Strum subtly glanced at Jilde, standing stiff at his side. She’d acted surprisingly demure the entirety of the trip, her usual unfocused and outward personality tucked away. Burlap sacks draped over both of their backs, stuffed with pine-scented bread. After a year of working together, he thought he understood her eccentric personality, but following his capture, she'd changed. Now she performed with more professionalism than ever seen before.

He only hoped that she didn’t blame herself. Strum didn’t mind a shift in attitude that focused on the tasks at hand, but at the end of the day, they were still goblins. He enjoyed her personality the way it had been.

Even distracted—Jilde had excelled at her duties. Strum let out a sigh, shifting the burlap sack, the weight heavy over his shoulder. Despite the laborious task, it still proved a welcome diversion from watching Yrx and Pox. Those two were useless. Tight-lipped when it came to questions, yet so willing to scream about their escape attempts.

“Strum-are-you—‘ Jilde halted their advance through the forest. There was a deadline for their trade with the dwarves, but Strum paused. Always willing to hear her out. Since he'd returned from the Dark Lord’s army, she’d kept apologizing for his capture and attempted to make it up to him in a thousand small ways. While Strum appreciated the interest in his well-being, he hated her imposed guilt. No one lay at fault for it, and it'd worked out fine.

Even before the transformation, the half-goblin cared a great deal about him. It was a healthy work relationship, and if her concern over him increased as his form shifted, he scarcely blamed her. There were many unknowns. Tying oneself heavily to Regis shouldn't be a light decision. At times, he wondered how much of himself was him, and how much now corrupted by their bond. Was he still the same hobgoblin or an extension of the insane dungeon's desire?

Perhaps, she wished to follow suit. Being a half-goblin within the tribe led to harassment. If she asked him if she should follow him down this path, he didn't have an honest answer to give.

“Am I uh, what?” he asked.

“Are-you-uh, feeling okay!? I’ve-tried to keep-you-company, so you didn’t go-crazy-from those two-jerks.” Jilde leaned closer to him, giving the hobgoblin that fanged grin of hers. “I-don’t-like leaving you in-that-cave.”

Strum shifted between his feet, there were a lot of problems resting on him. Between dealing with the dwarves to juggling the dungeon’s fixations, each waking moment filled him with worry. It didn't help that Regis disagreed on where they should focus their efforts. He felt it was far more appropriate to workshop approaches to deal with the Dark Lord then invest in growth.

They did not need growth, what they required was an escape from the trap closing in around them. Whatever angle he looked at the problem with, the dwarves were not the answer—but rather a symptom of the dungeon's fundamental flaw in logic. It refused to acknowledge that not all of its problems were solvable with cooking and hard effort. If only he could temper the crystal and chart a path for them that didn't end in death or enslavement.

“You uh, don’t have to worry. I’ve said it thousands of times. I can manage well on my own. I do, however, appreciate your company. Don’t feel obligated, I’m happy when my employees are free to focus on their jobs and interests. You’re my most valuable employee, no one compares to your diligent work ethic.”

Jilde’s smile sunk to a frown, and Strum rubbed the back of his head. Choosing to avoid her harsh eyes. There’d been a lot on his plate lately. He felt a pang of lingering guilt for offloading so much work onto her. And asking her to spy on Mallik.

He still lacked a clear understanding of Mallik’s goal.

Jilde's intense stare lapsed into silence. The half-goblin always picked up on when he desired time to think, she gave him a reassuring pat on the arm and pressed forward.

Under her guard, they came upon a small fire and a collection of green linen tents the dwarves set up while waiting.

Most of the dwarves were unfamiliar, yet Strum picked out the grey frosted beard of Uzal. The old dwarf leaned close to the fire, nursing an amber mug of ale. Belri lay nearby, her eyes closed and arms folded behind her head to cushion her. Strum gave a small nod to Jilde, before taking the lead and walking into the firelight. As one the dwarves lept to their feet warned him to stay still.

