.

 “I am scared too… But you must not worry. The world we go to… it will be better, yes? It must be better…”

His chest hitched, and he swallowed thickly, pressing his forehead against his belly as if to shield his unborn children from the cold, from the loneliness, from the fear clawing at his heart.

“They will treat you right. Not like me… not like your kin before you. No cages, no hunger, no pain. You will have warmth, food, care…” 

His breath hitched. 

“I—I will not be there, but… but you will be happy, won’t you?”

A choked little sob escaped his throat before he could stop it, and he bit down on his knuckles to silence himself. He couldn’t let the humans hear him crying. He couldn’t show weakness. Not now.

Tears slipped down his sunken cheeks, but still, he cradled his belly with all the tenderness in the world.

“I love you. I love you so much,” he whispered, "So, so much… more than anything. I would give you the world if I could, but this… this is all I can do for you.”

The wagon creaked softly as he shifted, rocking himself gently, humming a tune—a lullaby, broken and off-key, but filled with so much aching love. The night carried on, the stars shining above like distant, unfeeling gods. But within the cold wooden walls of the wagon, one lonely goblin held onto his last shred of hope, whispering sweet promises to the children who would never know his face.

Suddenly, the wagon began to shake violently. In the midst of the goblin’s tender murmurs and soft lullabies, a piercing scream tore through the calm night air, shattering the fragile peace that had settled over the caravan.

Before the goblin could react, rough hands reached in, grabbing him by the throat. His body was jerked violently, fingers closing around his neck like iron chains, pulling him from the comfort of his hard, cold corner.

“W-What—?!” The goblin barely had time to gasp before his feet were ripped from under him, and he was thrown onto the unforgiving ground, his swollen belly sloshing painfully with the sudden movement. The air left his lungs in a desperate exhale as his body collided with the ground, his face scraping against the dirt and gravel.

Pain flared through his chest and stomach, and a strangled cry escaped his lips. His body trembled violently, not just from the rough handling, but from sheer fear—panic flooding his veins like ice. His fragile fingers pressed against his belly instinctively, protecting it.

"Please!" His voice was weak, trembling with the weight of fear and desperation. His breath came in gasps, and he squinted up through the haze of terror to see shadows looming above him. The faces of rough men—bandits—grew clearer in the moonlight, twisted with greed and malice. 

The goblin groaned, his body aching as he forced his eyes open. His vision was blurry from the pain, but he could make out flickering torches, the gleam of steel, and the chaotic movement of figures all around him. He squinted, trying to focus, and what he saw made his heart sink into his stomach.

The camp was in complete disarray. Bandits—dozens of them—swarmed the wagons like starving wolves. They were everywhere, grabbing anything that wasn’t nailed down: crates of food, sacks of coin, even weapons left unattended. They moved quick, stuffing their loot into ragged bags before dashing back toward the treeline.

The adventurers Larry had hired were fighting back, blades flashing in the moonlight, their shouts ringing through the night air. Steel clashed against steel, sparks flying as swords met in fierce combat. Arrows zipped through the camp, some finding their marks, others burying themselves in the wooden wagons or the cold dirt.

David and Olivia were in the thick of it, sword in hand, cutting down bandits who got too close. David's face was set in a grim expression, his movements sharp and efficient, but he was outnumbered. Every time he struck one down, another took their place. Olivia on the other hand wore a calm smile as she cleaved through the bandits.  

But no one noticed the goblin in need, only his captors.

Not far from the chaos, the other caravan travelers huddled together near a wagon, too terrified to move. Their eyes were wide with fear, their bodies trembling as they watched the fight unfold. They were defenseless—merchants, traders, common folk caught in the storm.

A sharp, burning pain shot through the goblin’s skull as rough hands seized his long, sensitive ears and yanked him forward. He barely had time to yelp before his captors took off running, dragging him along like a sack of grain.

His bare feet scraped against the dirt, kicking up dust and twigs as he stumbled. He clawed at their hands, his short nails scratching uselessly at the calloused fingers that held him. His swollen belly, heavy with eggs, bounced painfully against the uneven ground, every jolt sending fresh waves of agony through his body. Rocks, roots, and broken branches scraped his skin, leaving behind cuts and bruises as he was yanked deeper into the forest.

After distancing away from the caravan, they let go of the goblin. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his distended belly sloshing painfully as he hit the dirt.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” one of the attackers sneered. He was a burly man with a scarred face and a cruel grin. 

“Looks like we caught ourselves a disgusting goblin and a breeder at that. Ain’t that right, boys?”

The others laughed, their voices harsh and mocking as they circled the goblin like wolves closing in on wounded prey. The goblin tried to scramble to his feet, but a boot slammed into his side, sending him sprawling back to the ground.

“Where do you think you’re going, little rat?” another attacker jeered, kicking him again, this time in the ribs. The goblin cried out, curling in on himself as pain shot through his body.

“Look at this thing,” the first attacker said, crouching down to grab the goblin by the chin. He forced the goblin’s head up, his grip tight enough to bruise. 

“Pathetic. You’re nothing but a walking egg sack. Disgusting goblin. Just look at that ugly egg sack, he will make even more freaks like him soon.”

The goblin’s breath came in gasps, his hands instinctively moving to cover his swollen belly. The attackers noticed and laughed, their voices cruel and taunting.

"Oh, would you look at that! He’s trying to protect his precious eggs!” one of them mocked, kicking the goblin in the gut. The goblin gagged, his body convulsing as pain radiated through his abdomen.

“Better cover them up good, little rat,” another attacker sneered, delivering another brutal kick to the same spot. 

“Wouldn’t want them to break, now, would you?”