Night had settled softly across the Jura Forest, the trees whispering above like ancient guardians watching history unfold. A great fire crackled in the center of the goblin village, casting flickering orange light across the humble huts and the gathering crowd of goblins.
Varvatos stood tall before them, cloaked in calm might, his presence commanding without force. Beside him lounged Veldora, arms folded, watching the goblins with amused curiosity.
"I must say," Veldora said as he glanced around, "you've got potential here, but they're still terribly weak."
Varvatos raised a brow. "We'll train them."
"No, no," Veldora waved dismissively. "They're weak because they're Nameless. Without names, they can't evolve. You give them names—they grow stronger. Faster. Sharper. Some might even evolve immediately."
Varvatos looked at him thoughtfully. "That's… actually a good point."
"I have them occasionally," Veldora grinned.
Turning, Varvatos faced the goblin elder who stood with a slightly hunched back and wise eyes that shimmered with hope and fear. "Gather everyone," he said, his tone calm yet final.
The elder blinked. "A-all of us?"
"Yes. Every goblin in this village. Now."
The elder nodded and scurried off. Moments later, goblins of all ages—young warriors, foragers, elderly watchers, mothers and children—gathered before Varvatos and Veldora, whispering to one another nervously. Their eyes darted up at the mysterious new leader who spoke like a king but hadn't harmed a single one of them.
Varvatos stepped forward, and as he did, the very air thickened with authority.
"I am Varvatos," he began, his voice resonating across the village, neither loud nor harsh—but deep, purposeful. "I seek to build a kingdom unlike any the world has seen—a sanctuary for monsters, a nation of strength, honor, and unity."
The goblins murmured to one another, uncertain but captivated.
"You have survived long in these wilds. That alone makes you worthy of acknowledgment," Varvatos continued. "But survival is not enough. You want to thrive. To grow. To rise beyond your limits."
He paused.
"You are weak because you are Nameless. That will end today."
The goblins gasped.
Several dropped to their knees, overwhelmed by the sheer gravity of what Varvatos was offering.
The elder hesitated, stepping forward again.
"But… Varvatos-sama, naming… is dangerous. To name even one goblin can drain a monster's strength. To name all of us…?"
Varvatos raised a hand, his gaze steady. "Worry not. I have more than enough power for that."
A wind swept through the camp at those words—not magical, not violent—just the whisper of fate turning.
The goblins looked up at him with reverence, some trembling with emotion, others holding back tears. For creatures long ignored, long hunted, long considered little more than pests… this moment was sacred.
Varvatos turned to the elder and placed a hand on his head. "From this day forth… you are Rigur."
The elder's body glowed faintly. Power surged through him. His back straightened, his eyes burned brighter, and his skin toughened. His very presence shifted—still goblin, but… more.
Rigur fell to his knees, awestruck. "Thank you… Varvatos-sama."
Varvatos continued.
He walked through the rows of goblins, placing a hand on each forehead and speaking with calm certainty:
"You… shall be called Gobta."
The small goblin blinked dumbly, then squealed in delight.
"You… Tamara."
A young female goblin gasped and bowed deeply.
"You… Astrid."
She looked up, shocked to be chosen, eyes shining with gratitude.
"You… Gabla."
A stout goblin with strong arms clenched his fists proudly.
One by one, he bestowed names.
"Dorga."
"Lysha."
"Kuroga."
"Mila."
"Geldan."
"Zelka."
"Tharn."
"Eiru."
"Roku."
"Kelma."
"Nazin."
"Olgar."
"Fenra."
"Yokta."
"Domo."
"Shiri."
"Gravik."
"Maru."
"Relda."
"Harn."
"Vuki."
"Silma."
"Drigg."
"Toka."
"Vina."
"Norak."
"Bari."
"Zarra."
"Forn."
And so on…
It took nearly an hour.
Veldora watched the process with a strange sense of awe, arms crossed and eyes glinting. "You're really doing it… all 150 of them."
Varvatos stood in the middle of the exhausted but glowing crowd, his aura pulsing gently as his magic flowed, undiminished despite the feat. "They deserve it."
Many goblins had collapsed into sleep—evolution already beginning within them. Their bodies shimmered with the early signs of transformation—stronger muscles, sharper minds, more refined forms.
Rigur, now visibly evolved, stood proudly at Varvatos' side. "You… have changed our destiny. We will never forget this."
