“Players? How many?” I whispered as I leaned over the rock, trying to see down inside the cages. It was a fool’s errand - I knew I wouldn’t be able to see shit, but that didn’t stop me from trying, at least. My heat vision did register some signatures, however. I tried to look for the Wurm I’ve been chasing here, but there were so many of those creatures that it was impossible to say which was the different one.

  Goblins cluttered most of my vision, their dark orange skin barely visible in the dim light underneath. There must have been hundreds of them.

  Mark hovered closer to me and visibly shivered. “A lot. Not in every cage, but at least twenty or so. You have a plan?”

  “You’re asking me?!” I said, looking at him.

  “Well, seeing that we’re stuck here, I thought asking couldn’t hurt.” Mark scratched his chin, his eyes still aimed downward toward the ground.

  “You see Fink anywhere?”

  He shook his head. “No. He’s either deeper in this… city of theirs, or it was just too dark.”

  I clicked my tongue, trying to think. This was a shitty situation. As much as I’d like to just charge in, fists swinging, I knew that it would be a dumb thing to do. The goblins weren’t strong, but there were just too many.

  But what to do?

  “I think I might have an idea.”

  I perked up, listening. When Mark didn’t expand on his idea, I prompted him. “You planning to tell me what the plan is?”

  He hmm-ed. “Trying to think of a way to propose it without you screaming how it’s heretical.”

  Who did he think I was? “Try me.”

  I did not like his smile as he began talking.

  …

  This was heresy! Disgusting, impure and outright unforgivable. Who did Mark think he was to make me do such a thing?

  I liked the first part of Mark’s plan - blending in instead of fighting my way through. After my experience with the ants, I quite adored that idea, actually. The ants were nice fellows. Maybe I was just not understanding these folks, and they’d let Fink go if I told them about my place in the tournament.

  But then came the dark part. Literally dark. Mark had me craft another crafting table, an alchemical novice table, and then told me to use the blood of the Mole-orcs combined with one of the mushrooms I found in the Ant cave, and I had to craft…. orange skin dye.

  I actually lost my beauty. “Mark, there are some things I’m willing to forgive. This is not one of them. Just look at it! My colors! They are gone!” I felt as if naked, stripped of any honor that remained after losing my previous crustacean form. This was a tragedy of unseen measure!

  “Don’t forget to unequip your shoulder pauldrons too. We don’t want to draw attention.” He chuckled. “And hey, don’t panic. The color actually suits you.”

  I gave him my coldest glare, imagining denting his oh-so-punchable face. SUITED ME??? It was orange! The most boring color of all! Was he completely stupid?

  “Okay, breathe, Shrimpie. It’s only for a little bit, okay? We go in, say you’re an overgrown goblin or a… what type of goblin were they again?” He snapped his fingers. “Ah! Earth goblins. We can say you’re an Earth orc or something like that.”

  I sighed. “The genius of your plans never stops making me feel amazed. I don’t even have to have Talisha here to know it’s a stupid idea, Mark. And if I know it’s stupid, then you know it’s stupid.”

  “Hey, you’re just angry cause we covered your colors. Besides, I don’t see you offering any alternatives.”

  I looked at the ground, itching to scrape the ink off my body, trying to think of anything that could be a better idea than Mark’s stupid ego-stripping.

  I couldn’t think of any.

  With reluctance, I shrugged, and started scaling down the small hill, into the goblin city.

  “Glad to see we’re on the same page.” Mark smirked.

  Tsk. “I still think it’s unlikely they’ll believe this. Just remember how they looked. Even a mother couldn’t love that face.”

  “We’ll just have to see. Worst case scenario, you run. Your life matters more than Fink’s.”

  Thanks, Mr. Obvious.

  I started coming near the first buildings now, the cages already visible. The buildings looked ransacked, even worse than the city buildings did, as if someone left them a long time ago. I’d even believe that was the case, if it wasn’t for the fact that there were several dozen pairs of eyes visibly glaring at me from the holes. The houses were squat, and they looked as if they were built from dirt. Scratch that, they were built from dirt.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  I looked at the cages as I passed closer. A simple [Analyze] told me that they really were players, though that much was clear from just how they looked. The animal features were harder to hide if you had fur or feathers, after all. Maybe me not keeping my chitin wasn’t the worst thing, after all.

  I used [Analyze] again, looking at the closest player.

  Player - Greg

  Race - Anchoa

  Level - 7

  Class - None

  And then I used it on another, the cage on the other side of the dirty path.

  Player - Philliander

  Race - House Sparrow

  Level - 9

  Class - None

  I continued using it on all players that I could as I walked closer, and all of them were pretty similar.

  The players all sat in their cages, their weapons nowhere in sight, the fight in them nowhere to be found. Their guides seemed resigned as well, but they were as different as Mark and Timmy were. Some of them were talking to their players, some of them just stared into nothingness. There was an old lady that was just churling insults at her player.

  What was common, in all of them, was that their level was unnaturally low. Close to my day 2 level, actually.

