My planet is infested with Goblins

Dawn arrived over the western forest beneath a sky the color of old ash. The rain that had begun during the final moments of the massacre had continued through most of the night, smothering the flames that consumed the abandoned hunting lodge and turning the clearing into a field of black mud. Charred beams leaned against one another where the structure had once stood, while broken spears, blood-darkened arrows, and abandoned knives littered the ground between the bodies.

Chief Drok remained in the clearing long after the fighting ended.

A strip of cloth had been wrapped around the cut on his forearm where Vargan’s knife had reached him. The wound was shallow, but it burned whenever rainwater found its way beneath the bandage. He ignored it as he watched his warriors move among the dead.

"Turn every body over and identify them before we leave," Drok ordered. "Their families will be told who died here."

His warriors obeyed without much enthusiasm.

The excitement of victory had disappeared with the darkness. In daylight, the dead no longer resembled enemies charging from a burning lodge. They were hunters who had shared meals with Drok’s soldiers, elders who had watched some of them grow up, and warriors who had once defended the same settlement walls.

Brok lay near the rear of the ruined lodge surrounded by several dead warriors. Kragg’s body had been pulled from beneath part of the collapsed roof. Tar remained where three spears had brought him down during his attempt to reach Drok.

Vargan lay farther away.

The old elder’s body rested on its back, his remaining good eye closed by one of Drok’s guards. The chipped spearhead he had carried as a symbol of the First Chief had been recovered from the mud and placed beside him.

Drok stared at the elder.

Vargan had been wrong, but he had not been entirely foolish. The old hunter had seen the tribe changing and feared what those changes would eventually mean. He had simply decided that bloodshed was preferable to losing the world he understood.

A guard approached with six bound goblins.

They were among those who had surrendered before the lodge burned completely. Their weapons had been taken, and their wrists were tied with rawhide. None of them looked directly at Drok.

One of the guards raised his spear. "What should we do with them, Chief?"

The prisoner’s body stiffened.

Drok looked at their faces one by one. None of them had been leaders. They had attended Vargan’s meetings and sworn themselves to the coup, but they had thrown down their weapons before the final charge.

"Take them back alive," Drok said. "They will lose their hunting rank and their right to lead bands, but they will not be killed."

Several of his warriors exchanged surprised looks.

One of the prisoners finally raised his head. "You are sparing us?"

"You surrendered when you were given the chance. If I kill every goblin who listened to Vargan, I will spend the next ten years killing their brothers, sons, and friends as well."

The prisoner lowered his gaze again.

Drok looked toward the bodies surrounding the clearing. "Enough blood has been spilled."

High above the forest, Noah observed the decision with interest.

He had expected the massacre to harden Drok’s resolve. Instead, the chief seemed to understand something Vargan had failed to recognize. The tribe was now too large for every disagreement to end in extermination. A ruler who answered every challenge with death would eventually unite the entire settlement against himself.

Drok was learning politics as quickly as the tribe itself.

By midmorning, the warriors began to return.

The dead conspirators were carried on wooden frames or dragged behind improvised sleds. The prisoners walked between armed guards. No victorious songs accompanied the procession.

They reached the central settlement shortly before midday.

The news had arrived before them.

Hundreds of goblins crowded near the main gate. Farmers still carrying digging tools stood beside craftsmen with soot on their arms. Hunters watched silently from beneath the palisade, while families searched the returning group for familiar faces.

The first scream came when a female recognized Brok.

Relatives pushed forward until guards formed a line to keep the road clear. Anger spread almost as quickly as grief.

"You killed them all!" an elderly hunter shouted.

Another goblin raised his fist toward Drok. "Is this what happens to anyone who argues with the chief?"

Drok stopped before the settlement gate.

His guards immediately moved around him, but he motioned them aside.

"Bring the prisoners forward."

The six surviving conspirators were pushed into view.

The crowd quieted somewhat.

Drok climbed onto an empty grain cart so that those farther back could see him.

"Vargan did not die because he disagreed with me," Drok said. "He died because he gathered armed hunters and planned to seize and destroy our way of life."

Murmurs spread through the crowd.

Several hunters shouted that Drok was lying.

"Their plan was to wait until the grain caravan left with my strongest warriors. They intended to take control of the settlement while our defenses were weakened. They planned to force me from power, and if I refused, they intended to kill me."

Drok pointed toward the prisoners.

"Ask those who surrendered whether any of that is false."

Every eye turned toward them.

For several uncomfortable breaths, none answered.

Then one prisoner swallowed and spoke. "Vargan planned to take the stores and the gate."

A woman near the front shouted, "Did the chief offer you surrender?"

The prisoner hesitated before nodding.

"He told us to throw down our weapons and come out."

The anger in the crowd did not disappear, but it the vlame was changed. Hunters who had been ready to accuse Drok now looked uncertainly at one another.

Drok continued before anyone could regain control of the gathering.

