Chapter 70
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: 8th Floor - Lv. 195 Fortress Commander (1)
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The God of War and Savagery, who created the Greenskin faction for goblins that no one pays any attention to.
How fortunate.
If it had been the God of War and Death, the goblins' racial affinity for necromancy would have given them a strong foothold—maybe even goblin shaman commanders.
Had it been the God of War and Destruction, we'd have run into goblin suicide bombers, but those are treated as precious ammo, so they're managed meticulously.
Other Greenskins rarely show much interest in the goblins of the God of Savagery, who are little more than a slave class.
We slipped into the fortress without drawing a single sentry's eye, having stashed our bulky gear and gone undercover.
It's called a fortress, but it lacks the crude sturdiness of a human castle.
That much was clear from the outside. Up close inside, it's even worse.
Every direction is a chaotic mess of haphazardly stacked shacks—like a shantytown thrown together on a whim. It's not designed for defense so much as sheer presence.
Did they even design it? Probably not.
To Greenskins, a fortress is more a declaration: "We're here!!! Come at us, you vermin!!!"
Siege defense is the last thing on their minds. It's just a spot where the strong gather, weapons and siege engines get made and stored.
That's the common take.
Once enemies march up to the fortress, Greenskins don't defend—they charge out for open battle.
Honestly, if they weren't the enemy right now, they'd stir the blood with that manly romance vibe on our side.
The ugliness and filth are the entry barrier, but once you get used to it, the thrill hits hard.
But that same filth seemed utterly repulsive to the Girl.
"Do we really have to go this far?"
"Where in the world are you gonna find a clean goblin? Just bear with it a bit. Besides, didn't you run ops outside too?"
"Ugh, but back then they treated us so well. They even assembled and installed showers for us."
"Whoa... Even the army doesn't go that far."
"I was classified as special forces. Not exactly regular army, but that kind of treatment?"
"I get it."
Of course, few Greenskins bother listening in on goblin chatter.
The Girl, who started out hesitant, was soon chattering away freely.
Still, her sour expression showed how much the caked-on mud and grime tormented her.
The Hunter disliked it a little but adapted without issue. The Youngest was less bothered by the dirt and more by having to look up at the world.
Size-wise, it was the biggest difference.
He'd originally been around two meters tall, but now? Maybe 150 cm.
Big for a goblin. The Girl looked under 130 cm.
We trudged along filthy streets. Crowds gathered around orcs yelling and pointing loudly.
An ogre sprawled asleep right on the roadside.
A troll lumbered by with a thudding gait, gnawing on some beast's leg—raw meat, uncooked.
Amid all that, the goblins doing odd jobs here and there barely registered.
The Greenskins' little workers were cleaning (not thoroughly), hauling beast meat, and such.
Sometimes an ogre passing by would snatch it away.
Then they'd slump in disappointment and head off elsewhere.
Our party lugged a pole and a crudely made wooden barrel we'd found discarded in a corner. We looked every bit the crew ordered to clean somewhere.
"No one's even paying attention to us."
"Never tried something like this?"
"I've never even seen a race card, let alone magic at this level."
"Fair enough."
No specific destination. Wandering like this would stir something up eventually.
"Hold it, you lot. Where you headed for work? Kek."
They have society too. Treated like slaves and segregated from the ruling classes above orcs, but where there's a group, there's always a leader.
A somewhat taller, better-dressed goblin halted us.
"New faces. From the south? Kek."
"Yeah. Followed the brigade up."
"Brigade? Stormhowl Brigade? Tough luck."
I'd kept it vague with just "brigade." No word of other brigades nearby, but if he mentioned something else, it'd mean another had pushed north already.
Seemed not, though.
"So why're you here? Kek."
Time to answer carefully.
Coming in, I'd eyed various goblins—some bore fresh battle scars.
Even spotted one who'd been an assassin until very recently.
So the answer:
"Deserted. Kek."
"Whoa, no kidding. Lucky the god didn't notice. Good work."
His attitude shifted a bit. To this world's goblins, assassins must hold that status.
Their one path to climbing ranks, but treated like disposable army supplies.
Unless you're at the pinnacle of goblin assassins, it's thankless service—no rewards, no honors.
Greenskins don't manage gear meticulously anyway, so when death looms, they often desert back to laborer life.
Racial traits vary by individual. Goblins are greedy and combat-oriented like other Greenskins, but arguably the smartest too.
Some follow orders, but plenty play sly like this.
"Heard we're supposed to assault a human castle with just us. So we ran."
"That's messed up. Why do we gotta live like this?"
Good. Perfect.
Probe a little more.
"Everyone died in that assault... Me and my buddies survived, but..."
I caught a flicker of rage in the goblin's eyes, gone in an instant.
Slave classes build quiet resentment, regardless of race.
"Life matters more than merits. Welcome back. You seem sharp—bet you can handle the underlings. I'll put in a word."
He nodded vigorously, eyeing me with admiration.
Probably figured I had some status as an assassin.
Just speaking coherently puts you in the intellectual class among Greenskins.
He'd slot me as a low-level manager, but I'm not sticking around.
The polymorph potion lasts barely a day anyway.
For now, we followed the young goblin who seemed like a mid-level overseer with the party.
The whole Greenskin fortress was already a slum, but the goblin district was especially rough.
If other areas were shantytowns, this was barely roofs—walls? Forget it.
Trolls and ogres standard to roughing it outdoors, so par for the course. Even orcs and goblins, who lean more "civilized," end up like this.
