Prologue to Despair

Blake stared at the wheat cakes and dried mushrooms on the table, his fork hovering in midair, hesitating to bring it down.

“So plain...” Blake speared a mushroom with his fork.

“Goblin memorial services cannot have meat, so just bear with it. We can eat another meal when we get back.” Isabella also speared a mushroom and popped it into her mouth.

Nearby, Oliver stuffed the last piece of wheat cake into his mouth. After chewing a couple of times, he suddenly clutched his throat, seemingly having trouble swallowing.

“...Water.”

“Get some over there.” Isabella pointed to a long table at the side of the venue, where several clay pots and a stack of wooden cups were placed.

Oliver quickly walked over to the long table, grabbed a wooden cup, lifted a clay pot to pour himself a full cup of water, and threw his head back to gulp it down. He let out a long breath and leaned against the edge of the table to recover for a moment.

“I'm saved...” he muttered softly. Just as he was about to turn back, he came across a little girl quietly weeping in front of the long table.

Oliver froze on the spot. He hesitated, unsure if he should walk over. He had never been good at handling these kinds of situations, especially when facing a crying child.

But in the end, he took a step forward, softening his footsteps as much as possible, and crouched down beside the little girl.

“...Are you okay?”

The little girl looked up, her eyes red and tear stains still on her face. “...I'm fine.”

“Where... where is your family?”

The little girl didn't answer right away. She lowered her head and wiped her face haphazardly with her sleeve.

“My grandfather died...”

“...Was it the Fifth Elder?”

The little girl nodded, then shook her head. She sniffled, her voice muffled. “Yes... and no. Grandfather is grandfather, and the Elder is the Elder.”

Oliver nodded, slowly lowering his hands and resting them gently on his knees.

“...You're right. He was a grandfather first, and only then an Elder.”

The little girl looked up at him through her tear-filled eyes, seemingly not expecting a stranger to say such things.

“Um... would you like to try some of the wheat cakes I made?”

Oliver blanked for a moment, looking down at the small bamboo basket the girl handed him. Inside, five or six wheat cakes were neatly arranged.

“...You made them?” Oliver asked.

“Yes.” The girl nodded. “Grandfather used to love eating this the most. He said the ones I made tasted even better than those sold in the market.”

Looking at the bamboo basket, Oliver didn't think too much of it. He reached out, gently took a wheat cake, and took a bite.

The wheat cake was baked a bit hard, its edges slightly burnt and bitter.

“It's delicious!” Oliver still smiled.

The little girl stood beside him, not leaving. Clutching her mostly empty bamboo basket, she quietly watched him finish the wheat cake.

“...Do you want more?” she asked softly.

“May I?”

The little girl nodded, pushing the bamboo basket toward him. Oliver looked at the remaining wheat cakes in the basket, hesitated for a moment, but reached out and took another.

“What a pitiful child,” Oliver sighed after returning to his seat, looking at the wheat cake in his hand.

The Grand Elder walked onto the stage, preparing to speak, and the atmosphere of the memorial service turned solemn at that moment.

The guests, who had been whispering, fell silent one after another, their gazes converging on the hunched old man on the stage.

Silence fell over the crowd.

“...The Fifth Elder is gone,” the Grand Elder finally spoke, his voice raspy. “We have lost a colleague, a fellow goblin.”

He paused, his gray-green eyes slowly scanning the crowd below.

“Regarding the cause of his death, the Council of Elders is still investigating. But today, I do not want to discuss the investigation, nor do I want to talk about matters that have not yet been concluded.”

“During his lifetime, the Fifth Elder served the Bronzebeard Tribe for thirty-seven years. He started as a warehouse clerk and worked his way up to his position today.”

Below the stage, some lowered their heads, while others quietly wiped the corners of their eyes.

“He may have had his faults, and there may have been controversies—but today, we are only here to send him off on his final journey.”

After speaking, the Grand Elder nodded slightly and stepped down from the stage. The guests stood up one after another, lining up to pay their final respects to the coffin.

Leopold stood at the back of the crowd, in no rush to step forward.

“That is the general situation. A major crisis might occur here in the royal capital, so the Patriarch is rushing back...” the Sixth Elder, standing beside him, spoke quietly.

“I understand.” Leopold planned to head back first. “Do not mention this to anyone for now. Remember that.”