Varvatos turned to Veldora, who gave him a smug grin.
"So… what now, King?"
Varvatos gave a faint, amused chuckle. "Now… we build a better houses."
Morning dew still clung to the blades of grass as the sun peeked over the treetops of the Jura Forest. Birds chirped softly, but the once-quiet goblin village was now filled with murmurs of amazement. One by one, the goblins stirred from their rest—and each of them felt… different.
Stronger.
Taller.
Smarter.
The males, now well over six feet, bore thick muscles, stronger limbs, and more confident stances—Hobgoblins, through and through. The females, too, had changed. Their eyes shone with keener intellect, their bodies leaner, more agile. They had become Goblinas, a proud and rare evolution for their kind.
Varvatos stood at the edge of the village, arms folded, watching as the newly evolved goblins looked at each other in disbelief. Even he blinked, caught off guard by the sheer magnitude of the change.
"…This is more than I expected," he murmured.
Beside him, Veldora smirked, arms behind his head. "Told you, didn't I? Naming is powerful. You just gave 150 of them a fast-track to greatness."
Varvatos let out a low chuckle. "You weren't wrong."
Not wasting any time, he turned to Rigur, who now stood proudly with a slightly armored tunic gifted by evolution. "Rigur," Varvatos said, "gather everyone once again."
"Yes, Varvatos-sama!" Rigur bowed and moved swiftly.
Minutes later, the entire village stood before him once more. The mood was different this time—no nervousness, no uncertainty. Just eager, curious eyes and confident postures. They were ready to follow.
"You've all changed," Varvatos said, looking across the crowd. "You've grown stronger. And that strength… must be put to use."
He gestured toward the worn, crooked huts that dotted the clearing.
"These homes… won't do anymore. Not for a future kingdom."
As the goblins looked around at their old village, now dwarfed by their evolved forms, they nodded in agreement.
"So," Varvatos continued, stepping forward and raising one hand, "let's rebuild."
His eyes flared with magic as his aura expanded across the clearing. The earth trembled—not from destruction, but from change. Trees that once surrounded the area gently vanished into particles of light, leaving open space without harming the forest's balance.
Then, using the vast knowledge from his previous life and mastery of Creation Magic, Varvatos began.
Lines of magical blue energy traced the ground, forming neat foundations. Stone and timber rose from the earth as if summoned by a divine hand. Houses took shape—sturdy, elegant, practical.
Some with tiled roofs, others with open courtyards. Roads formed from smooth stone, and wooden bridges crossed over tiny flowing streams.
The goblins watched in stunned silence, eyes wide and jaws slack. They'd never imagined such beauty, such order. Some began to cry, overcome with gratitude.
An hour passed. The final touches were made. And where once a crude village stood, a thriving, well-planned settlement now glimmered under the sun.
Varvatos stepped back and dusted his hands. "This," he said, "is only the beginning."
The goblins dropped to their knees.
"Thank you, Varvatos-sama!" they cried in unison, many bowing deeply. "We are forever in your debt!"
Varvatos, a small smile playing on his lips, raised a hand. "Stand. From this day on, you are no longer just survivors. You are citizens of a rising kingdom. And every kingdom needs purpose."
He turned to Rigur. "Divide them into groups. Soldiers. Cooks. Merchants. Diplomats. Builders. Each should choose a house to stay in. We will need order and function."
Rigur's eyes burned with determination. "Yes, my lord! I'll see to it immediately."
As Rigur rushed off to organize the newly structured village, Veldora stepped beside Varvatos, arms crossed and tail swaying lazily.
"I've gotta say," the dragon said, "I'm impressed. You're a natural-born ruler."
Varvatos chuckled. "I appreciate that, but I don't want to build a kingdom where everyone relies on me for everything. They need to learn. To take pride in their own growth."
Veldora nodded sagely. "That's the spirit. Teach them to fish, don't just serve it to them on a golden plate."
Then his expression turned thoughtful.
"…You know," he said, "if you want strength, order, and proper warriors… the Ogre Tribe might be your next stop. They're powerful, disciplined, and take pride in honor and combat. They could help train these goblins—and form the foundation of a real army."
Varvatos looked toward the distant trees, a glimmer of interest in his eyes. "The Ogres… I've heard tales. They could be just what we need."
Veldora grinned. "Shall we pay them a visit?"
Varvatos gave a calm nod, turning toward the horizon. "Yes. Let's meet our next allies."