"Harsh conditions."
"Better in the brigade?"
"Nah, about the same."
Spotted what looked like the boss—an old goblin barking orders, bustling about.
Bearded goblins are rare. They usually die first.
Elders get respect everywhere, from every species. Especially goblins, Greenskins who actually grasp wisdom.
The boss goblin glanced our way and paused.
"Don't recognize you. Kek."
"First time in this fortress. With the brigade, we camped outside—never got in."
"Wasn't it raining then? Ex-assassin?"
I nodded silently.
The boss goblin scanned our party one by one. He's overseeing all goblins in a fortress, after all.
More cautious, smarter, knows how to turn his years into power.
I tensed a bit. Things could go south. Gear's stashed outside, so trouble could escalate.
Magically, I'm fully prepped—could escape in a pinch, barely.
The old goblin's sharp gaze swept us.
Lingered a tad longer on me and the Girl. Who knows what he's thinking.
Wondering if I should snap back—then he spoke.
"That female goblin yours? Rare looker, tidy one. Makes sense. Face is what matters for men."
Oh god. That kind of look?
I gave an awkward grin.
Felt the Girl huff beside me.
"Go sit over there. I'll assign work tomorrow—rest today."
The boss goblin waved us off and hustled back to work.
"Can we sightsee the fortress?"
"Hm? Assassin habits die hard? Fine, go ahead. Just stay away from the boss. He's a troll."
"Ew, not going near."
"Smart kid."
Goblins move around so much for various needs that a few unfamiliar faces don't raise alarms.
That day, we genuinely did odd jobs. No clue if the castle fell, but gathering intel inside is crucial.
Not planning a brute-force overthrow, so even more so.
With hulking residents, the fortress sprawled huge. Mostly wood, and it hadn't rained in ages.
Air's dry—fire would catch easy.
Starting a blaze sounds good, but might lack decisive punch.
Greenskins are way tougher physically than humans—fire won't kill 'em.
Trolls aside, ogre hide shrugs off bad burns.
Odd jobs take you all over the fortress.
Swore off the boss's area, but couldn't resist scouting.
Brutal young troll. Memorized his sleeping spot, habits.
Sidekicks' positions too. One-shot 'em all.
Party members used their charms to gauge the mood.
The Girl, who'd recoiled at first, started saying goblins were kinda cute and mingled readily.
Impressive adaptability.
The Youngest flaunted his natural bulk, helping goblins with heavy lifting.
Pretty sociable—fit in easy.
Hunter lent his craftsmanship, aiding in making stuff.
Goblins, who DIY all necessities, found his bow-making fascinating.
Come evening, the goblin boss showed where to sleep. Exhausted from a day of grunt work.
Amid goblins crashing out fast, I asked the party.
"How's it look? Lots of discontent?"
All nodded.
"Wasn't always this crowded, they say. Tons of reinforcements from the south."
"Heard fun stuff! High-ranking goblin assassins among the new troops. They're strutting around, looking down on other goblins. Everyone hates it."
"No one dares defy 'em, though. Born into it, live it. Treatment's so unfair."
Hunter was calm, Girl bubbly.
Youngest seemed pissed—reminded of Earth, probably.
"I sought out the brigade deserter assassins. More than expected."
"What'd they say?"
Pure resentment, naturally. Brigade leader was an orc who treated goblins rough.
Trdongt, being an old orc, hadn't minded.
Young, hot-blooded Trdongts sometimes sided with goblins, sparking revolts.
Trdongt's always got that backstory of growing up in human lands as a kid.
Orc with un-orc-like thinking.
"They pitied hearing the night raid order got carried out anyway."
"Not caught?"
"Almost disaster. 'A goblin like you? Unforgettable,' they said. So later I slathered on mud completely."
Not camo cream—what kinda nonsense.
Can't fathom goblin aesthetics. Girl seemed to get it better.
"From what I saw, Uncle's a handsome goblin flower boy."
"You figured that out already? I'll never get it."
"Well, the confident ones hit on me."
Brief silence, then collective groans.
"Oh god."
"Oof..."
Girl giggled.
"Never been this popular. Guess I'm a goblin beauty."
"Crazy."
Makes sense—strong likes/dislikes, but adaptation's solid. Hard to hate when they fawn eagerly, eyes hopeful.
"Don't worry. I'm Uncle's. Goddess taught me how to act taken—fended 'em off."
"Goddess of Chaos, what're you teaching the kid."
Anyway, confirmed: enough sparks, and unrest could ignite.
Gods of War and Savagery overlook it, but slaves are key to holding troops.
Especially if the god's race is trolls or ogres.
Exiles picking those? Means Greenskin hype got 'em. Goblins usually skip that high.
Rare, but goblin mass uprising with stealth and poison? Devastating.
Just need the trigger. Something to enrage kin, or a heroic goblin.
Add dramatic flair, and it's catalyst enough.
Poached the ex-assassin goblins. They deserted 'cause resentment boiled over.
Time to woo the boss.
Heading to his slightly better digs, the boss goblin turned puzzled when I called him aside quietly.
I activated [Stealth] for the first time in ages as I approached.
The signature effects wrapped me—coiling shadows, amplified with magic for drama.
Not truly hiding—just showy.
Approaching with the moon at my back, I whispered, voice laced with magical echo.
"Hey, you happy wiping troll asses every day?"
The boss goblin's beady eyes went wide as saucers.
"You... some elite assassin?"
The effects alone must make me look insanely badass.