We still had to go through the mandatory sparring session before we had the chance to eat anything.

Despite feeling tired and sore all over, I found myself looking forward towards the upcoming training. Our dungeon excursion didn’t improve my stats or abilities one bit, but I was convinced that even in this strange new world some good old practice would eventually yield benefits. It just felt too bizarre for your skills to be restricted to the point system.

Moreover, the spar would be overseen by Derak, the same goblin who guided us out of nursery to the ceremony hall. His brand of cheerful boisterousness has left a good impression on me. If he would instruct us in proper hand to hand combat, I could finally learn some real techniques and stop relying on just throwing myself at an enemy and madly swinging punches until one of them connected.

My hopes were quickly dashed.

“Stances? Fighting moves? He looked at me with amusement. “That’s not something that can be learnt. Mother blesses her warriors if she deems their efforts worthy and that’s that. You just have to keep trying your best, jump into every battle you can and fight tooth and nail till you can’t distinguish whose blood is staining the floor.” He revealed a broad smile as his eyes shone with mirth.

“Only then will you feel her grace again. Suddenly you’ll find yourself moving faster, hitting stronger; your fists will execute a move you’ve never seen before. This is when you’ll know that you’ve finally earned yourself another peck on the cheek from Mother herself” he finished.

“A peck on the cheek?” I asked. Some red came to the old goblin’s face. He laughed loudly to cover his embarrassment. “You’ll know what I’m talking about when the time comes, brat.”

He turned to address the goblin youths gathered around. “How about it? Are you ready to fight for Mother’s attention?” An enthusiastic roar was his response. Starved and beaten as they were, his words managed to light a fire in their bodies. I was the only one who was still unconvinced, but whichever way this all worked, more fighting experience was always welcome.

To my surprise even Alpha stumbled forward, eager to temper himself despite his numerous wounds. That was too much. I wasn’t sure if he would be able to follow us tomorrow and now he was all fired up for even more abuse.

“Stand down.” I said.

“Make me.” He growled back.

Seeing the valiant spirit animating Alpha’s wretched body, Derak was ecstatic.

“Good blood! That’s how it’s supposed to be done! If someone’s telling you to cower, lay them on the ground!”

I sighed. There was no other option. I had to quickly knock the fool down. It wouldn’t take much effort, but it still felt ridiculous to fight with someone who I worried might succumb to infection during the night.

The fight began, only Alpha didn’t rush me as usual, likely cause he would just fall on the ground if he attempted to do so. My best course of action would be to circle around him and tire him out with continuous attacks, only that ran contrary to my aim of hurting him as little as possible.

Knocking him out with a single punch would be the best option. His head had suffered comparatively the least damage from that monster’s frenzy, so it should be the healthiest place to hit him, right?

I approached him steadily, planning to end it with a single strike to the jaw. Maybe an additional kick or two, once he fell to the ground. Just to make sure he really was out of it.

To my surprise, as soon as I got in range, his fist flew towards my chest, crashing into my recently fractured rib cage. A wave of pain assaulted me and I swear I could feel some of the bones getting slightly misaligned from their positions. Motherfucker!

I couldn’t even retaliate cause that single attack burned through all the strength the fool had left in him. Bastard just fell on the ground right after, so despite the pain and indignation I was feeling, I couldn’t really pummel him in this state.

“Hahaha!” Derak roared. “Mother will surely smile upon that one.” I grumbled inwardly what Mother could do with her blasted smile and returned from the ring.

The next to fight was Bob. Surprisingly, she didn’t choose to challenge me and instead went for the leader of the opposite group. She strolled onto the ring with her characteristic gait, somehow leisurely and brimming with energy at the same time. Her eyes shone with excitement.

She impressed me further during the fight. I even found myself reevaluating whether she went easy on me during our previous spar. It’s not like I wasn’t confident I could deal with that goblin, but I definitely wouldn’t be able to do it in the same style as her.

Bob’s movements were agile and light. She cleanly evaded her enemy’s attacks by ducking and sidestepping at the key moments. Everytime her opponent overextended himself, she’d pounce, her claws drawing blood. It wasn’t like the other goblin wasn’t her match, but his attacks never quite reached her. From the side, it looked like a ferocious cat playing with its prey. Shallow cuts slowly accumulated on goblin’s chest and face till he eventually collapsed, too weakened from blood loss.

In the end, every single goblin present fought. Even Trax and Rudi gave an impressive performance against other basic goblins. It solidified my belief that my party consisted of true maniacs.

To tie the whole thing off, each group had to fight a round against Khar. This might have seemed like it would even the odds quite a bit, but no such luck. The red half-orc casually started by taking out the green goblins one by one, and then proceeded to make short work of Bob and I.

She survived a few moments longer than I did. Possibly because her attacks, though quick, had a hard time actually piercing his freakish skin. As for me, I gave it my all. The memory of my previous defeat still burnt brightly in my mind. Though it didn’t matter.

