Chương 103: 103：The True Meaning of Sanctuary

Luger had still harbored a sliver of apprehension. Would Soren be like the hypocritical nobles of the Silvermoon Kingdom—promising equality and rights to their faces, while secretly treating goblins as cheap, disposable livestock to be whipped behind closed doors? But now, Luger's sharp eyes caught everything. He didn't see a single lash mark on their backs! Fed on a steady, abundant diet of wheat gruel, these prostrate goblins didn't have that sickly, emaciated pallor common to their race.

More importantly, just before he walked in, he had actually seen a human logistics woman casually hand a sweat-rag to a small, panting goblin pushing a heavy cart—without a single trace of disgust or hesitation! Here, goblins didn't have to constantly fear a poisoned arrow in the back from their own kind, nor did they have to grovel and lick the mud off human boots. They filled their bellies with dignity, relying solely on honest, hard labor. He didn't lie to me.

The fairness the Lord promised actually exists in this filthy swamp! Luger clenched his fists, a searing sense of belonging surging from his chest. He immediately felt that betting his entire tribe's lives on kneeling to Soren last night was the most brilliant, monumental strategic decision he had ever made in his life. Not far away, Soren took all of this in. This was an unexpected bonus! He had previously had a slight headache over how to integrate the hundred-plus new goblins with the original eighty-five.

It would normally require massive amounts of time to break them in, establish a pecking order, and mediate inevitable turf wars. But now? The Hobgoblin's innate racial suppression directly bypassed all of that! No extra words or tedious speeches were needed. Luger merely rumbled a few guttural, obscure syllables in Gobbledygook. Instantly, the eighty-odd common goblins scrambled up from the dirt. In the blink of an eye, the two groups blended perfectly.

The newcomers from Lone Cliff integrated into Greywater Village's ecosystem with jaw-dropping, buttery-smooth efficiency! Seeing the situation completely stabilized, Soren turned and beckoned Kyle, the Logistics Quartermaster, who had been anxiously rubbing his hands together nearby.

"Kyle," Soren pointed toward a large tract of undeveloped wasteland deep within the village, right up against the edge of the geothermal volcanic vent.

"Yes, My Lord! What are your orders?" Kyle stood at rigid attention. Soren issued a clear, methodical stream of construction directives:"Immediately mobilize the fourth-line logistics reservists."

"Goblins possess a racial talent granting them immunity to acidic mud. Assign this new batch of kin the plots directly adjacent to the sulfurous geothermal zone as their residential area!"

"We humans can't stand the smell of sulfur, but goblins don't care at all. Plus, it's naturally warm there, making it the perfect living space for them. It will also be highly convenient for them to manage the blast furnaces right next door." Soren continued his instructions:"However, they will not sleep in the mud. Take your men into the primeval forest behind the village, fell trees, and teach them hand-by-hand how to drive logs and build stilted, moisture-proof wooden cabins."

"Set the standard: the base of the cabins must be at least half a meter off the ground for ventilation, and they must be positioned so they can use the geothermal vents to smoke-dry their clothes!"

"Understood! Within one day, I guarantee my logistics team will have the residential framework built for our new brothers!" Kyle roared his acknowledgment, practically vibrating with energy as he led dozens of humans away to frantically begin the work. With the infrastructure delegated, Soren's gaze shifted to Fina, the Master of Coin and Provisions, who was currently meticulously cataloging the mountain of equipment on the goblin wheelbarrows.

She managed every ounce of grain and every copper coin flowing in and out of Greywater Village. Her ledgers were ironclad; even taking an extra mouthful of white flour required her explicit approval.

"Fina, come here." Fina walked over gracefully, her voice filled with heartfelt reverence.

"My Lord, your thunderous methods have once again fortified the village's weak points." Soren delivered his decree.

"Do not stingy on the reserves. Pass my orders: tonight, we throw a feast for the entire village's goblin population!"

"For the one hundred and twenty-three new arrivals from Lone Cliff, I demand that their wooden bowls be filled with wheat gruel so thick a chopstick can stand straight up in it! And every single one of them gets a massive slab of smoked meat!" Night fell. Massive bonfires roared to life in the center of Greywater Village, the vibrant orange flames driving back the lingering swamp mist.

When the wooden lids were lifted off the massive cast-iron pots suspended over the fires, the intense, steaming aroma of wheat, mingling with the rich, popping scent of rendered animal fat, hit the Lone Cliff goblins like a physical thunderbolt! To survive in the dark, desperate caverns of the mountain over the past few decades, this group of refugees had subsisted on foul, fermented moss that was agonizing to swallow, and the rotting carcasses of demon-spiders writhing with foul parasites.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Right now. A skeletal, elderly Lone Cliff goblin, his hands trembling violently, accepted a large wooden bowl handed to him by a human woman. He stared blankly into the bowl. Resting atop the golden, steaming wheat gruel—which was completely devoid of weeds or grit—was an actual, glistening slab of real meat!

