God Agent: All Hail The Great Kobold

At the village square of the Ashmork Clan, hundreds of goblins had gathered for what was undoubtedly the most important event the village had faced in years. The wide open space at the center of the settlement was packed with warriors, workers, and elders, all of them speaking in low voices as they watched the candidates waiting near the front.

The atmosphere was tense enough that even the usual noise of the village seemed to have faded into the background.

Several young figures sat on makeshift thrones carved from thick pieces of wood and decorated with animal fur, bones, and strips of dyed leather.

Loki, Grash’s oldest son, sat on one with his arms resting heavily against the sides of his seat, his expression filled with the same confidence he had worn since arriving at the square.

On another throne sat Kai, watching everything with a much quieter expression. Molu, the son of Rok and the current leader of the Ashin tribe faction, occupied another seat, while Crow, the son of Tulin of the Dar tribe, occupied the final throne.

At the center of the gathering stood a wooden platform that had clearly been constructed for speeches. It was little more than several thick planks nailed together and raised above the ground, but from there, whoever stood upon it could be seen by nearly everyone in the village square.

Behind the candidates, warriors belonging to their respective tribes stood in groups with weapons close at hand. Some leaned against spears while others rested their hands on the hilts of swords and axes. The sight made Kia increasingly uncomfortable.

She observed the gathering with a worried expression hidden beneath the shadow of her hood. Every faction had brought warriors. Every candidate had people prepared to support them. If the election did not go smoothly, there was a very real possibility that the Ashmork Clan would descend into chaos before the kobolds even had the opportunity to attack.

The thought made her fingers tighten beneath her sleeves.

Varg slowly approached the platform with the support of his cane. The murmuring gradually faded as everyone turned toward him, patiently watching the old goblin climb the wooden steps. His movements were slow, but nobody dared interrupt him. When he finally reached the center of the platform, he turned and allowed his gaze to move across the hundreds of faces waiting below.

"I’ll start by reaffirming the news that was brought to us some days ago," Varg said, his old voice carrying farther than many expected. "Chief Grash is dead. Killed in battle by the very kobolds that left corpses outside our walls."

A wave of unease immediately passed through the crowd. Goblins began whispering to one another and exchanging worried glances as the reality of those words settled into their minds once again.

Grash had been more than a chieftain to the people of the Ashmork Clan. To many of them, he had been an almost mythical figure. He was the warrior who had led them through conflicts, expanded their influence, and turned their once fractured people into one of the strongest forces in the eastern region. After Goresh’s death, the tribes had unanimously chosen him to become the next chieftain, and for more than a decade, their decision had repeatedly proven correct.

Now he was gone.

The fact that his killers were somewhere beyond their walls only made the situation worse.

Varg calmly raised one palm, and the crowd gradually fell silent. His influence within the village was different from Grash’s. Grash commanded respect through strength. Varg commanded it through history. He had accompanied both Goresh and Grash through multiple expeditions, survived wars that had killed countless goblins, and played a major role in the formation and continued survival of the village during its earliest years.

There were goblins in the crowd whose parents had fought beside him. Others had grown up listening to stories about his exploits.

"But do not be discouraged," Varg continued once silence returned. "Grash has been many things, but he was never weak. Even if he suffered defeat, the enemy must have suffered heavy losses at his hands. The message those barbarians left outside our walls is merely a ploy to hide their weakness."

Loki frowned as he listened. His gaze briefly shifted toward Molu, and the dissatisfaction in his expression immediately deepened. The obese goblin was seated comfortably with a chicken thigh in one hand, his cheeks puffed as he chewed. Oil covered his lips, and small remnants of meat clung to his lips. Molu appeared entirely unconcerned with the angry look Loki was giving him.

Loki’s gaze then moved toward Crow.

Crow was completely different from the other candidates. He was a bald but heavily muscular hobgoblin who stood nearly five feet tall, making him noticeably larger than most of the goblins present. A black wolf fur coat hung loosely over his shoulders while his arms remained folded across his chest. Unlike Loki, who seemed eager to prove himself to everyone watching, Crow simply observed the Varg in silence.

When Loki realized that none of the other candidates intended to speak, he scoffed and turned back toward Varg.

"Old man, what do you know about war?" Loki hissed.

A few goblins in the crowd immediately stiffened. Even Kia’s eyes narrowed beneath her hood.

Before Varg could answer, Crow’s voice rang out from the side. "More than you will ever know."

Loki’s head snapped toward him, and his gaze immediately turned murderous. "You bastard, what did you say to me?"

Molu began chuckling as though the entire argument was happening solely for his entertainment. He tore another piece of meat from the chicken in his hand before casually speaking with his mouth still partly full.

