Lord: Starting from a Goblin Nest

When the group returned to Delusional Land, the basic framework of the trading post was already complete. Klade was extremely enthusiastic about the arrival of the artisans and refugees, even ordering his men not to harass them without cause.

But goblins are not exactly obedient creatures. So, despite the rules, friction between the refugees and the goblins was inevitable. Most of the time, it involved goblins trying to steal, rob, or swindle the refugees out of their meager supplies, forcing the latter to teach them a lesson—both verbally and physically. The goblins, however, never tired of trying.

Even so, the refugees still considered it a good place. At the very least, there was unlimited drinking water, they could sustain themselves by hunting, and there was plenty of open land around the trading post to build their own shelters.

Lavinia and Buni both got what they wanted. Ron’s currently unused workshop was given to Lavinia, and inside, the goblins had knocked through a passage connecting it to the main trading post. As for the artisans, they began working overtime the moment they received their wages from Klade.

”The map’s ready. It covers the surrounding area, about a two-day journey in any direction,” Klade said, handing Ron a dry animal hide. On it, the outlines of mountains and rivers were sketched in charcoal. A few distinctive landmarks were also specially marked.

For instance, a small river island with two pine trees at the confluence of two rivers.

”Do you need me to come along this time?” Klade asked, his voice low. Seeing where Ron’s gaze lingered on the map, he knew the human already had a new objective.

”No need. The trading post is more important right now,” Ron said, declining the earth goblin’s kind offer. ”We don’t have many skilled fighters, so I’ll have to rely on you to guard the stronghold.”

”It’s best to leave the other tasks to my team.”

It wasn’t that Ron disliked the idea of an overwhelming tide of goblins at his back, but things were different now. A few days ago, they had nothing to lose. Now, if Ming Datiss managed to lure their main force away with a feint and raid the trading post while it was undefended, the loss would far outweigh any potential gain.

”Then I wish you success,” Klade said, understanding Ron’s reasoning. He didn’t press the matter further.

After resting at the trading post for half a day, Ron and his team packed their gear and set out under the cover of darkness that same night.

The journey was uneventful. By the evening of the second day, Ron’s five-person team had found the distinctive river island.

The island sat in the middle of two converging rivers, the water flowing gently and shimmering with a silver halo under the moonlight. Two lone pine trees stood upon the isle of sand and gravel, their lush branches reaching high as if they were timeless guardians. Moonlight spilled over their crowns, casting dappled shadows that made the sand beneath them gleam with a verdant sheen. The air was crisp and still, save for the faint buzz of insects flitting along the riverbank.

But every so often, a deep croaking would erupt from the distance, shattering the otherwise peaceful night like a clap of thunder.

Beneath the pine trees, just as they’d expected, Ron’s team found the remains of a campfire.

”Looks like this is from yesterday,” Sera said, crouching to scoop up some of the ash with two fingers. She brought it to her nose and sniffed. ”They clearly didn’t expect to be followed. They made no effort to hide their tracks.”

”You can tell that just from the smell?” Victoria stared at Sera in awe. ”How is that possible?”

”I’ll teach you sometime,” Sera laughed. ”It’s not that hard. You just have to be willing to get your face a little closer to the ground, which I imagine you’re not used to.”

”But where I’m from, it’s an essential skill, whether you’re tracking prey or searching for roots buried under the winter snow.”

”Those croaks are coming from over there. That must be Mad Frogman territory,” Aive said, looking across the river. The stream wasn’t deep or swift, and a crude path of stepping stones led from the island to the opposite bank. ’If Ming Datiss and his people were going to make a move, they would have crossed here.’

”Let’s be careful. Try not to provoke them,” Ron cautioned, signaling for the others to keep a low profile.

There’s a reason the word ”Mad” is in the Mad Frogmen’s name. These amphibious, frog-headed humanoids consider themselves the most worthy and fitting rulers of the swamp. They love showing off their status as Lords to any outsiders who trespass on their territory, which is why their warriors try to capture intruders alive rather than kill them.

Captives are brought before the Mad Frogman king or queen and forced to beg for forgiveness. A prisoner might be able to buy their freedom with bribes, treasures, and flattery, but only after the leader has finished showing off their territory and wealth to their ”guest.” Driven by a bizarre complex of arrogance and deep-seated inferiority, the Mad Frogman leaders go to great lengths to style themselves as true royalty, desperately craving the awe and reverence of outsiders.

Neither a head-on fight nor being forced to listen to them flaunt their so-called ”nobility” was an appealing prospect for Ron’s team. It had nothing to do with their mission to track Ming Datiss; it was simply a matter of finding the experience unbearable.

After all, no amount of posturing could change the damp, primitive reality of their home.

Wading across the river, Ron’s group didn’t dare light a torch, instead moving slowly under the guidance of Delaford and Aive. Before long, the Goblin Hunter found a set of haphazard footprints—boot prints.

”Looks like our old friend didn’t learn a thing from last time,” Aive scoffed. ”Or maybe he still has no idea how we found him in the first place.”

But this time, something was different. After tracking for a while, the boot prints suddenly vanished. In their place were the tracks of enormous webbed feet left in the mud.

”They ran into Mad Frogmen,” Aive concluded. ”And these bigger prints likely belong to Giant Frogs.”

Like Lizardmen, Mad Frogmen also use their innate abilities to rally wild allies. They use the croaking sounds in their language to communicate over vast distances, and creatures like frogs and toads can understand simple concepts within it. The Mad Frogmen then select larger species from among them, forging pacts to use them as mounts and companions—like the Giant Frogs, which are capable of swallowing a creature whole.