Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

”Three...”

The fox’s voice rumbled like stone dragged across stone.

I swallowed hard, throat dry, and forced my mouth to work.

”I—I saw your child fighting a badger in the forest.”

The words stumbled out, weak, pathetic. I hated how my voice shook, how I sounded like prey. But what else could I do? I couldn’t escape.

The fox’s molten eyes narrowed at this urging me to continue. So I did:

”The badger nearly killed her,” I added quickly, words spilling out faster than I could think. ”But I... I stepped in. I saved it.”

Not exactly true. But not totally false.

I did save her.

A beat of silence followed. It stretched and stretched, suffocating the air out of my lungs. Then, in that same guttural rasp, the fox spoke.

”Is that so...”

The way it said it made my skin crawl.

Like it had already decided whether I lived or died, and my words were nothing but noise.

I nodded weakly, trying not to flinch.

My gaze flicked across its body, taking in details I hadn’t noticed in my shock.

It wasn’t even that tall. Roughly my height—shorter, if you measured the body alone. But the nine tails unfurled behind it, slow and deliberate, swelling it into something colossal. Each tail glowed like a torch, their movement graceful, hypnotic, as if dancing to music only they could hear.

Every flicker seemed to write fire into the air. They didn’t just move—they commanded, bending the forest itself to their rhythm. Leaves curled. Ash drifted upward. The world leaned toward those tails.

Heat radiated from its fur, baking the ground until cracks split the soil. The air shimmered. Every breath scraped my throat dry.

Its fur wasn’t just orange. It glowed—each strand burning like sunlight caught in fire. Dazed, half-delirious from blood loss, I almost thought I was staring at something divine. A beast carved from myth and flame. A creature that belonged in legend, not in a forest filled with deer and badgers.

And me? A half-dead goblinwas gawking at her like a villager at a god-statue.

The comparison wasn’t flattering. Not at all.

But thinking about it.

What the hell was something like this doing here?

Creatures like this were supposed to be strolling casually in woods where beast below half his level were plentiful. It was odd.

I forced my eyes away from its tails and looked back up.

And the sight was scary.

I realized it was staring straight at me. And it didn’t like what it saw.

The world shifted. Or rather I got shifted.

In the blink of an eye, I was flat on the ground, chest crushed into dirt. Weight pinned me down, suffocating. My cheek scraped against stone until skin split. Claws dug into my back and pressed me so deep into the soil it cracked beneath me.

I wheezed, choking on dust.

”Uhh—hkk—”

”I don’t like your gaze, goblin.”

The words thrummed through the air, so heavy they seemed to press against my bones.

Seriously? Of all things... my eyes pissed you off? I cursed silently, too terrified to let the thought slip out. I didn’t dare move. Not with claws pressing so close to my skull. One twitch, one wrong breath, and I’d be paste in the dirt.

I tried to trigger [Warp]. Again. Again. Again. Nothing. It was like the skill didn’t even exist. The fox’s presence smothered it, snuffed it out like a candle in a storm.

Heat flared around me, unbearable. My skin prickled as though my very blood was about to boil.

”Not only do I scent my daughter’s blood on you,” the fox growled, voice low and dangerous, ”I also scent your lies, goblin.”

My eyes widened. Its claws pressed harder. One dug into my cheek, puncturing flesh. White-hot pain shot through me. I screamed as blood trickled down, dripping into the soil.

”Tell me everything.”

The words weren’t shouted. It didn’t need to be. Each syllable felt like blades against my neck.

For a heartbeat, panic begged me to lie. To spin something else. Maybe stall long enough for the skill restriction the beast had placed on me to end. So I could blink away.

But one look into those molten eyes—one flicker of heat singeing my skin—and I knew that idea was suicide.

There was no point in trying.

I wasn’t in control of my life here. The level 102 Ember Fox Matriarch was.

So I told her. Honestly.

”All right,” I rasped, voice breaking. ”The little fox and the badger were fighting. That part was true. But... I didn’t step in to save her.”

The claws dug deeper. Fire burned into my flesh.

”I stepped in to kill them both.”

My body trembled. My lips twisted into a grimace as the words left me.

[Iron Persistence] dulled the worst of the agony, kept me from passing out.

The fox’s aura flared hotter, scorching the ground around my head.

I forced the rest out before she tore me apart. ”I... I took advantage of their fight. The badger was about to win. I finished it off. I would have killed your child too, but...”

My throat closed. Still, I pushed the words past it.

”My instincts screamed at me not to. Something told me to spare her. So I did.”

Silence.

The fox matriach didn’t speak. And it felt like toture

The silence was worse than the claws in my face because from the expression on her face I could tell she was judging my words.

Her accessment would decide whether I lived or nothing.

The Matriarch dipped her head lower, and all I could see was fur glowing like living fire. Her muzzle hovered inches from me, breath so hot it seared the hairs from my skin.

I couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t stand it. I turned my face away, fear spiking ice through my gut, terrified that even my gaze might provoke her again.

Her presence smothered me.

Her heat was unbearable.

And then she spoke.

”You’re quite...”