"For me...? This is for me?" he mumbled, his voice cracking. Like a starving wolf, ignoring the scalding heat, he inhaled a mouthful of the thick gruel and the meat, swallowing it straight down his throat without even chewing. That unique, rich sweetness of the wheat flour... it was just too sweet. The dam broke. Tears flooded down his wrinkled green face. The companions beside the old goblin fared no better. Clutching their wooden bowls, their hands shook uncontrollably.

Some were frantically licking the bottoms of their bowls until the wood shone bright, while bawling their eyes out like toddlers. In this brutal, dog-eat-dog world, a bowl of hot food with actual meat in it was the highest form of grace and absolute mercy! Taking advantage of the mood, the second-line soldiers responsible for agriculture led the goblins to the perimeter of the village, casually showing off the sprawling farmlands. Illuminated by the torches, the acidic black mud had already been thoroughly tilled.

Breaking through that dark soil, a massive expanse of the high-yield crop, the Swamp Tubers, was already sprouting vibrant, dense, life-filled shoots.

"These will fully mature in another forty days, yielding double our usual crops! We're looking at a full five hundred pounds per acre!" a soldier boasted, thumping his chest proudly. Earth-shattering shock! Iron blast furnaces. Sturdy houses to block the wind and rain. A formidable, fiercely protective army. And now, miracle crops rapidly growing beneath their feet that would soon overflow the granaries.

Soren's promise back in the dark cave echoed in their minds:"Join Greywater Village, and you will have a broader space to survive and guaranteed provisions!" This wasn't just some empty pie drawn in the sky to manipulate them; it was an indisputable, ironclad reality without a single discount! The last lingering traces of fear and doubt regarding their future were utterly wiped from the eyes of every goblin. Now, they were dead-set, willing to bleed and die for Greywater Village!

Outside in the open plaza, the slurping sounds of goblins devouring meat gruel intertwined with the low, relaxed laughter of the human garrison, injecting a vibrant pulse of life into the settlement. Meanwhile, inside the command post situated at the highest point of Greywater Village. Soren sat rigidly at the head of the broad table. Two rows of core personnel flanked him.

On his left sat the Martial Core: Archery Captain Ein, Unarmed Combat Instructor Monk Renn, Logistics Quartermaster Kyle, and Cavalry Captain Buck. On his right sat the Internal Affairs Core: Scout Captain Gary, Intelligence Expert Meyer, Master of Coin Fina, and Chief Mage Victor. And today, standing at the very end of the long table, was the 1. 9-meter-tall Hobgoblin Luger, alongside the original goblin boss of Greywater, Old Cook, who didn't even dare to lift his head.

Soren's gaze was like a sharpened blade, cutting straight to the towering green figure at the end of the table.

"Time is tight, so I will only speak on critical matters."

"Tonight, the command structure of Greywater Village will undergo a complete reorganization."

"Luger, step forward."

"Present! Lord Commander!" The Hobgoblin stepped out and heavily pounded his fist against his armored chest. Soren raised his voice, publicly delivering his first decree of appointment:"From this moment forward, Luger, you will take absolute command of the Greywater Blacksmith's Forge. I formally appoint you as the Chief Blacksmith and Master of Engineering of Greywater Village!" The moment these words fell, Old Cook, standing to the side, violently shuddered.

But surprisingly, his aged green face didn't show a hint of resentment or anger over being stripped of his power. Instead, it was flooded with overwhelming, flattered ecstasy! If a human had seized his authority, Old Cook might have harbored a grudge. But the being standing before him was a legendary Hobgoblin! Soren shifted his gaze to the old goblin.

"Old Cook, from today, you are demoted to Deputy. Forging iron is still your primary duty. You will lead the original eighty-five goblins and assist Luger in his work. Do you have any objections?" Thud. Old Cook cleanly and decisively dropped to his knees on the wooden floor. He even shuffled two steps forward and piously kissed the tip of Luger's iron boot.

"To pump the bellows beside the anvil of a Hobgoblin Chief is the greatest glory of my life! Thank you, Lord Soren, for granting me this honor!" Old Cook cried out, his voice trembling with genuine excitement. With Old Cook smoothly transitioning into his role as a deputy, Soren proceeded to toss out his first massive order to Luger.