Goblin Troops

Leopold froze in place, his mouth hanging open.

...Wait, I know what went wrong! In the four diagnostic methods of traditional Chinese medicine—look, listen, question, and feel—doesn't "listen" actually mean listening?

He wasn't a medical student before he transmigrated. He had only glanced at a couple of traditional Chinese medicine explainer videos while scrolling through short video feeds, remembering phrases like "to know by looking is divine, to know by listening is sagely."

He had made a massive fool of himself.

This was bad. In front of a white dragon princess, he had stuck his head right under her wing to sniff her for a long time, only to say with a completely straight face, “There’s no strange smell...” He was supposed to use his ears to listen!

Leopold felt his tail stiffen.

Isabella still had her head turned away. She didn't say anything, but Leopold could clearly see her eyes darting around. She was definitely trying to save his face, too embarrassed to point out his mistake.

This was bad. It was even more awkward now.

“Um...” Leopold coughed dryly, lifting his front claw from the ground. “What I meant was, I checked your wound, and it's recovering quite well. It should heal very soon.”

Only then did Isabella slowly turn her head back, her icy-blue eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him, seemingly trying to judge whether he had done that on purpose.

But the words were already out, and he couldn't take them back. All Leopold could do now was brace himself and steer the conversation back to serious matters.

“Ahem, in any case, this is a good thing.” Leopold turned around, pretending to observe the downstream direction of the underground river. “You are a vital combatant among us. We can't afford to let anything happen to you.”

“Will you protect me?” Isabella asked tentatively.

“Of course! I will definitely protect you, Isabella.”

Leopold quickly pointed downstream. “Let's head downstream for a bit to see how the river channel changes, and keep an eye out for any other exits or side caves.”

Isabella didn't press further. She followed beside Leopold, the white dragon's steps noticeably lighter than before.

As they went further downstream, the cavern walls opened up, becoming much wider. The number of fluorescent jellyfish gradually decreased, replaced by moss on the rock walls that emitted a faint glow of its own.

“It's much warmer here than upstream,” Isabella said from behind him.

“Warmth means geothermal fissures are more concentrated.” Leopold glanced at her, then quickly looked away. “It could also mean... there are magical beasts.”

Leopold stopped in his tracks, perking up his ears.

He heard breathing—heavy, deep, and accompanied by wet, raspy snoring.

Isabella stopped as well, her white wings pressing tight against her sides. She lowered her voice, “There's something ahead. Behind that stalactite on the right.”

Leopold followed her gaze. A massive stalactite pillar hung down from the right rock wall.

Beneath the pillar, a massive black toad squatted by the water. Its skin was covered in dark red, wart-like bumps, each one slowly contracting and expanding. Its eyes were tightly shut, clearly deep in slumber.

But what interested Leopold was not the toad itself, but the things beneath it—a pile of scattered metal fragments reflecting a dim glint in the darkness.

Goblin mining picks, along with some shattered iron weapons.

Leopold pulled his head back and gently nudged Isabella's wing. The two young dragons silently retreated to the other side of the stalactite pillar.

“A giant noxious toad, twice our size,” Leopold said, looking at Isabella. “There are a lot of goblin things beneath it. That spot was probably a harvesting point for the Bronzebeard Tribe.”

“Yes, but it's injured,” Isabella lowered her voice. “This might be the spot it chose to nurse its wounds.

“Its injuries are quite severe. I remember giant noxious toads are very vengeful magical beasts, so we shouldn't provoke it lightly...” Isabella stared intently at the sleeping toad.

But her words made Leopold's eyes light up. He seemed to have thought of an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

“Hahaha!” Leopold suddenly burst out laughing.

“What's wrong, Leo?” Isabella was startled by his reaction.

“Isabella, you're a genius! An absolute genius!” Leopold couldn't help but reach out and pat her shoulder.

“Huh? I'm a genius?”

Meanwhile, in the goblin tribe, dozens of low stone houses were scattered among several natural stone pillars.

The light from the campfires cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, and the air was filled with the smell of roasted mushrooms and ore dust.

Chief Grimm sat in the largest stone house in the center of the camp, with a cave map drawn on animal hide spread out before him.

“Chief,” Fran stood at the doorway, holding an ore lantern in hand. “The patrol has returned. The upper tunnels are very quiet. The angels haven't come down.”

Grimm didn't look up. “What about the three dragons?”

“The grayish-blue one is circling above the mine shafts, seemingly familiarizing himself with the surroundings.”

“The other two went downstream,” Fran paused. “We didn't dare follow too closely. The black dragon has a very sharp sense of smell, and the white dragon seemed to have noticed something as well.”

Grimm's hand paused. “They went downstream?”

“Yes. Based on the time, they should have already reached the old harvesting point.”

Grimm fell silent for a few seconds, then let out a low, mocking chuckle.

“That black dragon is bolder than I thought.” He raised his head and couldn't help but smile. “He doesn't know the old harvesting point has been taken over by that toad. Either they get eaten by it, or they flee back in humiliation—either way, the negotiations in three days will be much easier.”

“Chief, are we really going to sign a contract with them?” Fran asked hesitantly. “Those are dragons. What if they recover their strength...”

“Fran,” Grimm raised his eyelids. “How much longer do you think our Bronzebeard Tribe can last down here? The dwarves have been squeezing our purchase prices for fifteen years, and they cut them by another twenty percent last year.

“The world above is constantly at war, and the prices of the food and leather we need keep rising. Things are getting tighter and harder year after year.”

He turned his head and looked at Fran. “Do you remember the seven cubs that starved to death last winter?”

Fran gripped the lantern handle tightly, not looking up, only giving a sullen grunt.

Grimm stood up and, leaning on his wooden staff, walked over to a simple wooden shelf next to the stone table. A dark gray piece of ore sat on the shelf.

“The dragon clan has been in decline for thirteen hundred years,” Grimm said in a low voice. “But their blood is still worth more than our mining picks.”

He turned his head to look at Fran. “In three days, if their wounds have recovered well, we will change the contract terms. Instead of 'eternal service,' we will change it to 'thirty years.' They should accept this concession.”

“What if they don't recover well?”

Grimm grinned. “Then it will still be 'eternal'.

“Besides, we still have our powerful Bronzebeard forces. Although they were prepared to deal with the dwarves, the opponents are just three weak young dragons. They are more than enough!”

“Yes, Chief.” Fran lowered his head, speaking no more.

“One day, I will make the goblins the Fourth Race. One day...” Grimm narrowed his eyes.