"Well, Varg has been in seven expeditions and five wars. He won all of them. How many have you been in?"

Loki’s expression twisted.

He abruptly stood up from his throne, but his sudden movement did not seem to bother anyone present. Several warriors behind him immediately straightened, though they did not draw their weapons.

"Enough. Pay attention, everyone!" Kia scolded.

Loki frowned at her, clearly irritated by the interruption, but he forced himself to remain quiet. As the chief shaman, Kia’s influence in the election would be extremely important. He could not afford to openly antagonize her before the votes had even been cast. Begrudgingly, he sat back down and folded his arms across his chest while staring ahead.

Varg did not seem annoyed by the interruption at all. He simply continued speaking as though nothing had happened.

"If the enemy had the numbers, they would have besieged us directly, taking advantage of the element of surprise. Instead, they chose to use fear to force us into making a mistake. They want us angry. They want us to abandon these walls and chase them into unfamiliar territory. There is no reason to panic."

Several goblins gasped quietly as they considered his words. The logic was simple, but fear had prevented many of them from thinking about it clearly.

Loki watched the crowd carefully as thoughtful expressions appeared across many faces. Several goblins nodded in agreement with Varg’s reasoning, while even Molu and Crow seemed willing to accept the old shaman’s analysis.

"But that does not mean we are safe," Varg continued. "The enemy is still out there, and we do not know their numbers or their intentions. For that reason, we need to elect a new chieftain who will unite our forces and put up a valiant defense against these invaders."

The crowd became quiet again.

"I know many of you would prefer that we wait until Tulin returns with his army," Varg said. "Unfortunately, we do not have that time. A village without a chieftain becomes a body without a head. We need to move decisively. So today, I have brought before you our candidates for chieftain, and I beseech all of you to listen carefully to what they have to say. Decide for yourselves who is worthy to continue the legacy of Grash."

The crowd immediately erupted into loud cheers and applause. Warriors struck their weapons against their shields while villagers raised their hands and shouted the names of the candidates they supported. Varg slowly stepped down from the platform, allowing the younger generation to take control of the gathering.

Before anyone else could move, Loki jumped to his feet.

He walked toward the platform with the confidence of someone who had been waiting for this moment since Grash’s death was announced. The crowd reacted immediately. Many goblins cheered and clapped at his boldness. Loki might have been hot headed and disrespectful, but nobody could doubt his strength. He had followed closely in Grash’s footsteps, and over the years, he had repeatedly proven himself in one on one duels.

He had defeated every one of Grash’s most skilled commanders. When Grash was alive, Loki had been considered the second strongest warrior in the village.

Now, with Grash gone, there was little doubt in most people’s minds that Loki was the strongest.

Standing on the podium, Loki allowed the cheering to continue. A cocky smile spread across his lips as he looked across the sea of goblins. He enjoyed the attention. He enjoyed hearing his name shouted by the people below. Only after nearly a minute did he raise his hand.

The crowd gradually fell silent.

"Who else can carry on the legacy of a father if not his son?" Loki asked as he threw his arms apart with a confident smile.

The village square erupted again.

Loki’s smile widened.

"Is it him?" he asked as he pointed toward Molu. "The fat coward who has never picked up a spear, stuffs his face with food every moment, and always hides behind his warriors?"

Molu stopped chewing. For the first time since the gathering began, his lazy expression disappeared. His eyes narrowed as he slowly placed the chicken thigh down beside his throne.

Loki then turned toward Crow.

"Or is it him? The failed warrior who lost to me and decided to embrace magic to hide his shortcomings?"

Crow’s eyes hardened, but he did not react. His expression remained controlled, though several warriors behind him exchanged dark looks.

Loki walked forward until he stood at the very edge of the podium. From there, he could look down at the hundreds of goblins gathered beneath him. He spread his hands apart and wore the same cocky grin.

"Or will you entrust your lives to the greatest warrior of this village and the eldest son of the greatest warrior in the entirety of the Goblin race?!!!"

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The village square exploded with excitement.

Warriors belonging to the Mok tribe immediately began banging their spears against their shields. The repeated impacts spread across the square, growing louder as more warriors joined them. The noise created a breathtaking pressure that shook through the gathering and even caught Kia off guard. Goblins shouted Loki’s name while others raised their fists into the air, completely swept away by his confidence.

Loki stood proudly at the center of it all, his chest raised as though the position of chieftain had already been placed in his hands.

Below the podium, Varg quietly watched him with a small smile.

Loki was not Grash.

He was inferior to his father in both strength and character, and Varg knew that better than almost anyone. But he was still Grash’s son, and over the years, he had repeatedly proven that the blood of the greatest warrior in the Ashmork Clan had not been wasted.

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