# The Golden Goblin
Once upon a time, there was a goblin.
A creature no one cared about. With a lifespan of barely ten years, they were a race that lived and died faster than the dogs kept by humans.
Yet their numbers were virtually infinite. They multiplied like swarming rats, digging into the earth to fill their hungry bellies.
Their lives were too short and harsh to accumulate wisdom. Thus, goblins lived and died without even properly learning the language of demon-kind.
All these conditions made them, unfortunately, most suitable as slaves.
"Pay attention!"
-Crack!
A goblin writhed and drooled as a spiked whip dug into his back, then soon grumbled and resumed digging into the ground. He dug tunnels and extracted rocks while searching for veins of ore.
There were too many of their kind to develop any sense of kinship. For a slave, the greatest enemy wasn't the slave master, but fellow slaves who shared the same food.
Life was too short and harsh to learn altruism and morality. These creatures could die and be discarded any day without anyone finding it strange, so they struggled desperately just to live one day longer than others.
A wretched member of a race enslaved by orcs, tauruses, dwarves, and all other races except humans was roughly striking the ground with his pickaxe.
Then—clack.
The pickaxe stopped beneath a rock. Iron ore? He frowned at the hard feeling. If this pickaxe broke, he would be beaten and starved until death. He might actually die.
Please let it be something better than iron ore.
The goblin panted as he carefully lifted the rock. Soon, a yellow light scattered across the goblin's face.
"Kiek!"
The goblin squinted and hesitated momentarily. Tears welled up in his eyes as the light was too intense for eyes accustomed to darkness.
Soon, the goblin's eyes adjusted to the light, and he narrowed them.
"Kr...heh?"
Light. A pure, brilliant light he could never have imagined in this muddy, dusty tunnel.
Gold was glittering before his eyes.
The goblin's small mind and heart were instantly buried in the gold. In his head, the shallow thought of obtaining valuable minerals to pay for his pickaxe vanished without a trace.
Share this? With whom? And why?
He hastily hid the mineral in his ragged clothes.
He couldn't give it to anyone. He couldn't yield it to anyone. Even if he starved to death tomorrow, this alone...
This is mine.
The goblin's eyes blazed. Clutching that noble mineral—gold—whose name he didn't even know yet, he began to mutter softly.
This is mine.
That was the first free thought the goblin had ever conceived on his own. After that, the goblin's name was no longer Mine Slave #1392.
His name was Nekinon. One hundred years later, he would be known as Nekinon the Slave King.
One hundred and fifty years after that, the Terror of the Northern Mountains. Twenty years later, the King of Ruins, and before another hundred years had passed...
Nekinon the Golden. God of Greed.
Unlike the other Seven Dragon Lords, he did not rule over his own kind. What he governed was greed alone.
That pure desire was his domain, and all beings drawn by greed became his subjects.
His naturally small and weak body was replaced with molten gold. When he transcended the limitations of his race and advanced to the realm of gods, no one in the world remained who considered him a goblin.
The Creator's mistake, the essence of racial evolution, a mutation of coincidences. Whatever they called him, he was now one of the Seven Dragon Lords. A being standing proudly among the ranks of gods, with fewer than ten beings in the entire world greater than him.
And in the distant future, that number would be reduced to one hand.
If after many more ages he alone remained great... yes.
This brilliant world would also be his, and all the gold flowing beneath this world would become his blood, and all mortals would become his subjects, begging for mercy in their greed.
Receiving the adoration of all worlds, he would become a god and rule this world. The most worthless being would become the most supreme being. That was his destiny.
All that destiny now lay before him.
Nekinon stared at the horizon with panting breath and fevered eyes. Humans were dying. All once-powerful races were crawling on the ground, and crowned fools were fleeing with their tails between their legs.
His eyes now turned toward a broader place. Toward the end of the horizon and beyond. Toward the countless cities and their lights visible in the distance...
Toward the pearl-like pulsation of all things shining even in the dark night...
[This world is mine... my treasure. Something I cannot share with anyone, and something no one can dare steal from me...]
Where were all the Seven Dragon Lords who had boasted of their greatness? Gone, all dead. Every single one without exception.
What happened to the Demon King who had subjugated and ruled over those Dragon Lords? Dead. Died miserably.
Now only one being stood above him—the Hero. Maximillian, once that lowly mortal perished in the flow of time, this world would be his.
Just one step remained... If he crushed humanity's last resistance, this battlefield... after this moonless night passed, tomorrow's world would bow under his dominion.
-Whooooosh—!!
-Kwaaang!!
A part of his head exploded. As he shook his body at the tickling sensation, the explosive smoke scattered, revealing flawless gold. He looked up to see something floating in the air.
The noble elves' airship.
How much he had once feared them. Such toys. They too were a race dying in the flow of time; now he felt no fear. He waved his hand, weaving magical power.