  I went to comment on that to Mark, but it was just then that three of the goblins saw me and rapidly approached, each of them holding a spear aimed right at me.

  One of them, slightly shorter than the other two, got to me first. His breath, stinky even from a small distance away, was only a bit worse than his grizzly, raspy voice.

  “Hey! Who are ya, duh? Ya thing you can just stroll in, duh? Why are ya so tall, duh?”

  Oh god, was this what the system meant when it said they spoke like idiots? “I’m tall cause I’m awesome…. duh.” I quickly added the last part, trying my best to fit in. Hopefully they all spoke like idiots, not just this one.

  Mark smacked his hand into his face, groaning.

  The goblin spat at the ground, and looked at my face now, meeting my eyes. And then his eyes softened.

  [Bad boy - active]

  Oh. Of course. Definitely didn’t forget I had that skill because it was hardly ever useful in the town of goody-two-shoes.

  “This one says he’s awesome, duh!” The little goblin looked at his two crooks, laughing. “Well, I’ve never seen ya exiting the town, duh. Which general ya serve?”

  Why didn’t he add a duh after that last sentence? This ‘duh’ of theirs served no other purpose than just confusing me so far. “I…” Shit, how could their boss even be called? My mind froze, and I could not think of an actually realistic sounding name for the life of me.

  “I don’t remember, duh.”

  Another groan from Mark, more pained than the last time.

  The goblin smiled, the expression so vile on his face that I considered punching him for just existing. He looked like a hungry rat, so disgusting and aggressive that I felt myself tighten up. Was calling my shields now the right move? God, I really wasn’t made for stealth and infiltration. Showing off was what I did, not this!

  The goblins, however, started laughing, their gasps for air and bursts of hollering completely out-performing any horrible sound I’ve ever heard.

  One of the goblins in the back finally managed to regain his breath for a moment. “Duh. And here I thought ya might be a spy, duh!”

  “Ya a gobbo, alright!” The one in front slapped his knee. “Come in then, duh! Wanna grab a drink?”

  “Duh!” The two in the back replied in unison.

  Mark gagged forcefully behind me. “This is the dumbest way of talking I’ve ever heard of. And I heard a lot of languages on the internet.”

  “Talking is overrated anyway.” I whispered, and looked at the goblins. “A drink, huh? Now you’re speaking my language, duh!”

  The three nodded, already salivating, and the closest grabbed my hand. “Come in then, duh! There’s a new bartender in town! Was one of them stinky players, but Iggiritit said we keep him for drinks, duh! He makes them so whizzy it’s smacking, duh!”

  No idea what some of those words meant, but I nodded as if it was the best news in the world to me, and I followed without any protest. The buildings really were all terrible, but one of them, somewhat visible at the absolute end of the cavern city on the lower-most end, seemed to be made of some purple rock. There didn’t seem to be many goblins there, though. More questions for when we got into the bar.

  “Shrimpie, you really fit right in! You should stop doubting my ideas, duh?” Mark snickered, clearly poking fun at me while he knew I couldn’t respond. Talking to someone these guys couldn’t see would be telling them I’m crazy.

  The “Barduh”, as they called it, was exactly the same kind of building as the rest. Dirt in a ball, with a hole that served like a window. It did seem a bit less decrepit as the rest, though.

  “What do ya want, duh?” The smallest goblin asked again, smiling. He had more teeth gaps than he had teeth themselves.

  “Uhh. Beer?”

  He spat on the ground. “That humie piss? Duh, you can’t be serious. Ya gotta try grot! The new bartender makes it the best, duh!”

  With that, the goblin swung the door open, showing me the inside. I walked in, trying not to gawk and probably failing at that. Not that the inside was anything great, no. Quite the opposite, actually.

  The tables were just stones, covered in purple sand, surrounded by goblins who drank from wooden mugs and laughed with too much enthusiasm, as if there was the world’s best comedian sitting at each of the tables. Some of the goblins even danced on the rocks, their movements so goofy that it made Mark chuckle.

  I looked around, and I had to admit - I liked the mood here. These ugly bastards really knew how to throw a party. Honestly, maybe spending a day here wouldn’t be that bad, if only Fink’s life wasn’t on the line. I had to find out as much as quickly as I could.

  We sat at the table - which was another rock, of course, and the goblins were already chippering about how great the grot tasted and how their amazing bartender would make it delicious.

  “He makes it the best, duh! Ya been out long?” said one of the taller goblins, slapping the table.

  “Ye, duh. Been out for five days, duh.” I said, finding their weird language weird on the tongue. I’d slip up if I had to keep this up. Why couldn’t they talk normally? Even Anthony’s weird way of talking wasn’t this weird and cringe.

  I looked toward the bar, expecting to find another ugly goblin there, but then my pulse stopped. It wasn’t a goblin that was pouring some vile mixture into a wooden mug. No, it wasn’t a goblin at all. It was a face I recognized immediately, however. I’d never forget that face.

  It was Martin the Pine Marten, smiling at a goblin.