Whereas Alpha got a heaping of raw stats during his advancement and Bob appeared to benefit more from improvement in her movements and technique, Khar really proved himself to be the Mother’s favorite, cause he got both. Despite his massive size that would suggest sluggishness of movement, he was surreptitiously agile. His instincts were on point too, he seemed to be able to predict my every move as if he trained all his life. It didn’t take long for me to fall behind on tempo and receive that single hit, which ended the fight.

Of course falling to the ground didn’t end the fight in Khar’s mind. It had to be followed by a round of merciless kicking.

He didn’t break my bones like the time we fought before. Even he must have become aware that crippling the same goblins he depended on to bring him food wasn’t the best way to go about it.

No, the aim of his thrashing wasn’t to break bones but spirit. One kick after another landed on my curled up body, accurately targeting every spot soft and squishy. Mother in her great wisdom must have blessed him with some sort of a beastial instinct, cause the beatings wouldn’t end so long as he could sense a sliver of protest or indignance coming from his victim. The only way to end this torment was to surrender completely and accept the harsh truth he was kicking into you. Khar was the leader and you were nothing.

Reaching that point did bring a measure of relief.

Your mind became empty of all thoughts. The bruises didn’t stop hurting, but once you really let go, the pain was no longer coupled with a sense of injustice and desperation, but rather a certain tranquility. It felt like cutting of a part of yourself that only brought you suffering. In a way, it was liberating.

I dragged myself up from the floor, instinctively keeping my head lowered. The other goblins fared no better than me, Khar didn’t limit himself to group leaders and exercised his will on every person present here.

Only Derak who spectated the whole fight was still beaming. The ill fitting chainmail on his chest jingled softly as he kept muttering under his breath, “Good blood. Good blood.”

***

We cooked the meal in Khar’s room. It wasn’t any larger than ours, so fitting three groups of goblins at the same time made it feel quite cramped. There was a pit in the center which he filled with dry fuel made from plants and lit on fire using a flint. The fire rose and started licking the pot hanging over the pit.

Calling it a pot was a bit of a stretch. In reality, it was an iron chestpiece, repeatedly hammered to fashion it into a general shape of a bowl. This was something I noticed about the tribe in general. They didn’t possess the tool making skills that seemed necessary to sustain such a primitive society. Most of what they used appeared to be repurposed pieces of armor and other knick knacks they must have found on bodies of adventurers challenging the dungeon.

Some of it stemmed from lack of wood. It wasn’t really possible to craft a spear from some vines and mushrooms. Even animal bones were a rare sight. Either other beasts roaming the dungeons were an uncommon occurrence or their corpses didn’t make for good materials.

This resulted in a situation where most goblins I saw didn’t carry any weapons whatsoever, with the exception of colored variants that led their own groups. Some weren’t even clothed, like the poor Trax, who had to surrender his wardrobe to me.

The savory aroma of the cooking stew slowly rose and suffused the tightly packed room. Despite the open door, there wasn’t enough air in the room, so hunger coupled with light oxygen deficiency left us dizzy and in a sort of trance. There were around twenty of us, our shoulders pushing against each other, and beads of sweat glistening on our bodies.

Still, no one made a move to try and steal any of the stew from the pot. Khar seemed completely unaware of the surrounding atmosphere, as if he was the only person in the room, but the pressure he was exuding was only stronger for it.

When he deemed the stew ready, Khar grabbed a bowl and filled it directly from the pot. He languidly brought the bowl to his lips and gulped down its contents in a single motion. Then he repeated this action, completely unconcerned with dozens of eyeballs anxiously observing his every move.

This continued until more than half of the pot was emptied out.

He belched with satisfaction and wiped the rivulets of spilled stew from his mouth. Only then did he turn his attention to the hungry mob in front of him, as if our existence temporarily slipped his mind.

His eyes fell on me. I quickly lowered my head. There was no shred of dissatisfaction in my body, only a loyal dog hoping for his master to feed him.

The time seemed to stretch in eternity as I waited. Finally, he snorted and threw the bowl towards me.

I almost stumbled catching it, fear mixed with excitement making my moves jerky and uncoordinated. Disgusting feelings of gratitude and pride at being chosen first stirred up in me as I walked to the pot. I filled my bowl to the brim, just like Khar did, and slowly slurped down its nourishing contents.

The long wait and knowledge of being in the center of attention made this stew taste even better than the one I ate in the nursery. My stomach, which shrivelled up and tightened during the day, suddenly woke up and grew ravenous. The blood in my veins roused, spreading wondrous warmth throughout my body.

I licked the bowl clean. Initially, this one serving made my body feel full, but I quickly started covetously eyeing the rest of the stew in the pot.

I looked at Khar, trying to gauge if it would be permissible to get myself another helping. He stared back at me, his face expressionless. I shuddered and passed the bowl to Bob. I didn’t quite dare to gamble on the meaning hidden in these eyes.

We returned to our room after each member of our group has had a serving. There wasn’t any talk between us. The exhaustion of the day pushed down on us and the food in our bellies demanded time to be digested.

I curled up on the ground. My mind was completely blank as I was ready to doze off.

Suddenly I heard a message.

[Resistance has increased to 10.]