Soon, one airship exploded and fell to the ground. The other ships scattered, attempting emergency evasive maneuvers.
[Run away. Run as much as you want. Run to the end of this world!! Every land you flee to will soon be under my rule, and when you look back, not a single patch of land will remain for you!!]
Nekinon shouted joyfully as he moved forward. Humans were dying. Demons covered the battlefield. The human queen charged forward with a shout. Numerous soldiers raised their spears and swords against him.
And demons rose to meet them, breaking those weapons. This was the end. As he was about to clench his fist...
-Piririririk....
A sharp noise rang in his ear. He tried to ignore it, but the survival instinct deeply embedded in his soul moved him. In the moment he hesitated, a small thorn had already appeared on the back of his hand.
Looking closely, it was an axe.
"Caught up with you."
A dry voice was heard.
The God Slayer, Ivan Petrovich. The Death of Aviditas. The only mortal who, despite not being a Hero or even part of the Hero Party, had killed one of the Seven Dragon Lords.
Only then did Nekinon's mind emerge from between endless thirst and greed. With a mind suddenly cold as ice, he turned around.
Toward the exact opposite of the front line with humans.
[How...]
Corpses were lined up like a road.
Horribly crushed corpses of demons were spread like a road. Like a red carpet, like a triumphal procession for an emperor's steps. Distant artillery fire burst like celebratory shots, and magic breaking in the sky scattered like flower petals.
Before them, the one who had become king alone stood straight, looking at him.
A tired face, a body stained with blood, torn clothes and countless wounds, and beneath them, again, countless scars.
Behind him, a group of tired and injured humans.
And behind them again, equally tired and injured soldiers.
All of them were looking at him. With the appearance of defeated troops, wearing the shadows of the dead.
Ivan twisted his cracked lips and opened them.
"Finally caught up with you."
[How... how...?]
"The fortnight lost in Droan, the ten days delayed in returning to Krasilov, and now here. I've caught up with you by cutting down the three days I lacked."
[God Slayer... Ivan Petrovich...]
As he extended his hand, a soldier handed him an axe. An old, ordinary axe once used by some woodsman.
After examining the center of gravity and blunted edge not designed for combat, and adjusting his posture accordingly,
Ivan took one more step forward, holding the axe.
"This is the end. I won't let you escape anymore. You die here today."
[No one could kill me. Many kings and heroes have challenged me, but I'm still here! Today like yesterday, and tomorrow like today!! Do you think you'll be any different?!]
"It will be different."
Ivan spun the axe half a circle to check its central axis one last time.
"The Krasilov Annihilation Squad has never left alive anyone they've sworn to kill."
Just as with Aviditas, even gods could not escape death in the Annihilation Squad's operations.
The last remaining Annihilation Squad officer looked up at him. Nekinon looked around. There were many soldiers, but they couldn't stop this handful of humans.
Before and behind him, his subjects were still gathered. However...
"He's alive—!! He's alive!!"
"Commander!! Damn it, I believed in you!!"
"Lord Yeremov!!"
Vitality returned to the bodies of the frail humans who had blocked his path.
The demons he had summoned to defeat them were being swept away by humans on horseback.
The forces extending to the front line had gathered to block the human queen's advance, and the forces concentrated in his rear were dying, blocked by the few thousand defeated soldiers who had charged in with Ivan.
In the midst of his many subjects, he was surrounded.
"Isabelle, are the preparations complete?"
"Just say the word."
"Do it."
-Swoooosh—!!
As Ivan nodded, Isabelle, who had stepped forward first, swung her arm. It was a sword strike so swift that even a superhuman would lose track of its trajectory for a moment.
A simple upward slash. But at the end of that sharp sword strike, everything in front of it was cut away.
As the Dragon Lord's magic dispersed for a moment, what remained was terrible killing intent. The magic that had been suppressing Ivan's killing intent shattered into fragments and scattered—
"Essie, block it."
"Yes!!"
With Ivan's words, Asidis rushed forward. Striking away the golden fragments falling from above.
Clang, clang. The mace created a strange rhythm as it struck the metal plates. Ivan walked between them. Not hurrying, because he had already arrived.
Having already approached the core target, his high-value target could only resist but could no longer intervene in the war.
Not hurrying, slowly, and surely.
"Lucia, Oskar."
"Yes! Commander!"
White hands holding daggers rose from the shadows, countless hands rising to scratch, tear, and rip the golden scales of Nekinon's melted body.
[Shadow Sword—!!]
It was Enrique's mental technique. She mastered it well, as expected. As Ivan turned his gaze, Nekinon's strike already plunging toward Lucia's empty body was—
-Kwaaang—!!
Oskar was blocking it with his shield. The Iron Mountain Shield. One of Gil Ber's techniques. The shield that calms all storms was in his left hand.
And the other technique of Gil Ber was.
-Kwajijijijik!!
