The beasts were gathered beside a dug-out pit along with several sticks.
The three female goblins arranged the sticks inside the pit before one of them lit the fire.
They began cooking.
Alruk immediately noticed how unhygienic the entire process was.
They did not wash the meat or any of the tools they were using.
This was not the first time he had eaten food prepared by them.
A month ago, all the infants had begun eating solid food alongside breast milk.
But now that he was seeing how the food was prepared, the thought made him feel nauseated.
The beasts were cut open, their organs removed after the bile was discarded.
The meat was then skewered on sticks and suspended over the fire using two forked supports.
There were no spices.
No salt.
Nothing to add flavor.
After some time, the meat dried over the fire, and the four females began cutting it into smaller pieces.
The largest portion was given to the chief.
The entire village waited in silence until he finished eating and declared,
“The food prepared by our young females is good.
Let us enjoy.”
Alruk observed everything closely, learning more about the culture of the tribe he had been born into.
The adolescent males stood before Elder Folg.
Of the original eleven males, nine remained.
The blood of the beasts was used to draw markings across their bodies while the old shaman chanted crude incantations.
Mana flowed through the blood markings as he cast the ritual.
When the chanting ended, their bodies glowed faintly before the blood markings faded.
Alruk’s eyes widened.
They were crude, but unmistakable.
‘How can a wild goblin tribe create something like this?’
Using runes on weapons was understandable—but carving them directly onto the body?
If done incorrectly, it could lead to permanent injury…
or death.
The only explanation was long-term trial and error—generations refining the process through repeated failures.
He wasn’t even sure they understood the true principles behind it.
His thoughts were confirmed when one of the young males found that he could no longer move his right arm after the glow faded.
Instead of concern or sympathy, he was immediately labeled weak.
“He not move hand again,” a warrior muttered.
“He weak and useless.
Not use hand,” another replied.
“Will not breed.
No make weak babies.”
Alruk listened in silence, understanding more about the purpose of the ceremony.
It was a test.
Those who were crippled or failed were deemed unworthy of breeding.
He could only shake his head at their logic.
After the blood ritual, the feast truly began, and food was distributed to everyone.
Alruk received a larger portion than any of the other infants.
He accepted it but held onto it, planning to find a way to clean it first.
Soon, a bowl of water was brought out for everyone to drink from.
He watched as goblins dipped their hands into it without care, drinking freely from the murky water.
‘That’s where I draw the line.’
He decided then that he would follow them the next day to find where they sourced their water.
They could continue living this way if they wished—but he would not.
One night without food or water would not kill him.
After eating, the tribe dispersed to their huts.
The males entered the largest hut, while the females went to the smallest of the three.
Elder Folg led the male infants inside, while the old female hobgoblin guided the female infants to their own shelter.
Inside the male hut, Alruk saw no furniture—only a flat, filthy floor.
There were no separate rooms.
The roof was made of layered leaves with small holes that allowed faint light to filter through.
There were no windows, only a narrow doorway.
The hobgoblin warrior and the younger shaman entered next, each choosing a place to lie down.
Gradually, the other males followed, while a few remained outside on watch duty.
Alruk took one look around and decided he was not staying.
As he turned to leave, Elder Folg called out,
“Strong one not sleep?
Need sleep to stay strong.”
He pointed to an empty space beside him.
Alruk glanced at it, then shook his head.
“No.
Want breeze.
Like dark.”
He deliberately mimicked their broken speech.
If he spoke fluently all the time, it would raise suspicion—especially among the older goblins, who knew that only hobgoblins normally spoke so clearly.
He could speak properly whenever necessary, but using broken language kept him safe.
The elder allowed him to remain outside, as the village was patrolled by several warriors and was relatively safe.
With that, Alruk walked out under the watchful eyes of the other males.
Outside, he found a short tree, climbed it, and settled in for the night.