CHAPTER 230: CONSECRATION

"By the way," I said over my shoulder, "have you seen Granny Flogga?"

She didn’t respond.

Instead, she let out a low harrumph and strutted off in the opposite direction, her tail flicking behind her with exaggerated annoyance.

Fair enough. I deserved that reaction.

I let out a long sigh and continued the search myself. No use chasing after a fox with an ego the size of a hill.

Fortunately, a pair of the newer goblins were more cooperative. After a brief exchange—mostly consisting of pointing and muttered directions—I made my way toward the far end of the settlement.

That’s where I found her.

Granny Flogga.

She was exactly where I should’ve guessed she’d be—right in the middle of organizing a communal meal, surrounded by the steady bustle of goblins preparing ingredients.

A large fire was being stoked beneath an iron pot the size of a goblin hut, suspended over the flames with thick branches reinforced by stone. A troll—our newest addition—was carefully lowering the pot into place, his muscles flexing as he grunted with effort. Around him, younger goblins moved with a mix of excitement and nervous energy, chopping roots, peeling strange vegetables, and tossing ingredients into woven baskets.

Even Talia was among them, sleeves rolled up, carefully slicing a purple fruit I didn’t recognize.

Flogga stood at the center of it all, hunched but steady, her eyes scanning everything at once like a general overseeing a battlefield.

When she spotted me approaching, her wrinkled face cracked into a smile.

"Young Totem," she greeted, voice warm but rough like gravel. "You’re back."

I gave her a nod and stepped beside her, careful not to interrupt the rhythm she had going.

"Where’s Zarah?" I asked, glancing around the area.

I hadn’t seen her among the workers.

"I do not know," Flogga said, stirring the pot as a wave of steam hissed up. "But I saw her not long ago with Gobbo and Zonk, heading toward the eastern ridge."

Then, with a sly glint in her eye, she added,

"Why... is young Totem worried about his queen?"

I immediately dropped my gaze, heat rising to my face.

She chuckled under her breath, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

"Narg told me you went to consecrate the grave," she said, shifting back to business. "How did it go?"

"It was successful..." I replied, but my tone dropped, quieter, heavier. "But..."

Flogga stopped stirring. Her expression sobered instantly, the teasing gone.

"What happened?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

I hesitated, but there was no point hiding it now.

"While I was performing the rite... Lord Drugar appeared."

"What?" she snapped, louder than I expected. "Lord Drugar?"

Her voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp enough to make several nearby goblins freeze mid-task.

The ones slicing vegetables paused with blades in the air. Others stopped stacking firewood, wide-eyed.

"Back to work!" Flogga barked.

Her voice snapped them out of it, and they scurried to obey, returning to their tasks like mice fleeing a falling stone.

Once they were distracted again, she turned back to me.

I leaned in, keeping my voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

"Not him directly... his avatar. Some kind of incarnation or projection."

Flogga’s eyes widened, and for the first time since I’d known her, real awe spread across her face.

That look didn’t belong on her. She was always the one who kept her composure, who made jokes with a crooked smile and gave advice like she’d seen the world ten times over. But now... she looked like a child hearing a myth come to life.

"What did he say?" she asked, voice hushed. "Did he request anything? Grant you anything?"

I raised a brow at her barrage of questions.

"Forget that," I said, a bit sharper than I meant to. "Did you know he might show up during the consecration? You never mentioned that part. Kind of an important detail to leave out."

Flogga blinked, then exhaled slowly, her face softening with something that might’ve been guilt—or maybe uncertainty.

"I’ve never heard of any clan leader saying so," she replied. "When a graveyard is formed, it’s usually considered a sacred process, yes, but no one’s ever said Drugar himself—or even a piece of him—would appear. If it’s happened before, they didn’t talk about it."

That made sense.

There was no reason for her to keep something like that from me—not if she’d known. If anything, it was on me for rushing in without even pausing to ask.

Flogga might speak in riddles and stories, but when it came to matters of our kind—our rites, our history—she knew more than anyone else in the clan. Even if her knowledge was patchy or passed down through whispers, it was still better than charging in blind the way I did.

"Now answer my question," she said, folding her arms and squinting at me. "Did you try to appease him? Show respect? Offer something worth his favor? I hear divine support... it can change everything for a clan."

This old goblin. How much had she heard with those worn-out ears of hers?

I scratched the side of my face and looked off to the side.

"Well..."

The word dragged out of my mouth like it was trying to delay the truth.

What was I supposed to say?

Yeah, I offered him a single bone, and he got so offended he nearly snapped my neck in half. Then a mysterious light exploded out of me, saved my life, and scared off the manifestation of our god.

Yeah... definitely sounded like too much.

So I toned it down.

"I don’t think I managed to get on his good side," I admitted, keeping my voice even. "He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the bone of the previous chief I offered. Didn’t go over well."

Flogga let out a long, regretful sigh, rubbing her temple with one wrinkled hand.

"Hmmm... we should’ve prepared a proper offering," she murmured. "Something more fitting. I’ve heard he’s partial to the hearts of wild beasts. Maybe even a troll heart if you really want to impress him."

Oh, he’s a fan of hearts, all right.

So much so, he asked for a thousand goblin ones.

"What’s gone is gone." Flogga continued. "There will be many chances for you to commune with him. Then, we can try to please him properly."

Yeah... no thanks.

If I could help it, I’d avoid any future "commune" with Lord Drugar like the plague. The next time that shadow shows up, he’s not going to talk; he’ll just erase me outright.

Still, I nodded politely.

"What matters," I said, steering the conversation away from divine death threats, "is that the grave is finally formed."

"Indeed," Flogga said with a satisfied nod.

"And since the graveyard was accepted by the system, we’ve been officially recognized as a clan. Which means..." I paused. "I need a name."

"A name?" she asked, perking up.

"Yes. I’m drawing blanks. I haven’t thought of anything decent, and the options that came to mind were—let’s just say, embarrassing."

Flogga chuckled lightly. "Well then, young Totem, let’s...