The Crown Prince Who Raises a Side Character

Blanca made a quick decision.

"Let’s head back."

Bern turned his gaze toward her.

"Why?"

"If they’re using stolen human clothes as mere makeshift sacks, it means they’ve secured a large quantity of clothing. And the only way wild goblins could obtain that much human clothing is by raiding villages. On top of that, they’ve managed to replicate ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) some semblance of human attire and even craft weapons. That means their group is much larger than we initially thought."

Goblins had the intelligence of human children.

But even children could form societies and learn new skills.

They didn’t have the capacity to sustain an advanced civilization like humans, but even a crude imitation could be dangerous.

"This isn’t something two adventurers can handle. We need to report the situation to the guild, mobilize the local lords to send troops, or gather a large number of adventurers for a proper extermination."

Blanca’s reasoning was sound—at least, by her standards.

However, Bern looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"Do you think that will work?"

"...What?"

"Didn’t you say it yourself earlier? The lords barely respond to issues even within their own lands. Do you think they’ll care just because the guild tells them to send a subjugation force?"

Blanca fell silent.

He was right.

If even she and Bern—who had only just arrived—could grasp the situation, there was no way the local lords were completely unaware.

Yet, instead of mobilizing their own soldiers, they had simply sent a standard request to the guild.

And not even for a large-scale operation, just a small request for a handful of adventurers.

In other words, they either lacked the capability to deal with the issue or simply didn’t care.

"The same goes for the adventurers’ guild. Moving adventurers requires sufficient compensation. Who’s going to pay for that?"

Blanca let out a dry laugh.

It wasn’t directed at Bern, but at herself.

She was mocking her own naivety—failing to consider something even a rookie adventurer like Bern could immediately recognize.

"Then what do we do?"

"We’ll handle it ourselves."

"...What?"

Blanca’s face momentarily went blank before she scowled.

"Listen, I know you’re strong, and I get that you’re confident in your abilities. But do you realize how many goblins we’re talking about? It could be over a hundred. Are you seriously planning to take them all down with just a sword?"

"I’ll have to. Eventually, I’ll need to take down a lich with nothing but a sword, too."

"──."

This time, Blanca was truly speechless.

Not because of what Bern had said, but because of the unwavering certainty in his eyes.

There was no hesitation, no arrogance—just absolute confidence.

"...Haah."

She let out a deep sigh.

Her rational mind told her this was absurd.

Strength and instinct alone didn’t guarantee victory in real combat. He had never even completed a single combat request before. She, as the veteran, should be the one taking control.

But then again—

If they were talking about absurd goals, was she really any different?

"Fine. Let’s do it."

Bern’s smile deepened at her response.

And so, the war between two adventurers and an entire goblin horde began.

***

It Was Born from Hatred

The first thing ‘it’ ever saw upon being born was the face of a human woman, screaming in tears.

Her body was frail, emaciated beyond reason.

Her throat was so dry that even producing sound seemed agonizing, yet she screamed and screamed.

‘It’ was born with a keen intelligence, enough to grasp a vague understanding of her words.

The woman was cursing.

Cursing the world, cursing her fate, cursing the monsters who had violated her—cursing ‘it,’ the thing that had been born from her womb.

She cursed and hated everything, screaming for it to die.

She screamed until her voice gave out, and then, as if a thread had been cut, she collapsed. She never rose again.

It was a miracle she had even been alive this long. Her death was inevitable.

And so, ‘it’ lost the chance to ever hear another word from its mother—anything other than hatred and curses.

‘It’s’ fathers—if they could even be called that—checked to make sure the woman was dead, then devoured her corpse without hesitation.

Yet, despite that, they still acknowledged ‘it’ as one of their own and offered it food.

‘It’ grew. Slowly at first, but far faster than any human.

And soon, ‘it’ realized something.

It was different.

The others were unbelievably foolish.

Problems that seemed painfully simple to ‘it’ were impossible for them to solve.

Tasks that ‘it’ could complete effortlessly took them immense effort.

Whether in intelligence or physical ability, ‘it’ was vastly superior.

Was it because its mother was human? No, that couldn’t be the case.

There were others in the horde who had been born in the same manner—half-human offspring of goblin raiders who had attacked an isolated village of slash-and-burn farmers.

Yet not a single one of its so-called ‘siblings’ came close to possessing its abilities.

‘It’ was an anomaly.

With overwhelming strength and intelligence, ‘it’ naturally became the leader of the horde.

Even those who might have been its biological fathers bowed before it without hesitation.

As if it was their predetermined fate, ‘it’ led the horde to grow stronger.

The first thing ‘it’ changed was how they consumed food.

Before, every goblin fended for itself, eating whatever it could find immediately.

But ‘it’ implemented a new system: all food had to be gathered and stored in one place, and ‘it’ alone would decide how it was distributed.

Previously, goblins only sought food when they were starving.

