God Agent: All Hail The Great Kobold

___ Ashmork Clan POV ___

Beyond the walls of the Ashmork village, a large crowd of goblins had gathered around the grisly sight left waiting for them outside their home. Low murmurs spread through the crowd as people whispered to one another, their voices filled with unease and disbelief. Some wore disturbed expressions while others simply stared blankly at the bodies, unable to fully process what they were seeing.

Vrag slowly walked out through the village gates with the help of a goblin shaman dressed in a dusty red cloak. Her hood was draped over her face, hiding most of her expression as she supported the elderly goblin’s arm and carefully guided him over the uneven ground.

The moment the village chief shaman emerged from the gates, the crowd instinctively began stepping aside to make way for him. Many lowered their heads in light bows as he passed, their respect for the old goblin still deeply rooted despite the confusion that had gripped the village since Grash’s death. Vrag continued forward at his usual unhurried pace, leaning against his cane as his sharp old eyes studied the scene ahead.

Only one goblin remained standing firmly in his position.

He was dressed in thick animal pelts, his long hair braided into several tight cords that fell around his shoulders. In his hand was a metal spear engraved with faint runes, and the way his fingers tightened around the weapon made it obvious that he was barely holding himself back from marching out into the forest alone.

His eyes burned with rage as Vrag approached.

"Loki, you shouldn’t be here," Vrag said calmly, stopping several steps away from him.

Loki slowly turned his head toward the old shaman, and the anger in his face immediately hardened. "

Don’t tell me what to do when it involves my father’s killers!" he snapped, his voice loud enough to silence several nearby conversations.

"Don’t talk to the elder that way. Even Chief Grash respected him!" the female shaman beside Vrag immediately scolded, but the old goblin raised one wrinkled hand and signaled for her to stop.

He did not look offended. If anything, there was a faint understanding in his eyes as he watched Loki struggle to control his anger.

Loki was not willing to let the matter go.

"Yes, my father listened to that old man, and now he’s dead," he said bitterly, glaring at Vrag as though the old shaman himself had placed Grash in the kobolds’ hands.

For a moment, the surrounding goblins became completely silent. Everyone understood that Loki was grieving.

Vrag did not answer.

Loki waited for a response, but when none came, his expression twisted with frustration. He clicked his tongue, turned away, and began walking back toward the village. Several goblins watched him leave, but nobody tried to stop him. Vrag simply stood where he was, his gaze slowly shifting toward the pile of dismembered bodies lying on the ground.

There were several corpses scattered across the dirt, their limbs and bodies mangled by something powerful enough to tear through them with frightening ease. Among them was one body that had suffered far worse than the rest.

Manny was battered, charred, and covered in burns. The flesh on parts of his body had been blackened, while other wounds suggested that he had been kept alive long enough to suffer before finally dying.

The young shaman beside Vrag slowly stepped forward, her gaze lingering on Manny’s corpse. Her fingers tightened beneath her cloak.

"Manny was tortured, these people are monsters." she muttered, her voice quieter now.

Vrag said nothing at first. His face remained calm as he stared at the bodies, but there was something strange about the peacefulness in his expression. He had lived through the rule of two warmongering chieftains. He had watched goblins burn villages, raid settlements, take slaves, and butcher enemies. He had also seen the other side of war, when the same cruelty came back to haunt his own people.

After a long silence, Vrag finally spoke.

"They are bluffing."

The young shaman immediately turned toward him, a serious frown forming beneath her hood. "What?"

The confusion in her voice made the old goblin chuckle softly. It was not because he found the situation amusing. Rather, he seemed almost entertained by the simplicity of the fear spreading through the crowd.

To the younger goblins, the bodies represented one thing. The enemy was coming, and they were strong enough to slaughter their patrols without mercy. But to Vrag, who had survived decades of conflict, the message was more complicated.

He slowly stepped closer to Manny’s corpse and studied the burns across his body.

"If they had the numbers, they would have attacked using the cover of the night and the element of surprise," Vrag said as his shaky hand moved to stroke his white beard. "Instead, they killed a small patrol, tortured one of them, and left the bodies where we would find them. They want us to see this. They did this to provoke us, scare us, and force us to make a mistake,"

Varg’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked toward the dark horizon beyond the corpses. Somewhere out there, the kobolds were watching them. Perhaps they were close.

"As long as we do not leave the walls of this village, we will be safe."

The young shaman stared at him for several seconds, and a chill slowly crawled down her back. Even at his age, Vrag had not lost the sharpness that had allowed him to survive two generations of war.

Suddenly, she understood why both Goresh and Grash had relied so heavily on his advice.

"Quickly, Call a council meeting. A new chieftain must be selected today." Vrag said as he turned toward the village gates.

The young shaman hurried after him and placed a hand beneath his arm again, but the confusion in her eyes remained.

"Aren’t we waiting for Tulin and his reinforcements?"

Vrag shook his head as he continued walking, the sound of his cane striking the ground echoing softly between the nervous voices of the villagers.

"Kia," he said, calling her by her name and the young shaman immediately stiffened.

"Our village stands a chance of being destroyed within the next few days. More than ever, we need a chieftain and a chief shaman who can lead the people through these perilous times."

Kia’s steps gradually slowed. Her eyes widened beneath the shadow of her hood as the meaning behind his words finally reached her.

"You can’t mean..."

Vrag nodded firmly without hesitation.

"Your friends are all dead. Rudor is gone. I have no other student I can make my successor apart from you. You will have to take up the mantle as the new chief shaman."

His voice remained calm, but there was no room for argument in it.

Kia immediately let go of his arm and took several steps back. Her face twisted with discomfort as she rapidly shook her head.

The idea sounded absurd.

"I can’t, I’m not ready." she said quickly.

Vrag laughed softly and continued walking without stopping, supporting himself with his cane as though her answer had been completely expected. Kia stared at his back for a moment before hurrying after him.

"When Goresh became chieftain, we were already losing a war against the Ashin and Dar clans. Do you think he was ready?" Vrag asked with a quiet chuckle.

Kia opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

"The same applied to Grash and even to me," Vrag continued. "None of us felt ready when the mantle of leadership fell on us. There is no day when someone wakes up and suddenly feels completely prepared to carry the lives of an entire people on their shoulders.But we accepted the opportunity and did our best,"

He finally stopped walking and slowly looked over his shoulder at her. His old eyes were tired, but they carried a confidence that immediately made Kia’s chest tighten.

"You’ve got this."

Kia remained standing there, her shocked gaze fixed on Vrag as he slowly continued walking back toward the gates of the village.

The Ashmork Clan was entering a new era, and whether she was ready or not, she was about to become one of the people responsible for deciding if they survived it.