"I will not tell you that last night was good. Goblins who should have defended this tribe killed one another because a simple argument became a rebellion. Vargan believed the tribe was abandoning the old ways. He had the right to believe that. Nonetheless, he did not have the right to place a knife against every throat in this settlement to force the rest of us to agree."

A broad hunter near the gate stepped forward. "Then who betrayed him?"

The question drew immediate attention.

Drok had expected it.

"Someone Vargan approached warned me."

"Who was it?"

"I will not say."

The hunter’s expression hardened. "Why protect a coward?"

"Because the goblin who warned me prevented fighting from spreading through every street in this settlement."

Drok looked across the crowd.

"If I name that goblin, Vargan’s family will seek revenge. Then another family will answer. The killing begins again, and this time there may be no lodge far from the walls to contain it."

Noah noticed how deeply the statement affected the tribe.

The identity of the informant became a mystery before Drok had even finished speaking. Hunters glanced toward old companions. Clan leaders studied those standing beside them. Every private conversation from the previous weeks suddenly became suspicious.

Vargan’s defeat had introduced the tribe to another kind of fear.

Not fear of claws, famine, or stronger enemies, but fear that secrets might no longer remain secret.

Drok stepped down from the cart.

"The dead will be returned to their families. The prisoners will live, but they will lose their positions. Any goblin who wants to accuse another of joining the conspiracy must bring evidence to me or keep their mouth closed."

That ended the gathering, although it did not end the resentment.

The tribe carried its dead home.

For the next several days, smoke from funeral fires rose above the settlement.

Drok spent those days preparing for the conflict he believed would come if nothing changed.

He called the heads of the largest families into the chief’s hall, but this time the gathering was not dominated by hunters. Farmers were invited. Herders came from the animal enclosures. Toolmakers and builders stood beside warriors who only a generation earlier would never have considered them important enough to participate in tribal decisions.

Some of the older hunters immediately objected.

"Vargan believed hunters were losing their place in the tribe. He was correct."

The admission stunned several of them.

Drok continued. "They are losing the place they had because the tribe no longer survives through hunting alone. That does not mean hunters have become useless. It means everyone else has become necessary."

He pointed toward the farmers.

"Their crops feed us."

His hand moved toward the herders.

"They keep meat alive until we need it."

Then he indicated the craftsmen.

"They build the tools all of us use."

Finally, he turned toward the hunters.

"You defend all of it. You explore beyond our walls. You kill the creatures that would destroy what the others create."

Drok paused before continuing.

"No single group owns this tribe anymore."

The statement angered some and relieved others.

Over the following hours, Drok created a new structure beneath his authority.

The hunters would continue choosing leaders for expeditions and warfare, but those leaders would no longer decide matters involving grain or livestock. Farmers would select representatives responsible for fields and harvests. Herders would oversee grazing territory and animal breeding. Craftsmen would organize the production of weapons, tools, and construction materials.

The chief remained above them all, but the old council of hunting elders was finished.

It had not been abolished by decree.

The massacre had already destroyed it.

Drok also created a permanent group of warriors who would answer directly to the chief rather than individual clans or hunting leaders. Some goblins resisted the idea, but the coup had demonstrated why he considered it necessary.

"If thirty armed hunters can gather without the settlement knowing, then we are not protected," Drok said. "We are simply fortunate they failed."

The new guards would patrol the walls, protect the food stores, and watch for threats inside the settlement as carefully as they watched the forest beyond it.

Noah observed the development with growing interest.

The goblins had not invented a kingdom or bureaucracy. Their system remained crude, personal, and violent. Yet responsibilities were becoming separated. Authority was beginning to exist because of position rather than only personal strength.

Even the grain stores began changing.

A young goblin named Nekk had been assigned to help the keepers count sacks after several families accused one another of taking more food than they contributed.

Nekk disliked the traditional method of using piles of stones because the stones were easily lost or moved.

Instead, he carved marks into flat pieces of wood.

One symbol represented grain. Another represented horned animals. A third represented weapons. Short cuts beside each symbol recorded quantity.

The system was simple, but it worked.

Storekeepers could now compare what entered the granary with what left it without trusting memory alone.

Noah focused on Nekk for several moments.

The young goblin learned unusually quickly. He tested several symbols, discarded confusing ones, and taught the final system to three other keepers in less than a season.

One Percent Genius had produced another result.

Noah did not intervene.

He merely watched as one goblin’s idea became part of the tribe.

By the end of the season, the central settlement had recovered from the immediate losses of the massacre. The dead hunters could not be replaced quickly, but the political crisis had forced changes that might never have happened peacefully.

One evening, Drok climbed the wooden palisade overlooking the valley.

Fields stretched beyond the walls. Herds moved inside fenced ground. Smoke rose from workshops, while armed guards walked routes that had not existed before Vargan’s rebellion.

Drok rested both hands against the rough timber.

Vargan had been correct about one thing.

The tribe was abandoning the path of its ancestors.

Drok looked over the settlement that path had never been capable of creating.

He no longer believed abandoning it was something to fear.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!