Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

It was desperation — a need to prove herself against me, to show that she could stand on the same ground I did.

Landing even a single hit would have been her proof that she wasn’t the weakling she sometimes believed herself to be, that she was more than just another follower in my shadow.

It was her way of saying she could become a true asset to me, to the clan — a demand to be acknowledged.

But a question lingered:

Why was she so desperate to prove it?

She lifted her head then, her eyes meeting mine.

There was no hostility in them, only the sharp glint of determination, the same one I’d seen again and again whenever she set her mind to something.

I didn’t think of her as weak.

Never once had I considered her a liability.

If anything, every time I watched her fight, every time I saw her grit her teeth and push herself further, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at how relentless she became when she decided something mattered.

Whether it was fighting for the clan, carrying out instructions without hesitation, or even trying to hunt me down just now, Zarah always gave everything with the same unflinching seriousness.

And that... that I admired, even if it terrified me sometimes.

But instead of saying it out loud, I kept it locked inside, telling it only to myself like some coward.

”Chief?” she called softly, tilting her head, as if she could sense the words on the tip of my tongue.

But nothing came out. My mouth stayed shut, even though I knew exactly what she was searching for.

She wanted to hear it.

That she wasn’t weak. That she wasn’t a burden. That she had worth beyond her bow and her skills.

More than that... she wanted to be shown she was desirable, that someone saw her not just as a fighter or a goblin under orders, but as Zarah herself.

And truthfully? I wanted to tell her I desired her, as her me,

So why was I hesitating?

Why couldn’t I just say it — the truth sitting in my chest like a weight?

”Chief!” she called again, her voice sharper this time, but I barely registered it. I was too lost in the spiral of my own thoughts.

Was I afraid? Of what, exactly?

I’d told myself before that it was awkward. That she was a goblin, and I was still too bound to my humanity to cross that line. I’d told myself I had more important priorities, that desire had no place here, not when survival and leadership demanded all of me.

But deep down, I knew better.

Those were excuses.

Every last one of them.

Because the truth was simpler, rawer — I was scared of what it meant to accept her, to admit that I wanted her, not just as a warrior at my side, but as Zarah.

The real reason was simpler than all the excuses I had piled up.

I was afraid.

Afraid that I was undesirable. Afraid that whatever she felt for me was misplaced, maybe even imagined — a false desire born out of circumstance rather than truth.

But how could I know that for sure if I never let myself believe in it?

Why did I always assume the worst — that I was destined to be hurt, that betrayal was waiting just around the corner? Why did I treat every hand reaching for me as if it carried a blade?

Perhaps it was because every lesson I’d learned before this life had been carved with pain — that nothing offered freely came without a hidden cost.

It was exhausting. Truly exhausting.

And for a fleeting moment, I wanted to set that burden down. I wanted to stop living under the weight of that fear and taste what it felt like to be free of it, even if only with one person.

Even if only with her.

The idea of it felt intoxicating, like tasting rain after years in the desert — fragile, fleeting, but no less real.

Was it so selfish of me to desire that — a single space where I didn’t have to be guarded, where I didn’t have to doubt?

Do I not have the right to desire that?

The question barely formed in my mind before I felt it — warmth against my skin, gentle and grounding. A hand, her hand, resting against my face.

My head lifted almost on its own, and there she was. Zarah stood so close I could see every detail of her transformed features, and I realized I hadn’t even noticed her approach.

Her scent — earth, sweat, and something faintly sweet like crushed leaves — hit me before the full reality of her closeness did, grounding me even as it unraveled my composure.

She had closed the distance silently, as though pulled by the very thoughts I was too afraid to voice.

Her eyes — still that sharp, beady shape of a goblin’s — stared straight into mine with such intensity that heat surged through my entire body, leaving me rooted to the spot.

I felt my pulse hammer against my ribs, a frantic beat that seemed to echo hers, as though our bodies were already in conversation even if our mouths stayed shut.”

There was no hesitation in her gaze, no doubt, only a raw conviction that burned hotter than any flame.

”Chief...” she whispered, her voice carrying a tone I had never heard from her before.

Softer, deeper, laced with something undeniably sensual.

And in that moment, something inside me snapped.

Screw priorities.

I wanted to indulge in the moment.

No — more than that. I was going to.

To push it aside, to pretend it didn’t matter, would be dishonest. Not just to myself, but to her as well.

Because in her eyes I saw no hesitation, no judgment, only the quiet courage of someone who had already decided I was worth the risk.

She had laid her feelings bare in her own way, and if I turned from it now, I’d only be denying the truth we were both standing in.

So I...