Chapter 178: Fools

Chapter 178: Fools

"The chief wanted you to join the clan once. Thought you had potential. But after what you did? That offer’s gone. Now he only sees you as a corpse waiting to drop."

I ignored their taunts and shifted my gaze toward the remaining three, letting [Analyze] do its work as the faint overlay of information flickered across my vision.

Name: Gork | Race: Goblin

Title: Chosen

Level: 44

Innate Skill: [Blazing Draw]

Gork stood a few paces back from the others, his posture relaxed but deliberate.

Innate skill: [Blazing Draw].

The name said enough.

My attention shifted again.

Name: Mavrik | Race:

Goblin

Title: Chosen

Level: 43

Innate Skill: [Toxic Core]

Mavrik’s skin carried a strange sheen, a greenish hue that shimmered faintly under the dim light. His veins glowed faintly purple, pulsing with each heartbeat, and the stench that surrounded him confirmed what his skill hinted at—poison.

His claws were stained dark, and every exhale left a faint mist in the air.

Yep... getting close to him was a bad idea.

Even a scratch from that one could mean trouble.

And finally, the last one.

Name: Druk | Race: Goblin

Title: Chosen

Level: 45

Innate Skill: [Bone Forge]

Druk was different. Broader, heavier, his armor made entirely of pale, interlocking plates that looked disturbingly organic. At first glance, I thought it was carved bone—but then one of the pieces shifted, flexing like muscle. He’d fused his armor to himself. The name [Bone Forge] fit, though I wasn’t sure what it meant in practice.

Maybe he could shape or weaponize bones—his or others’.

"In that case, why don’t we carry out his orders?!" Vorn growled snapping me out of my thought, his voice thick with anticipation, and without hesitation, he drew a jagged blade from his waist and slashed it across his wrist.

The cut was deep—far deeper than necessary—and blood poured freely from the wound, dark and viscous. But instead of weakening him, something else began to happen.

Black-red veins spread rapidly from the gash, crawling across his skin like living roots, pulsing with each heartbeat.

His muscles tensed, swelling, and a low, guttural moan escaped his throat—not of pain, but of pleasure.

I watched silently, studying the transformation.

So that was how it worked.

The more pain he endured, the more power he gained.

It made sense now—[Pain Rush]. The name wasn’t poetic; it was literal.

Hissra took a step forward, his spear tilting slightly as a faint red glow built along the tip. "You’re awfully calm, Eli," he said, voice low, almost taunting. "Or are you just good at hiding your fear?"

I met his gaze but didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

He chuckled, the sound sharp and grating. "You really don’t get it, do you? That barrier you’re standing in isn’t just decoration. Your little teleport trick won’t save you this time. Your innate skill is useless here. So why don’t you do us all a favor—kneel, beg a little, and maybe we’ll make your death quick."

I exhaled slowly, a tired sigh slipping through my lips. Their confidence was almost amusing.

"How about this instead," I said, my tone calm, almost casual. "You take down this barrier... and I’ll consider sparing your lives."

"What?" Hissra blurted out, genuine disbelief flashing across his face. The others turned toward me as if I’d just said something insane.

"You want a fight?" I said evenly. "Then come at me. Just don’t blame me for being brutal when it starts."

"Is this bastard on crack?" Vorn sneered, baring his teeth in a manic grin.

"I said," I repeated, my tone firm, "take down the barrier—and you might just live."

That did it. Their confusion turned to fury.

"You piece of shit!" Vorn roared, his voice cracking with rage. "I’ll rip your tongue out myself!"

He lunged forward before Hissra could even react.

"Vorn!" Hissra barked, but the warning went ignored.

"He’s mine!" Vorn shouted back, yanking his blade free and dragging it across his chest in wide, vicious strokes.

Blood poured down his torso, veins bulging as his body convulsed with each fresh wound.

And the air around him shimmered with violent energy as his muscles swelled, and a guttural roar tore from his throat—half pain, half ecstasy.

And then, grinning like a beast, he charged straight at me.

He was fast.

His movements blurred with raw aggression, each step tearing into the ground, his blade gleaming red under the flicker of his aura.

But I didn’t move.

The moment his sword swung down, the air around me fractured like glass.

A shimmer rippled outward, and his blade stopped dead against an invisible barrier called [Fractured Existence].

The impact sent a dull vibration through the air, but nothing more. The edge of his sword quivered against the boundary, unable to pierce it.

Vorn froze, confusion flashing across his face for a heartbeat before fury replaced it. He snarled and swung again—once, twice, three times—each strike harder, more desperate. Sparks flew with every hit, his eyes wild, veins bulging under his skin as he pushed his strength to the limit.

But the result was the same.

Every attack broke harmlessly against the shimmering field, the sound of his blade ringing like a dull echo in the still air.

The others watched from a distance, their expressions twisted between disbelief and uncertainty. None of them dared to step in yet.

I exhaled slowly, the faint shimmer of the barrier humming against my skin. "You all seem to be mistaken," I said, my voice low but steady.

Before Vorn could react, I moved. My arm shot forward, fast enough to blur, and my hand clamped around his neck. The impact lifted him clean off the ground, his feet kicking uselessly as I held him there, suspended in the air.

"If you think I’d go down easily just because of a restriction, then I’m afraid you’re all fools."

"You bastard—let me go!" Vorn choked out, his voice cracking under the strain.

He slashed wildly, blade flashing in erratic arcs, the movements fueled by panic rather than precision.

But...