But ‘it’ commanded them to hunt every day, even if they already had enough food stored.

With a stable and efficient supply of resources, the horde—which already reproduced quickly—began to grow at an even faster rate.

The next thing it changed was the use of tools.

Goblins had always used clothes and equipment taken from their prey, but they had never attempted to craft such things themselves.

It wasn’t just due to a lack of skill—it was because doing so was too much effort.

Lazy by nature and driven by immediate impulses, goblins always preferred the easiest path.

But it forced them to use tools and even commanded them to replicate them.

The quality was inferior to human-made items, of course. The crude weapons made from stone, wood, and leather were far from refined.

But even poorly made weapons were vastly superior to simply swinging a loose rock.

The last thing it changed was their hunting methods.

Until now, goblins had eaten whatever they could find, attacking prey in large groups with sheer numbers.

Sometimes, they attempted ambushes or stealth attacks, but these were more for the thrill of surprise or malice than for efficiency.

However, changing this hunting style was far more difficult than the other reforms.

It had come up with the idea of food storage on its own.

It had imitated humans in creating tools.

But even with its intelligence, it couldn’t develop tactics and strategy from nothing.

So, once again, it turned to humans.

It gathered the weakest and laziest goblins from its growing horde and ordered them to raid a human village.

The first attempt was too easy.

The village fell without a fight.

Dozens of humans became prisoners—both slaves and food reserves.

It had hoped to observe humans in battle, so the ease of victory was disappointing.

However, it quickly changed its mind and decided to observe the captives instead.

By severing their Achilles tendons, escape was impossible.

By providing food, their survival was ensured.

Trapped in isolation with nothing to do but eat, the humans turned to the only thing that kept them sane—talking.

The other goblins didn’t understand human speech.

But it did.

Slowly, patiently, it listened.

It savored each word they exchanged.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The constant conversations of dozens of people made for an excellent lesson.

"Don’t give up."

"Help will come someday."

"We need to come up with an escape plan."

"Could we steal the goblins’ weapons?"

"It’ll be okay, kids."

"Don’t worry—I’ll protect you."

"Damn bastards. If they’re going to give us meat, at least cook it!"

"What is that big goblin?"

"It comes by every day to watch us. It’s creeping me out."

From their words, it learned that humans called it and its kind goblins.

It also learned something else—humans thought goblins were beneath them.

After all, even though it had stood before them every day, listening to their every word, they had never once considered that a goblin could understand.

Perfect.

Once it had grasped enough of their language, a thought occurred to it.

What would happen if a creature they deemed inferior suddenly spoke their language?

It opened its mouth.

"Humans, how does it feel to live in my domain?"

As expected, the humans were horrified.

Their jaws dropped.

Their eyes widened in terror.

Their bodies trembled.

But the most interesting reaction came from one particular human—

A man who immediately dropped to his knees and bowed.

"F-Forgive me!" the man cried. "Goblin Lord! I swear, I have never insulted you!"

At those words, the humans who had once mocked goblins turned pale.

But more than their fear, what truly intrigued it was the title.

By now, it understood enough human language to recognize the meaning of Lord—a ruler, a sovereign, a master of territory.

Since it had just declared this its domain, the human had merely interpreted it literally.

Lord.

It rolled the word on its tongue a few times.

It liked the sound of it.

Yes.

It was the ruler of the goblins.

It did reign over the land where goblins roamed.

And so, the Goblin Lord spoke to the kneeling human.

"Your words amuse me. It would be a waste to consume you as food. I grant you the honor of serving me."

Relief spread across the man’s face.

But when the others heard the word food, despair took hold of them.

The Goblin Lord turned to the rest of the captives.

"From now on, I will ask you many questions. Those who provide satisfactory answers shall become slaves. Those who do not—shall become food."

The humans reeled in shock. Some snarled in anger.

But after three executions—where the Goblin Lord effortlessly crushed the skulls of defiant prisoners with a mere flick of its hand—no one dared to resist anymore.

And so, the humans began to talk.

Hunters shared knowledge of better hunting techniques.

Tanners taught how to properly work leather.

Some humans trembled at the thought of goblins learning their knowledge.

But they had no choice.

They couldn’t afford to worry about the consequences when they were fighting for survival.

The Goblin Lord kept its promise.

It did not eat the useful ones.

In fact, those who had valuable skills received better treatment.

The Goblin Lord was satisfied.

These new slaves and their knowledge would strengthen his horde—no, his kingdom.

But the Goblin Lord was also unsatisfied.

Metallurgy.

Military training.

Writing.

Swordsmanship.

Magic.

The humans spoke of all these things—but they could not teach them.

The village it had raided was one of the smallest, weakest settlements.

And because of that, the knowledge and skills of its people were limited.

But what if they attacked a larger and richer settlement?

What if they conquered it—took its people as slaves—absorbed their knowledge?

The Goblin Lord shuddered with hunger.

Hunger—not for food, but for greater power.