CHAPTER 211: SUBJUGATION

They didn’t speak at first, but their silence said enough. Both of them were thinking about it—measuring their odds, weighing what little loyalty they had left against the reality pressing down on them.

Their hesitation seemed to piss Ingrid off as he spat, his voice rasping under my grip:

"You bastards! I saved you just now. Are you really going to betray our comrades?"

"Their dead," Gork said flatly, his tone stripped of emotion. "And they were never my comrades."

"Bastards," Ingrid hissed again, but before he could say more, I tightened my grip on his neck. The words died in his throat, replaced by a strangled groan.

"You two think it through," I said, my tone even, though the heat beneath my palm reminded them how quickly I could end this. "Just a reminder—the alternative is death. So, no pressure."

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on them.

Unlike Ingrid, Gork didn’t seem particularly tied to his clan. I’d already seen what he was willing to do when things got desperate—how fast he turned on his own just to keep Nira alive during our last fight.

I was confident. He wouldn’t choose death.

Gork turned toward Nira, their eyes meeting for a brief but telling moment. She gave a slight nod—hesitant, but certain enough—and that was all it took for him to make up his mind.

"We’ll join," he said finally, his voice rough but steady.

"You bastard!" Ingrid yelled, the words breaking apart as my grip tightened around his throat. His voice came out hoarse, strangled by fury and disbelief.

"He’s right," Gork said, ignoring him. "We’d have to join up with a powerful clan to avoid being hunted, but that’s nearly impossible. Most clan chiefs would rather kill us and take our skills than accept us. So I’d rather stand with the goblin who killed our leader than die like some wandering beast waiting to drop loot. This is the only choice that makes sense."

Ingrid’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly. Rage burned in his eyes, but beneath it, there was resignation—a quiet understanding that he’d already lost more than he could recover.

"He’s made his decision," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "What about you? Join or die. What’s your choice?"

Ingrid glared back at me, his voice low but filled with venom. "Go to hell."

"Maybe I will in the future," I said quietly, meeting his glare one last time. "But you head there first."

I lifted my free hand, and flames roared to life, crawling up my arm like liquid fire. They wrapped around Ingrid’s body in a sudden rush of heat, the air hissing as the flames consumed him.

He screamed—a raw, piercing sound that tore through the stillness of the forest. His body twisted violently as he tried to pry himself free, nails digging into my wrist, but my grip didn’t waver. There was no mercy to offer, no hesitation to show.

The smell of burning flesh spread thick in the air, heavy and suffocating. Gork and Nira could only watch, their faces paling as the flames devoured what was left of their comrade. I saw it in their eyes—the moment fear fully took root.

Ingrid’s screams began to falter. The thrashing stopped. The fire continued its slow, relentless feast until nothing remained but a blackened husk.

A soft chime echoed in my head.

Ding!

[You have killed a chosen]

[You have received all his skills]

[You have received his kill count]

I released my grip and let his body drop.

It hit the dirt with a dull thud, smoke rising from the charred remains.

Turning toward Gork and Nira, I found them frozen in place, any composure they had managed to gather stripped away, leaving only silent terror.

I let the quiet linger for a moment before finally breaking it.

"So," I said, my tone calm, almost casual, "are you two ready to swear some oaths?"

"Oath?" Gork muttered, his voice unsteady, the tremor in it betraying what his expression tried to hide. He was still shaken from what he’d just witnessed—anyone would be after watching their comrade burn alive within arm’s reach.

I arched a brow, waiting.

He swallowed hard, then spoke again, slower this time, as if choosing his words carefully. "You didn’t mention anything about oaths."

I tilted my head slightly, my tone calm but edged.

"You seriously think I’d just accept your allegiance without any assurance you won’t turn on me the moment I turn my back? Be serious, Gork."

He clenched his jaw, the sound of his teeth grinding faintly against each other. The idea clearly didn’t sit well with him. After escaping Jael’s binding just hours ago, being forced into another one must have felt like trading one cage for another.

But this was necessary.

Gork and Nira weren’t like the regular goblins under my command. They were Chosen—smarter, sharper, still capable of human reasoning and deceit. They could plot, manipulate, and bide their time. Regular goblins only respected strength and followed it blindly, which made them predictable. But Chosen were different.

They could smile in your face and stab you in the back the next moment if it meant survival.

That’s what I’d do if I were in their shoes.

And I wasn’t about to let that happen.

An oath was the only real assurance that I wouldn’t end up with a dagger in my spine while I slept, so I was definitely going to get them under one. Even if it was something that didn’t make me comfortable.

"Since there’s no objection," I said, my tone firm but unhurried, "let’s get it over with, shall we?"

But as I spoke, another thought crossed my mind.

How exactly was I supposed to make them official members of my clan?

I pulled up my system interface, the familiar translucent screen unfolding before me with a faint hum.

[Status Window]

Name: Eli Cross

Race: Goblin

Title (v): Drugar’s Chosen

Class: Dimensional Sovereign

I tapped the small icon next to my title, and the list expanded, each one glowing faintly in the air before me.

- Drugar’s Chosen

- Troll Killer

- Chosen Leader

I was currently on...