Chapter 25: The Unwilling

A collective gasp rippled through the gathered goblins, their eyes widening as they stared at me in disbelief.

I simply nodded, completely unbothered by their reaction.

"I also ate the ogres," I replied. "You left that part out."

The murmurs immediately grew louder, and while some goblins looked merely unsettled, others stared at me with outright horror.

Gunther was fuming.

Before he could continue, Talia spoke up, her voice calm and composed despite the tension hanging over the gathering.

"The law doesn’t say anything about eating corpses. It’s not that big of a deal."

Gunther’s head snapped toward her, his expression hardening.

"And what if the humans find out? What if they saw him?" he shot back, his voice rising with every word. "Do you think they’ll believe he wasn’t the one who killed them? His actions put every goblin at risk! Don’t you understand that?"

The atmosphere instantly grew heavy.

Then Orgrun’s golden eyes settled on me.

I flinched.

His gaze carried an overwhelming weight, as though an entire mountain had been placed on my shoulders, making it difficult to breathe.

Was he about to sentence me to death?

Or worse... turn me to ash where I stood?

Orgrun’s lips slowly curled into a grin, the expression spreading across his weathered face as though a long forgotten possibility had suddenly become real.

"He really might be the chosen one."

The words struck the village like a bolt of lightning.

Every goblin froze where they stood, and for a heartbeat, the entire clearing fell into stunned silence.

Gunther looked as though someone had smacked him across the face with a club.

His mouth opened and closed several times as he struggled to find the right words, but all that escaped was a confused sputter.

The rest of the goblins weren’t any better. Eyes widened, jaws hung open, and hushed curses rippled through the crowd as they exchanged disbelieving glances.

Gunther’s expression hardened, his pride clearly stung, and he drew a sharp breath, ready to argue. Before he could utter a single word, however, Talia stepped forward, her voice cutting cleanly through the murmurs.

"He has the skin traits, Chief. And the prophecy spoke of a goblin marked by hunger. What more proof do we need?"

I stiffened at the words.

Marked by hunger?

That sounded a little too on the nose for comfort, especially when my stomach was already grumbling despite everything I had eaten throughout the day.

Before I could dwell on it any longer, the goblins around me grew increasingly restless, their voices rising into a chaotic mix of excitement, disbelief, and outright hostility.

The noise swelled until it threatened to drown out everything else.

Then...

BANG!

Orgrun slammed his staff into the ground with enough force to send a ripple through the earth beneath our feet.

The booming impact echoed across the village, and in an instant, every voice fell silent.

He let the silence linger, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the thick tree root beneath him while his golden eyes remained fixed on me, burning with something impossible to read.

When he finally spoke, his voice carried effortlessly across the gathering.

"It is true that our legends speak of a goblin who will restore magic to our people. One born from struggle. One who takes the strength of others to make it his own."

His gaze settled squarely on me.

"Tell me, Sylas... does that describe you?"

My jaw tightened.

It did.

Every word matched me a little too well.

My innate skill allowed me to grow stronger by taking the abilities of others, making the old prophecy sound less like a legend and more like a description of my life.

But...

"Sorry," I said, my voice firm. "I’m not your savior."

The shift in the atmosphere was instant.

Orgrun let out a slow, weary breath, like a teacher forced to explain the same lesson to a particularly stubborn student.

"You reject the notion."

"Of course I reject it," I snapped, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. "I don’t believe in destiny, prophecies, or any of that nonsense. You think I’m some divine hero sent to fix your problems? I’m not. I’m just trying to survive."

My words rippled through the gathering, drawing a mixture of reactions from the goblins around us.

A few scowled openly, their expressions hardening as though I’d insulted something sacred, while others simply exchanged uncertain glances, no longer sure what to believe.

Gunther looked pissed. Again. Honestly, the guy needed to make up his mind.

One moment he insisted I wasn’t the Chosen One, and the next he looked offended that I didn’t want to be. Pick a lane already.

Orgrun, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more different.

The old goblin simply sat there in silence, calm and composed, watching me with an expression that made it seem as though he’d expected this answer from the very beginning.

"You say you do not believe in fate," he mused, his deep voice as steady as ever, "yet fate has brought you here."

I snorted. "No... it was more like a series of really bad decisions."

That earned me another quiet chuckle from the old goblin.

A low, gravelly chuckle escaped him, the kind that sounded as though he hadn’t laughed in years.

Yet there was no disappointment in his eyes, no trace of frustration over my refusal.

If anything, the old goblin looked genuinely amused.

"I am an old goblin, Sylas," he said, leaning forward slightly. "I do not have much time left. But before I pass, I wish to see magic return to my people."

"Yeah, still not interested," I replied without a second’s hesitation.

Orgrun let out a quiet sigh, disappointment flickering across his face before he looked at me with calm, heavy eyes. "Why?" he asked softly. "Do you not wish for our kind to thrive once more?"

I clenched my jaw and held his gaze. "I do," I replied without hesitation. "But if you’re not willing to resort to aggression toward humans, then the grand dream is unattainable."

Orgrun smiled.

It wasn’t a smirk born of mockery or the grin of someone amused. It was slow, calm, and strangely knowing, the smile of someone who had expected this answer from the very beginning.

He turned to Talia, not a hint of doubt in his eyes.

"He is the chosen one after all."

My scowl deepened.

Somehow, everything I said to deny this ridiculous prophecy only seemed to convince him even more.

I threw my hands up in frustration.

"How many times do I have to say it? I am not who you think I am."

Orgrun didn’t so much as flinch.

"Perhaps," he replied, his voice as steady as ever, "but the winds of fate do not care what you believe."

I clenched my jaw, staring at him in disbelief.

That sounded like complete bullshit to me.

I wasn’t some grand hero.

I was a coward, someone who ran away whenever life got hard. Then I died a pathetic death, alone and forgotten. And now these people expected me to carry the future of an entire race on my shoulders?

Yeah... no.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet, every muscle in my body tensing as dozens of glowing eyes remained fixed on me.

The weight of their stares made my skin crawl, and the longer I stood there, the more suffocating I felt.

"I need some air," I muttered, about to take a step.

But the instant I moved, Gunther sprang to his feet like a coiled spring, his spear snapping into his hands as he blocked my path. His grip tightened around the shaft, his expression hard and unreadable.

"A stranger like you doesn’t just get to roam around."

His stance remained rigid; every muscle tensed as though he was ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Orgrun, however, simply raised a hand, stopping him before he could do anything.

"It’s fine, Gunther. Let him."

Gunther hesitated, his grip tightening around his spear.

"But..."

"It’s our fault for dropping such a heavy burden on him," Orgrun said quietly, his gaze following me. "He needs time alone."

Gunther let out a sharp breath through his nose, but eventually relented, lowering his spear without another word.

I didn’t look back. Turning away, I wandered deeper into the village, my feet carrying me wherever they pleased as I strolled aimlessly through the unfamiliar streets, not caring where I was going.

But even as I walked, a thought gnawed at the back of my mind.

Was this all just a setup? Had those divine beings planned everything from the very beginning, throwing me into this world as some twisted way of forcing me to live a more "productive" life than I had in my previous one?

If that was their idea... then I had to admit, it was surprisingly thoughtful of them.

But yeah...

Like I said earlier: I’ll pass.