Strongest Radioactive System

The little goblins shifted nervously, their tiny, malnourished frames trembling under Volk's towering presence. Yet, their eyes—dim and haunted—held a faint spark of something Volk hadn't seen in them before: purpose. One of the goblins, the same small one who had spoken earlier, took a timid step forward and cleared its throat, glancing hesitantly up at him.

"W-We… we need things," it stammered, its voice cracking. "Tools. Wood. Metal. Rope. Anything we can find."

Volk's crimson eyes narrowed as he looked down at the creature. "Things? For what?" he asked, crossing his arms, his voice low and almost predatory. The goblins flinched at his tone, but the little one mustered its courage.

"To… build," it whispered. Its fingers fidgeted nervously, wringing the tattered edge of its sleeve. "If we're to make what my father did, we'll need things to work with. We'll need tools and… and…"

"And what?" Volk pressed, his patience beginning to wear thin.

The goblin gulped, glancing back at its companions for support. They all huddled together, their heads bobbing as if silently urging it to continue. "And time," it said at last. "It won't be fast, but if we try—if we remember—maybe we can make something."

The request was almost laughable. Volk looked at the tiny goblins—frail, starving, with hands that trembled even as they clung to one another—and then at the scattered remnants of his horde, who stood watching with a mixture of confusion and faint amusement. A bark of laughter escaped him, harsh and humorless.

"You think you can build something?" Volk asked, his tone laced with disbelief. He gestured broadly at the goblins, their feeble forms barely capable of standing upright. "You, who look as though a stiff breeze could blow you away? What could you possibly make that would be worth the effort?"

The little goblin didn't shrink back this time. Instead, it raised its chin slightly, its yellow eyes glinting with a faint hint of defiance. "It doesn't matter what we look like," it said, its voice steadier now. "If you give us what we need, we'll try. That's all we can do."

Volk stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to the surprise of everyone present, he gave a sharp nod. "Fine," he said, his tone curt. "You want materials? We'll give you materials. But don't waste my time."

He turned to his horde, his voice booming as he barked out orders. "Gather everything we have—wood, metal scraps, ropes, even cloth. Anything that might be useful, bring it here." The orcs and ogres exchanged dubious glances but didn't dare argue. They grunted their acknowledgments and began scattering in all directions, scouring the area for supplies.

The goblins, meanwhile, seemed to come alive at Volk's begrudging approval. Their hunched postures straightened slightly, and their eyes glimmered with a strange light as they huddled together, whispering hurriedly. It was as though some dormant instinct had been awakened within them—a primal memory of a time when their kind had been creators, not just victims.

As the materials began to pile up—planks of wood, twisted scraps of metal, frayed ropes, and even a few battered tools—the goblins moved with surprising efficiency. They scrambled over the supplies, sorting them into neat piles with quick, precise movements. Their small hands, though calloused and dirty, were surprisingly nimble as they began to assemble makeshift tools from the available scraps.

Volk watched with a mixture of bemusement and skepticism. The goblins worked with a kind of frenetic energy, their bony frames darting back and forth like overactive ants. It was almost comical—these tiny, half-starved creatures, chattering excitedly as they hammered and tied and carved with an intensity that bordered on obsessive.

"They look like a bunch of children at some human academy," Volk muttered under his breath, his lips twitching in a rare, fleeting smirk. "Building some school project for a teacher's approval."

Indeed, there was an odd, almost youthful enthusiasm to their movements. The goblins bickered over designs, gesturing wildly with their thin arms as they debated the best way to attach a plank or secure a joint. One of them, a particularly tiny creature with a squeaky voice, seemed to have taken on the role of leader, barking out instructions in a tone that was both commanding and utterly absurd coming from such a small figure.

"No, no, no! The rope goes there, not there!" it squeaked, waving a stick emphatically at its companions. "And tie it tighter! If it's loose, the whole thing will fall apart!"

Volk raised an eyebrow, folding his arms as he leaned against the cave wall. He had to admit, the goblins were far more organized than he'd expected. Despite their frail appearance, they moved with purpose, their hands deftly weaving ropes, hammering nails, and carving intricate patterns into the wooden planks.

"What exactly are they making?" one of the orcs muttered, scratching its head as it watched the goblins with a bemused expression.

Volk didn't answer immediately. His sharp eyes scanned the goblins' work, noting the crude but functional designs beginning to take shape. It was clear that the goblins had a vision—albeit one that was difficult for anyone else to decipher.

Hours passed, and the goblins showed no signs of slowing down. Their initial hesitation had vanished, replaced by a kind of feverish determination. They worked tirelessly, their thin bodies drenched in sweat but their eyes alight with purpose.

Volk found himself strangely fascinated by their progress. Despite their small size and apparent fragility, the goblins displayed a level of creativity and ingenuity that was both unexpected and impressive. They used every scrap of material to its fullest potential, turning even the most unassuming items into essential components of their project. Stay connected through empire

Finally, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, the goblins stepped back from their creation, their faces flushed with exhaustion but glowing with pride. Before them stood a bizarre, ramshackle contraption that defied easy description. It was part cart, part trebuchet, part… something else entirely.

Volk approached the structure, his crimson eyes narrowing as he examined it closely. "What is it?" he asked, his tone skeptical but tinged with curiosity.

The tiny goblin who had been acting as the leader stepped forward, its chest puffed out with pride. "It's… not done yet," it admitted, scratching its head sheepishly. "But it's a start. This… this will help us. It's like what my father used to build, but… simpler. Safer."

Volk raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "And you think this will work?" he asked, his voice low and probing.

The goblin hesitated for a moment, then nodded firmly. "It has to," it said simply. "We'll keep working until it does."

For a moment, Volk said nothing. Then, a slow, rare smile spread across his face. "Good," he said, his voice filled with a rare note of approval. "Then keep going. Show me what you can do."

The goblins' faces lit up with a mixture of relief and determination. They turned back to their work, their small hands moving with renewed energy as they began to refine and improve their creation.

Volk stepped back, folding his arms as he watched them. For the first time, he felt a flicker of genuine hope. These goblins, as pitiful as they had seemed, might just prove to be the key to his horde's survival—and perhaps even its ultimate victory.