Leopold turned around and walked toward the edge of the memorial hall. The Sixth Elder stood where he was, watching Leopold's back disappear behind the crowd before slowly withdrawing his gaze.

“Alright, next...” The Sixth Elder's gaze pierced through the bustling crowd, landing on a small figure in the distance.

Minnie was standing at the foot of the coffin, her head slightly lowered as if in silent mourning.

The Sixth Elder did not move. He waited for about ten seconds, and as expected, Minnie looked up, scanned her surroundings, and turned to walk toward the side rear of the hall.

“She's moving,” the Sixth Elder muttered in a low voice, turning his head.

The Grand Elder was already standing beside him, leaning on his wooden staff, his cloudy gray-green eyes also staring in the direction where Minnie had disappeared.

“Sixth Elder, thank you for your hard work.”

“Think nothing of it. It is all for the tribe,” the Sixth Elder replied.

The Grand Elder nodded. He raised his hand and waved it gently toward the back of the hall, and Yune stepped out from the shadows of the side corridor.

“Elder,” Yune bowed to the Grand Elder.

“Take action now!” The Grand Elder's eyes narrowed as his gaze swept over the heads of the crowd at the memorial service.

Behind the hall lay a narrow passageway, lined with empty wooden shelves and dusty old drapes on both sides.

Minnie stood at the end of the passage, her back to the entrance, completely motionless.

The Sixth Elder was the first to appear at the entrance of the passage, making no attempt to hide. A few paces behind him, Yune emerged from the side corridor with seven personal guards, blocking another potential escape route.

“My, my, how many people have we here?”

At the end of the passage, Minnie slowly turned around.

Tear stains still lingered on her face, but her eyes were no longer red. She even offered a faint smile.

“Sixth Elder, Grand Elder... and Captain Yune.” Minnie's gaze swept across the three figures in turn. “Quite a lineup. Are there thirty soldiers? No, that's not right...”

The Sixth Elder stood at the entrance of the passage, his voice level. “Seventh Elder, we have a few questions to ask you. Right here.”

“Oh? What questions?” Minnie tilted her head, her tone carrying an innocent curiosity. “Did you really have to choose the Fifth Elder's funeral to ask them?”

“You killed the Fifth Elder!” the Grand Elder's voice came from behind the Sixth Elder, raspy and slow. “And you framed him for the failure of the supply transport.”

“Grand Elder, do you have any proof?”

The Grand Elder did not answer. He raised his hand, drew a scroll of parchment from his sleeve, and slowly unrolled it.

“This was left behind by the Fifth Elder, showing the original ledger records. Furthermore, the last person the Fifth Elder saw was you!”

Minnie's gaze fell upon the parchment scroll. After a brief pause of two seconds, she suddenly laughed.

“Is that all?”

“Seventh Elder, do you not plan to explain yourself?” The Sixth Elder took a step forward. “The ledger, the elevator shaft, the Fifth Elder's death—all clues point to you.”

“What a hassle,” Minnie said, looking at him as her gaze swept from the Sixth Elder to Yune, and then to the personal guards holding their weapons tightly at the mouth of the alley. “I suppose there's no helping it then. What should I do? It's so difficult.”

Minnie sighed. She raised her hand and slowly wiped the last trace of tears from her cheek with her sleeve.

“I originally wanted to stay a bit longer. If you had just tolerated me for a few more days, I would have left on my own—yet you insisted on making a move today.”

She tilted her head, moving her gaze from the Sixth Elder to the Grand Elder, then past them to settle on Yune and the thirty soldiers.

“Well, then there's no other way.”

“Surrender, Min—” The Grand Elder had barely started to urge her surrender when his vision blurred, and Minnie's arm was already impaling his chest.

The Grand Elder looked down, his cloudy gray-green eyes staring at the hand protruding from his chest. It was a very small hand, like a child's, yet it was covered in his own blood.

“You... are not a goblin...” The Grand Elder stared at her in horror.

“What filthy blood!” Minnie's voice began to tremble.

Yune was the first to react. He suddenly drew his saber and roared at the top of his lungs, “Surround her! Surround her!”

The thirty personal guards snapped out of their daze. Sabers were drawn and spears thrust forward, the sounds of footsteps and clashing metal instantly blending together along both sides of the passage.

“Aha, aha, aha!” Minnie raised her hands, laughing maniacally. “Come, come, all of you!”

“I love blood, I love a carnival!”