Dwarves and goblins would never set aside their difference, no matter how long they forced themselves into a partnership. A bloody river filled by battle far too deep to ford across. "Calm, calm!" Uzal nervously laughed, inserting himself between the goblins and the rest of the Honorstone clan. His arms spread wide. "My, my. Aint the goblins we was expect'n. That one’s not even a green skin." Uzal gave a smile, yet Strum noted the hand inching towards his ax.

“No, we are, I've just... uh. Changed. I’m still the same goblin you've dealt with.” Strum said. Belri opened her eyes to study him. She didn’t shift from her position, despite being on her back, she reminded Sturm of a cat watching her prey. Jilde slid forward and tossed the burlap sacks between them and the dwarves. Along with a leather pouch filled with coins.

Belri’s attention fixated on the bread.

“Ya got more than we asked for,” she said while sitting up. Uzal walked forward, uninvited, and untied the twine sealing the bread. A wave of pine and herbs flowed out, no longer contained. Strum’s mouth watered. It took all his willpower to haul all of it here without partaking in a bit of it since he and Jilde knew its deliciousness.

Uzal pulled out a loaf, eyes going wide. Belri extended a demanding hand and snorted. “Toss it here, eh?” Uzal complied. The rest of the expedition shifted awkwardly, feeling uneasy and no doubt hungry with the display. Each loaf colored a golden brown, decadent crust that promised a delightful bite.

The old dwarf dug himself out a second loaf as Belri turned hers over. “S’all good if I try, ya?” he asked.

“Sure, sure.” She mumbled, busied by inspecting the goods. Uzal drew his side knife and eagerly stabbed it into the bread, cutting a nice chunk free. Even from this distance, the dwarves could tell that the bread had a superior structure, airy bread filled with flecks of herb and juniper. Uzal grinned and stuffed it into his mouth, accompanied by a noise of pure enjoyment. "That good?" Belri asked, surprised.

“Better than my mum makes. Beats me how a cave-squatter could even cook somethin’ like this, but I aint complaining.” Uzal didn’t bother with the knife, tearing into the bread with his hands and tossing chunks at other dwarves in the expedition. They all expressed the same reaction: surprise followed by an exclamation of approval.

Strum crossed his arms, never looking away from Belri.

She ordered Uzal to count the coins, then gestured for Strum to sit across the fire. There was, of course, no stump to rest on, so Strum crossed his legs and sat on the ground. He leaned forward, letting the tips of the flame lick his skin. To him, they feel as cool as a breeze. Many things about the transformation still bothered him, especially the potency of this new bond with the dungeon. However, it had perks. Immunity to fire being exceptionally useful.

Belri finally dug into her own piece of bread, chewing thoughtfully. “Quality product. Was hoping you’d come around to selling. Didn’t think it'd be bread, but it’s what is is, aint it? Let's talk price. How much ya asking for per loaf, and what else can ya make?”

“With the costs of flour, three silver coins for each loaf is a fair price.” Strum steepled his fingers, betraying nothing on his expression.

Always keep your composure during trade. His opponent, Belri, understood the concept quite well—her face remained as still as a tranquil pond—she slowly shook her head. “Ya taking the piss, Greenskin? Your kind don’t need that coin. Three coppers seems fair enough. I'll even toss in an exclusivity deal. In return, ya get ten percent reduction in ingredient prices. Just bread, aint it? Doing ya a favor.”

A disgustingly low offer. They both knew it. The rest of the dwarves busied themselves, not wanting to betray their expedition leader as she swindled the dumb goblins. But Strum was no fool, the bread Regis made had to be much higher quality than even their finest dwarven chefs churned out. Dwarven markets be damned.

“Uh, Two silver. No need for an ingredient price reduction. If you feel inclined towards doing us a favor, then reflect it in the price you pay. There’s no need for an exclusivity contract.” Strum cupped his chin, watching her face. She didn't even twitch.

Crafty.

