Blood soaked the creekbed.
Feyroot's vanguard lay in twisted heaps—limbs bent backward, eyes gouged, flesh flayed. Goblin blades had danced through the night, silent and savage.
But Lord Hadren never stepped into the trap.
He watched from the trees. Then he disappeared.
He knew.
And he had plans.
By dawn, they found it.
A goblin corpse hanging from a tree—its entrails twisted into letters.
"You've been noticed."
Shia stared at the scene, her face unreadable.
"Hadren knows you're not just a wild card anymore."
Reed tore the flesh-message down and crushed the goblin's skull with one boot.
"I want him to know. But not before everyone else does."
That's when the System pinged.
[INCOMING MISSIVE – THE COUNCIL OF LORDS]
To Lord Reed of Goblin's Hollow,
Your domain's recent activity has triggered formal review. You are hereby summoned to attend the High Convergence at the Obsidian Spire in three nights' time.
Noncompliance will be viewed as treason.
– Lord Magistrate Halveth
Reed read the letter three times. It stank of formality and threat.
"Treason," he muttered. "They're scared."
Shia leaned against the war-cave wall, flipping a dagger between her fingers. "They don't summon Lords this far down the ladder unless they smell rot… or power."
"It's bait," Reed growled.
"Then bait them back."
She stepped closer, her voice low. "Attend. Let them see what you've become. Learn who plans to kill you next. And remind them you're not the same gutterborn scum who entered the Summoning Hall."
Reed's eyes burned like coals. "Fine. But I won't go alone."
Reed selected five goblins—his best. Each had survived at least two duels and led raids into Feyroot. Their loyalty was unquestioned. Their faces were marked by scars and ritual paint.
Shia, of course, would accompany him.
He opened the System Interface.
[Travel Party – Confirmed]
Escort: 6
Hero: 1
Authority Pass: GRANTED
Warning: The Obsidian Spire is a neutral zone under High Authority. Use of lethal force within its walls will result in Domain Penalty.
Reed smirked. "Guess I'll just have to maim them outside."
He spent the remaining EXP unlocking Tactical Upgrade: Mobile Armory—a collapsible weapons cache stored in System space, retrievable instantly.
Inside it, he placed:
Thornblade
Bone-crafted gauntlet
Shia's hidden knives
A bottle of goblin toxin—potent, paralytic, illegal
They left Hollow under cover of storm clouds, cloaks drawn, blades hidden.
The journey to the Obsidian Spire was long and brutal. Wild lands stretched between domains. Bandits, mutated beasts, and rogue Heroes roamed the in-between spaces.
The first night, they crossed paths with a feral Hero—a summoned warrior whose Lord had died, driving him mad with spiritual decay.
He attacked.
Reed didn't hesitate.
He unleashed Bonecraft Surge—spikes erupting from his forearm to impale the Hero mid-charge. The creature screamed, then burst into flame as its core collapsed.
The goblins watched in awe.
"Let that be a warning," Reed growled. "To them. To you. To whatever gods think I owe them anything."
They saw it on the morning of the third day: a jagged tower of obsidian rising from a lake of black glass, shrouded in stormclouds and magic.
Dozens of banners flapped outside its great gate—sigils of every domain: hawks, hounds, wolves, blades, suns.
And at the center, untouched by time, the flag of the Crown: a bleeding eye on a white field.
Shia exhaled. "We're here."
A dozen armored guards awaited them at the gate—faceless beneath black helms.
One stepped forward. "Lord Reed. Surrender weapons. Your escort may remain outside."
Reed stepped close, voice calm.
"You can take my weapons."
He leaned in.
"But you can't take what's inside me."
The halls of the Spire were cold and lined with stone statues—each a previous Lord executed for treason. Their faces were left intact. Their expressions were all the same: surprise.
The Council chamber was a dome of shadows and polished bone, where twenty Lords sat in a ring around a raised dais.
At the center stood Lord Magistrate Halveth—tall, pale, robes of ink and silver, and eyes like a shark's.
"Lord Reed," he said. "We were unsure if you would come. Most beasts don't enjoy cages."
"I don't," Reed replied. "But I break them just fine."
Gasps. Chuckles. Glares.
A woman in gold armor sneered. "This is the Goblin Lord? The sewer rat?"
Another lord—a robed man with six rings on his hand—laughed. "He reeks of blood. Did you bathe in your spawn?"
Halveth raised a hand.
"Enough. He is a Lord, by right of Summoning. For now."
He turned to Reed.
"You are here to answer for your actions—the slaughter, the unauthorized Domain aggression, and the corruption that now flows in your veins."
Reed took one step forward. Then another.
The Council guards stiffened.
He stopped on the edge of the dais.
Then he smiled.
"I didn't come to apologize."
He reached into his cloak.
Gasps echoed.
He pulled free… a piece of parchment. Bloodstained. The original summons.
"I came to tell you," Reed said slowly, voice like gravel soaked in acid, "that this Council is obsolete. Your rules are broken. Your thrones will burn."
The System pinged:
[WARNING: Hostile Intent Detected – Multiple Lords]
[Passive Skill Activated: FEARMONGER]
[System Request: Bloodcode 3/7 Unlock Available – Consequence: Public Exposure – Trigger? Y/N]
Reed grinned.
"Let's see who survives the old world."
And he pressed Y.