John groaned and rubbed his temples. The UI was still a mess, the femboy system was still floating beside him with his arms crossed and his translucent nose in the air, and the goblins were probably getting restless outside. He couldn't sit here all night arguing about interface design. He had a village to run and a territory to expand.
He teleported back to the goblin village.
The moment he appeared, the goblins swarmed him again, a chaotic wave of green skin and yellow eyes and excited chatter. They tugged at his armor, pulled at his sleeves, pressed close on all sides until John felt like he was being swallowed by a very enthusiastic, slightly smelly tide.
"Leader! Leader, what did the demigod say?" one of them asked, hopping up and down.
"Is he going to help us? Please say yes!" another added, clutching her hands to her massive chest.
"Did he promise to smite our enemies?" a third demanded, brandishing a rusty knife. "Can he do lightning? I bet he can do lightning."
John raised his hands, grinning. The goblins fell silent, their yellow eyes fixed on him, their pointy ears twitching with anticipation.
"The demigod," John said, drawing out the words for maximum drama, "is going to clear some land for us. A lot of land. Like, a hundred acres worth of land."
The goblins erupted. Cheers, whoops, and excited shrieks filled the air. A few of them grabbed each other and started dancing in a circle, their wide hips bumping, their massive breasts bouncing.
"But!" John held up a hand, and the noise died down. "I need privacy to talk to it more. Demigod stuff. Very secret. Very important."
The goblins nodded solemnly and backed away, giving him space. John slipped into the dark hut that used to belong to the old chief, the one with the sagging roof and the furs on the floor. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.
"System," John said, lowering his voice. "I need you to clear all the trees within a hundred acres. Like, every single one. Just... poof. Gone."
The femboy system floated in front of him, his white hair glowing faintly in the darkness, his blue eyes narrowed. "Yeesh. What the hell are you making? A parking lot?"
"Just do it," John said. "But leave the logs. Stack them in a corner somewhere. We'll use them for building."
The system sighed, a long, dramatic sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "Fine. But you owe me. Again." (I've lost count of how many favors john owes, first guy to comment it gets free mod on my discord)
He raised his small hands, and the world outside the hut began to change.
John pushed open the door and stepped out just in time to see the show. The trees on the eastern edge of the village were simply... disappearing. One moment they were there, tall and ancient, their branches swaying in the breeze. The next moment they were gone, replaced by open land and blue sky. The goblins gasped and pointed, their jaws hanging open.
"Look! The trees are vanishing!"
"It's the demigod! The demigod is helping us!"
"Praise the demigod! Praise the leader!"
The clearing continued, spreading outward like an invisible wave. Acres and acres of forest vanished, leaving behind bare earth and scattered stumps. The logs, thousands of them, were lifted into the air by an unseen force and carried to a corner of the new clearing, where they stacked themselves into neat piles.
When it was finished, John stood at the edge of the village and surveyed the new land. It was... hilly. Very hilly. The ground sloped up and down in ways that would make building a nightmare. Nothing was flat. Nothing was level. Everything was at an angle.
"Shit," John muttered. "This is why I hate city builder games."
He looked at the piles of logs, at least eighty thousand of them, stacked in a corner like a wooden mountain. Then he looked at the hilly terrain, the sloping ground, the complete lack of flat surfaces. He was going to have to terrace everything. Build retaining walls. Carve the land into usable platforms.
His head hurt just thinking about it.
---
Meanwhile, in the training yard of Greystone, Duke Ashford stood with his arms crossed, watching Sir Draven.
The imperial knight was a sight to behold. Lean but extremely muscular, his body was a roadmap of veins and tendons, each muscle defined and cut. His dark straight hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and his face was sharp, angular, with a jaw that could cut glass. He was currently doing one-finger pushups on the stone floor, his body perfectly straight, his muscles straining.
On his back, holding on with tiny fists, was his son. A boy of maybe five, with the same dark hair and sharp features, giggling every time his father dipped low and pushed back up.
"One hundred and ninety-seven," Draven counted, his voice steady despite the exertion. "One hundred and ninety-eight. One hundred and ninety-nine. Two hundred."
He pushed up one last time and held the position, his single finger buried in a divot he had worn into the stone over years of practice.
"Daddy, can we do two hundred more?" the boy asked, bouncing on his back.
"Of course, son. But first, I need to speak with the duke."
Draven gently lowered himself to the ground, and his son rolled off, landing on his feet with practiced ease. The knight stood, brushing dust from his tunic, and turned to face Ashford.
"Duke Ashford," Draven said, bowing slightly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Ashford sighed. "Can you please talk to me like a normal person? Without the... the training?"
Draven tilted his head, confused. "This is how I talk to everyone."
"You're doing one-finger pushups while carrying a child on your back. That's not normal conversation."
"maybe not normal for you" (ooooooo burnnnn)
Ashford rubbed his temples. He had known Draven for years, had fought alongside him in the Famine War, had watched him rise through the ranks to become the most feared knight in Thornheim. The man was a legend. He was also completely, obsessively devoted to training, to the point where he seemed incapable of having a conversation without doing something physically demanding.
"I have orders for you," Ashford said, deciding to ignore the pushups. "The king has granted me the authority to expand east, into the forests. There are goblin villages blocking our access to the mines. I need you to clear them out."
Draven's eyes lit up. "Goblins? Excellent. I've been meaning to test a new technique on something living."
Ashford held up a hand. "You'll have control of three thousand men. Enough to sweep through the forest and eliminate any resistance."
"No need."
Ashford blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I don't need three thousand men." Draven cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. "Just me and my five successors. We can handle it."
Ashford stared at him. "You and five others. Against an unknown number of goblins. In a forest. At night."
"Goblins are cowards," Draven said, as if explaining something obvious. "They rely on numbers and fear. Take away their numbers, and they have nothing. My successors and I will move fast, strike hard, and be back before the week is out."
Ashford was silent for a long moment. He remembered watching Draven fight during the war. The way he moved, the way he killed, the way he seemed to be everywhere at once. He remembered the stories, the legends, the whispered rumors that Draven was not entirely human.
"Are you sure five is enough?" Ashford asked.
Draven grinned. "Hey, don't call them the Five Hands of Thornheim for nothing."
He dropped back to the ground and resumed his one-finger pushups, his son climbing onto his back again. "One. Two. Three."
Ashford watched for a moment, then turned away.
"I trust you," he said over his shoulder. "Don't make me regret it."
He walked out of the training yard, leaving Draven to his counting and his son's giggles. The forest would be cleared. The goblins would be dealt with. And Ashford would have his land.