Chapter 4 – There’s a Goblin at the Gates and He’s Wearing a Tie?!

Which was impressive, considering we didn’t have one.

“Kael?” Aria yelled. “What is that bell sound?!”

“That is not a bell, milady,” Kael called back from the courtyard. “That is Gerald. He found a pot and a stick.”

“Who's Gerald?!”

“The goblin at the gate. He’s ringing for entry.”

We arrived at the ruined front gate to find a goblin banging a cooking pot over his head like a helmet. He wore a patchy cloak, a crooked cravat, and a sign around his neck that said:

“Seeking Blacksmith. Will Bribe With Monster Parts.”

He looked up at us and squinted. “Are you the forge freak?”

“Excuse me?” I said.

“You smell like iron. And burnt socks.”

“That’s fair.”

Aria stepped forward. “State your business, creature!”

The goblin gave a dramatic bow. “I am Trog of the Bone-Cracker Clan! I have come to request your services.”

“Request... or rob?”

“Both! But mostly request.”

According to Trog, a giant mole-beast called a Murkburrow had taken over the abandoned mines nearby. The goblins had tried to defeat it with sticks, explosives, and interpretive dance. All failed.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” I asked.

“You are Blacksmith! You make smashy thing! We go smash!”

“I don’t even have armor!”

Trog threw down a pile of scrap.

“Payment up front,” he said. “Golem core. Demon horn. And one rare rock I found in my nose."

I stared at it. It sparkled.

[Rare Material Acquired: Sticky Aether Crystal]

[This is both disgusting and valuable.]

“…Okay, you have my attention.”

Three hours later, I had crafted the ugliest weapon I had ever seen

[You have forged: Molerat Smasher Mk.1]

Aria poked it with a gauntlet. “It’s hideous.”

“It’s functional."

“It looks like a club made by a drunk tree.”

“Exactly.”

The dungeon was awful.

Dripping walls. The smell of wet socks. Something laughed in the dark, but it might have been Trog.

The Murkburrow burst from the ground like a hairy freight train with teeth. Aria charged with her dagger, yelling something about “royal pest extermination.”

Meanwhile, I swung the Molerat Smasher like a baseball bat.

CRUNCH.

The mole-beast went down with a squeal and a puff of dirt

I panted, leaning on the club. “I feel like I just beat up an angry rug.”

“You saved the mines,” Aria said, panting. “That’s important. The old kingdom ran on those.”

Trog clapped. “Hooray! Kingdom not useless!”

Aria gave him a sideways look. “We’re rebuilding, you know.”

He shrugged. “Still useless right now.”

That night, Aria brought me a plate of dinner.

It was toast. Burnt on one side. Possibly poisoned.

But still... dinner.

“Thanks,” I said.

She sat next to me, arms crossed. “That weapon was still ugly.”

“I’ll make you something pretty later.”

“…You better.”

She didn’t smile, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

The forge flickered in the night, and the castle—haunted, broken, loud—felt just a bit more like home.