Let me tell you something about goblins.
They're not smart.
No offense to the green guys who raised me, but even they'd agree. You ask a goblin what two plus two is, and you'll probably get a story about how the moon owes them rent.
But they're not stupid either. Not in the way people think.
They know the forest like the back of their oversized hands. They can tell the weather from how a squirrel sneezes. They have names for every plant, even the ones that look like a goblin's butt—and believe me, there are a lot of those.
They're clever in ways humans forgot how to be.
I was fifteen when I realized I'd probably never go back. That this moss-covered little village was home now. Not Tokyo, not my old office tower with the big windows and bad coffee. Here. With goblins who thought I was some kind of magic spirit sent by the earth gods to make plumbing.
They weren't entirely wrong.
I didn't have any powers. No skills, no stats, no glowing swords or dark past. Just a lot of knowledge from my former life as a city planner. You'd be amazed how far civil engineering takes you in a world where no one understands water pressure.
I built drainage trenches to stop the rainy season floods.
I figured out how to smoke meat so it didn't rot in two days.
I even made clay bricks.
Clay bricks! The goblins nearly worshipped me after that. Apparently, stacking dirt and baking it was one step below summoning demons.
I tried to explain it. I really did.
"It's just thermal transformation via dry heat," I said.
They blinked at me like I'd cast a spell.
"Magic bricks…" one whispered.
And the name stuck.
"Magic Bricks."
Now every time someone builds a wall in the village, they yell "THANK THE BRICK GOD!" before putting down the first row.
So yeah. Goblins? Not smart. But also? Not dumb.
And they had heart.
Grak, our chief, was old and slow, but he listened. Actually listened. I taught him how to rotate crops. How to dry herbs. How to dig a proper latrine that wouldn't poison the water supply. He'd nod, grunt, and say, "You Soft-Skin good weird."
High praise, in goblin.
And the others… well, they were family.
There was Riri, the tiny goblin girl with a screech that could peel bark off trees. She followed me around like a shadow, mostly because I let her braid my hair and didn't scream when she stepped on my toes.
There was Guk, who had two teeth and three brain cells but could lift a log like it was a broomstick. He used to call me "Chief Brick," which was either an insult or a compliment depending on the day.
And Bonk. Yes, that was his name. Bonk. He was the village idiot and also somehow our best hunter. Once shot a bird out of the sky with a rock. Missed the rock, hit the bird. No one knows how.
We were weird. Loud. Poor. Happy.
And then the humans came.
...
It started with the birds.
They stopped chirping.
That might not sound like much, but in the forest, silence is a warning. Like the whole world holding its breath. The goblins felt it too. Everyone got tense. Even the frogs stopped croaking.
I was repairing the southern palisade when Grak approached, leaning on his staff like it was the only thing holding him together.
"Humans," he said.
Not a question. A fact.
"You sure?" I asked.
"Smell metal," he said. "Sharp noise. Not axe. Not hunt. Walk wrong."
That was the thing about Grak. He didn't speak much, but when he did, you listened.
The goblins didn't have scouts. They had sniffers. Literally goblins who smelled the air for a living. One of them came running in, breathless and wide-eyed.
"Five!" he squeaked. "Five two-leg metal-bloods! South path!"
I told the goblins to stay calm. To hide. To let me handle it.
They didn't argue. That was the part that scared me.
...
I met the adventurers just outside the clearing. Alone.
That was the plan. Don't let them into the village. Keep the danger away.
I stepped out from the brush wearing my least goblin-y tunic, hands raised, trying very hard not to look like a threat.
They were exactly what you'd expect from second-rate dungeon delvers: flashy armor, oversized weapons, way too much ego. There was a big guy in chainmail, a mage with glittery robes, a dagger girl who looked like she hadn't blinked in a week, and an archer who was already aiming at me like I was a rabbit.
Their leader? A woman with silver armor and a sword longer than she was tall. Blond, pale, perfect teeth. She looked like she walked out of a JRPG intro cutscene.
"You," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Human?"
"Last I checked," I replied.
"Why are you with monsters?"
And there it was.
Monsters.
Not "goblins." Not "villagers." Not "people."
Just monsters.
"They raised me," I said.
"That's not possible."
"Yeah, well, so is magic, and you're holding a sword that glows every time you're about to swing it. Let's not split hairs."
She frowned. I'd broken script. I wasn't pleading. I wasn't begging. I was calm.
And that made her nervous.
"We received reports of goblin activity near a trade route," she said. "We're here to eliminate the threat."
"You mean the tribe that grows root vegetables and prays to rocks?"
"Goblins are hostile creatures. It's only a matter of time before they raid a village."
I swallowed my anger.
"They haven't raided anything. We barely have enough spears to hunt deer. The only thing they raid is their own pantry when the stew's done early."
"Regardless," she said. "We can't take the risk."
There it was again.
That cold, bureaucratic cruelty wrapped in shiny armor and moral certainty.
"If you attack," I said carefully, "you'll regret it."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Is that a threat?"
"No," I said. "It's a bluff."
That threw her.
Good.
"You don't seem very strong."
"I'm not," I said honestly. "I'm a planner. I build toilets. But I also know how to fake a magical boundary, how to make a pit trap with punji stakes, and how to use charcoal powder to simulate a cursed zone."
"...You're lying."
"Probably."
The archer looked confused. The mage tilted his head. The big guy shifted his weight like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or smash something.
"So what'll it be?" I asked. "Go home and file a report that says 'goblins relocated peacefully,' or fight a village of trap-happy lunatics with nothing to lose?"
She didn't answer. Just stared at me. Trying to read me.
I stared back.
Not with power.
But with conviction.
A man with nothing left can be very convincing.
"...Fall back," she said finally. "We're done here."
And they left.
Just like that.
...
I collapsed the second they were out of sight. My legs felt like jelly. My brain was static. I might've peed a little.
But I was alive.
And so were the goblins.
Barely.
Some where a bit injured, but nothing major.
...
That night, we gathered by the central fire pit. Grak sat beside me, quiet. The others stared at me like I'd turned into a god.
"You... scare metal-walkers," Bonk whispered.
"No," I said. "I just lied really well."
"Lie strong," Guk said, nodding seriously.
Riri curled into my side and mumbled, "Taku protect home."
I didn't deserve the praise.
But I accepted it anyway.
Because I'd done what I could.
And it worked.
But deep down, I knew this was temporary. Next time, it might be a bigger group. Or someone who didn't hesitate. Or a spell that saw through all my traps.
We couldn't run forever.
If we wanted to survive...
We had to grow.
Not just bigger.
Smarter.
Organized.
And for that... I had work to do.
The goblins saved my life once.
Now it was time to return the favor.