The Eastern Sword. The blade carved with entwined rose vines and deer antlers cut through the golden waves rushing like a tsunami. Thus, a path opened in front.
Into it, Edelplat was running. The elf swordsman with one arm and one eye missing was running, supporting Elfihera's assistance as she burst magic above the elf fleet.
Nekinon's curses and spells collided and scattered in the air. Four airships were squeezing out their magical power to the point of losing their power systems, binding his magic.
"Yu-ri. Can you see it?"
"Yes, yes! Now clearly!!"
The eye that sees victory.
An eye that can surely find that probability if there's even a 1% chance of victory against a Dragon Lord.
Following Yu-ri's gestures, Yu-jin ran forward swinging his shield and sword, and Yu-ri, who clung to his blind spot, blocked other offensives and shouted.
"Now! Right now!!"
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul—!!"
Past Yu-jin, who was engulfed in frenzy, forward again.
Striking away the approaching molten metal with the axe blade, ignoring the blazing heat, the magic constricting his heart, and the divinity shining so brilliantly it could burn his eyes, forward.
Even as flesh touching the molten metal cooked, blood boiled, and his head became dizzy with fever, forward again.
-Whack! Crack!
-Crack!
-Crack!!
The axe blade danced wildly. Scales shattered, molten metal splashed, and the earth vitrified by heat scattered as fragments.
Yet without stopping, crack, crack. He brought down the axe with mechanical killing intent so emotionless.
The nameless woodsman's axe finally crumbled. The axe handle rotted and scattered, and the axe blade became heavy molten metal and flowed down.
With clenched fists, again crack, crack.
Striking the half-shattered golden flesh, tightly clenching his hand now cooked with lava stuck to it, striking down again.
-Whoooosh—.
Divinity settled in his body. His vanished body was rapidly restored, and terrible desire burst from his heart.
[No... no...! That, that is mine!!]
The fragment of a god seeped into his body.
It was a body designed by Beolgrin to devour gods. The result meticulously crafted by the greatest magician in this world's history. His body was exhibiting all the intended performance.
-Crack, crack, crack.
Each time he plunged down, his fist melted away.
When he pulled out his hand and raised it, the molten metal scattered and his hand regenerated.
Plunging down again, repeating the motion as his arm burned up to the forearm.
Despite that terrible burning sensation and pain, the divine desire and temptation burning his soul, the only thing shining in the blazing heat was a single well-refined killing intent.
Ivan's eyes were still looking at the gold, devoid of emotion.
[Stop... let's make a deal.]
The tired god's plea shook Ivan's soul.
He looked straight ahead with his fist hanging down.
Beneath the massive wall adorned with gold, a small goblin was looking up at him. Amidst a yellowish crown and scattered gold coins like rags.
"Diplomacy was never my domain."
Ivan said, looking into the goblin's eyes, then put his hand inside his coat.
A heavy handle fit comfortably in his hand. Drawing it out as naturally as flowing water, holding his breath halfway, placing his gaze and line of fire in the same position.
Looking at the creature's red pupils through the gap between the rear and front sights.
Sliding his index finger into the trigger guard and squeezing, with his hand clenched.
[Half of this world... no, no. I'll give you the entire world. All wealth, glory, and pleasure will fill the rest of your life. If information is what you desire, I'll give you all the wisdom of demonkind. Whatever else, whatever else, there's nothing I don't possess...! You can literally own everything the King of Gold has!!]
-Click.
As pressure was applied to the trigger, the hammer was cocked back to its limit. Click, the sound of steel colliding firmly.
[Stop, stop...!! I surrender. You, God Slayer. I congratulate you on your victory. May you be worshipped forever. I will gladly become your slave and labor for your people and the world—!!]
-Bang—!!
A small hole opened in the goblin's forehead.
Its mouth stopped. Ivan put the smoking pistol back in his coat, approached, and placed his hand on the creature's chest.
Thump, thump. The god's final heartbeats could be felt under his hand. Between gasping breaths, now came the voice of a mortal.
"What I... had... I am...."
The goblin reached out toward the void. Toward the yellowish golden radiance. Flailing.
"That.... Just, just...."
Not to buy freedom through gold, or to amass wealth for power.
Simply, purely. Literally.
'I wanted to have it.'
Saying that.
-Crack.
Ivan's hand pierced through the goblin's ribs, grasped the last remaining divinity, and burst it.
He could feel the strength draining from the goblin's body. In return, he could feel divinity filling his soul. He could clearly feel his soul being defiled.
He exhaled deeply and straightened his back. Everyone on the battlefield was looking at him. Demons, humans, and elves alike.
-The Dragon Lord... is dead...!!!
Shouts were heard from far away. Whether demons or humans, they were falling into panic, uttering cries with the same meaning. Demons in the fear of defeat, humans in the thrill of victory.
And above the sky where not a single moon had risen, he saw a shooting star soaring upward in reverse.