Glory To The Goblin Lord: A LitRPG Epic by One-Way Justice

Author:One-Way Justice [Justice, One-Way]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Voraces Tavern
Published: 2025-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25 – Bring on meat and mead (Training arc)

The healers’ hall was a hive of activity—goblin nurses wrapped in white and wearing mouth masks, bird-like beak covers that were mostly for show. It was the age-old affair that plagued most peasants’ sickrooms, in the hell here below like the land above: the dried-out balms and fetid messes, the odorous drifts of fresh manure. Dung slung richly in worn-down bandages. Dead dark limbs in a corner pile.

There was nothing here that would aid recovery. If the goblins survived, it was only by chance.

The prince looked around—Linaria should be here... the wound on her head was a cause for alarm.

Would they even know, these novice pretenders?

The lady was worth all the blood in their veins.

It was a large open space, the green-lit stone scenery. Packed to the brim with the heat of worn bodies, the scent of their flesh. The meaning of death. They were sprawled all around—there was no room for pretence.

The prince scanned the room, seeing nothing but rookies in various states of distress. A throwaway lot, all of them receiving ineffectual or potentially injurious treatment.

Distressed that the lady might be mishandled, the prince readied himself—there may be dumb heads here in need of ripping off.

“Prince,” he heard a thin voice call out then—it was her, sitting alone and almost hidden behind a wide separator curtain. She gave a faint smile when the prince approached, looking sullen but still mostly unbothered. Only a pointless blue salve on her face. It would not heal, and it would not harm. This was the best they could hope for.

“I am glad to have found you,” the prince said, veering from his planned remark—‘you look well’ did not quite work for the occasion. A lie is only worth speaking when there’s chance of success. And the lady was far too perceptive to be placated.

Linaria merely nodded, closing her eyes for a long moment each time she blinked. This gave the prince a few precious seconds to study her wound—a deep scratched-out gash with blood trickling out still, streaking red through the smudge of blue salve.

Incensed once more by the candid violence of Zazra’s band—the bastards who had brought this all on... the prince looked around for someone to scold or impel. Some nurse or other who might treat the lady properly if called to task with no way out.

And as if summoned, a small masked goblin emerged, seemingly from thin air at the end of the ward, carrying scalpels and other medical apparel. But unless the prince was seeing ghosts, something odd was afoot here. He approached the masked one, eager to investigate.

“Give me your mask,” he stated, forcing his aura to rise and emanate.

And it was not perfect, this soft word of command, for the masked man hesitated before complying. He stood there in a stupor for a while after, as the prince put on the mask and looked at the wall at the end of the ward, where the man had moments ago appeared.

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