“Mhmm. Nah. Don't think ya understand the sorta favor an exclusivity contract gives ya, might be ya forgotten that ya aint got nobody else to sell to. Now, I'll give credit, I’m astonished ya even came to my table with what ya did. Never imagined greenskins could make bread. Ya really should take my deal, all ya can do is benefit. No point in saying no. So, how about this. Ya sell it to me at five copper per, we form the exclusivity contract and formalize this arrangement, say for the length of a year?”

Why is she pushing exclusivity so hard? Jilde’s head darted between the bargainers. “Who’s moving into the region?” Strum narrowed his eyes.

“Now who said anything about that, greenskin?” Belri shook her head and lied with a disarming grin.

“You did. By insisting on a contract. You’re worried about something. Well. I’ve received some alarming news recently as well. I have a feeling this and that are related.” Strum ventured slowly, measuring her reaction. There. A small twitch in her smile. A tell. “Adventurers are moving into the region, aren’t they? You’re planning to charge them a small fortune for food of this quality, instead of selling it to the Honorstone clan.”

Again, another twitch of the lips. She looked at Uzal with a dark expression, forcing the smile to remain in place. “Throwing out wild accusations? Here I am being generous, greenskin, and you go and do this?”

“Four silver per piece of bread. Your adventurers will want full stomachs to fight a Dark Lord’s army.”

Finally, she gave up the pretense, her smile broke into a scowl. “Are ya working with that dragon? Greenskin, I swear if ya are then I’ll flay you and march on your tribe right this minute.” She stood up, a hand set on the haft of the hatchet on her belt. Dark eyes lingered on him.

“No. I'm uh, capable of putting the pieces together. I found out about the Dark Lord recently, if he moves to the region then the advanced races will send their adventurers and armies to handle it. I doubt Lord Cygan managed to get this far without attracting some attention. You don’t seem confident this fight will end soon, or else why propose such a long contract.” Strum held an even expression. “The last thing I desire is to work under a Dark Lord, you have my word that neither I nor my clan is involved with the Dark Lord." He only hoped that the lie was buried with enough truth to ward her off.

“Clever. Fine. Ya, this aint a normal Dark Lord. Less killing and murdering, more wanting to conquer and settle. The adventurers will come and skirmish with his monsters, but they aint gonna push him out. Though, your tribe easily could get caught in the crossfire. Maybe we work out a deal, then might just be that my clan can hash an agreement out with the adventurer guilds on your behalf.”

“Adventurers are often uh, loaded, no? You do make a fine argument. Obviously, I’d like to work something out to keep my tribe safe. But think about this—submitting to your greed now, stunts our future growth—which limits the profit in the future we can make together, it's in your best interest to give us a favorable arrangement."

Alone, they would never strike a deal with the adventurers guild. For those people, killing a goblin was a normal day’s work. He needed the assistance of Belri as a go-between.

He could always turn to the Dark Lord instead, but that path led to becoming the dragon’s thrall.

There was one option that left them some independence. “We intend to become a full functioning restaurant,” He said. “Let’s quit the games. For now, two silver pieces for each bread. A future partnership after expansion. I’m sure the uh, novel idea of a goblin restaurant would sell to adventurers. From what I hear, they’re strange people, willing to pay Ground-Father below only knows how much, for such an experience. But we need the money right now to accelerate.”

A spark of mirth flashed in Belri’s eyes. “One silver, no deal on ingredients, and a promise for a future partnership when this restaurant opens. More fun than I’d thought, and I’ll tell ya what, as a personal favor, we’ll help ya out with sorting details like advertisement when the time comes.”

Strum knew any possible partnership promised a difficult bargain in his future. But with Belri already looking ahead at things the dwarves could bring to the table, he felt optimistic for the first time in a long time. Maybe he’d been wrong. Perhaps dwarves and goblins could build a bridge over the river of blood between their races.

Strum needed to wrestle complete control of the tribe as soon as possible. He felt a headache coming on, only a special sort of idiot desired to manage that many goblins.

So be it.

He walked around the fire and shook hands with Belri. She gave a quick order for her dwarves to begin to carry out the ingredients they ordered for transportation.