Chapter Twenty-Four: The Ghoul

That night, the Poor Thing indeed slept very lightly. In the middle of the night, she was startled awake by a strange sound—a bizarre “clack, clack”—carried over by the wind. When she sat up, she realized that the Earthen Beetle who had been sleeping beside her was nowhere to be found. Panic immediately surged in her heart; out here on this wild plain, only staying close to that Earthen Beetle felt remotely safe.

But soon enough, she caught sight of Shaya.

Shaya was crouched by the riverbank, facing the opposite shore. Hearing Poor Thing sit up, he turned and made a “don’t shout” gesture, then lowered his voice with a grin, “Something interesting is happening. Come and see.”

Poor Thing crawled over and sat down beside Shaya, leaning her body against his, and followed the direction in which he pointed across the river.

On the far bank lay the goblin tribe that had been slaughtered. In the shroud of night, only the vague outline of a tattered earth wall could be seen.

Under the starlight, gazing from their side of the river, Poor Thing could make out tall, looming shadows gathering around the ruins, each upright and human-like as they converged on the settlement. Inside the broken walls, more dark, indistinct figures huddled together. Whatever those things were, they walked upright but moved very slowly; seen from afar, their upper bodies seemed long and their lower bodies oddly short.

Some had already knelt or sprawled on the ground, grasping at something, their bodies jerking with a grotesque rhythm…

“Bears?” Poor Thing whispered uncertainly.

“Ghouls.” Shaya turned and grinned at her, deliberately twisting his smile into something menacing. Sure enough, Poor Thing shuddered and nearly cried out, only to have Shaya promptly clap a hand over her mouth and murmur, “Don’t interrupt others while they’re having their dinner.”

Ghouls…

Just the name was enough for Poor Thing to realize what those creatures were doing.

The wind carried over the clack-clack of gnawing, a sound like teeth scraping bone. Poor Thing felt her chest tighten, nausea roiling within her.

Shaya, however, watched with great interest, even sighing, “Ah, I’ve never seen a living ghoul before. This is my first time seeing the real thing.”

Far off in the wilderness, the howls of wolves echoed every now and then—packs of wolves or wild dogs prowling the plain, drawn by the corpses of the goblins. But the powerful ghouls had arrived first and claimed the site for themselves, forcing the wolves and wild dogs to slink around the outskirts, hoping that once the ghouls were sated and left, they might scavenge whatever scraps remained.

Poor Thing was nearly sick enough to lose her supper, but Shaya, satisfied at last, picked up a stone and hurled it across the river. His strength was prodigious; the stone sailed far and landed outside the ruined walls. Then Shaya stood, cupped his hands to his mouth, and bellowed across the water.

Poor Thing was so terrified, she wanted nothing more than to leap up and throttle him.

“You lunatic! What are you doing? Do you want to lure those monsters over here?” Her face had gone deathly pale.

“Hahaha!” Shaya clapped her shoulder. “You really are a fool. Haven’t you heard of common sense? Ghouls are naturally terrified of water. As long as we’re on this side of the river, they won’t dare come over.”

Sure enough, the commotion Shaya caused roused the ghouls. With furious howls, they rushed out of the ruins and down to the riverbank, waving their arms and shrieking at Shaya from across the water. The distance was close enough that Poor Thing could finally make out their features.

Their legs were short and thin, upper bodies thick and stocky, all covered in yellow fur. Their arms hung past their knees, each head a sharp, triangular point, with vast, bloody mouths full of rotten teeth.

To put it bluntly, if you smashed a bear and a wolf together and reassembled the parts at random, a ghoul might be the result.

Just as Shaya had said, a few ghouls did attempt to cross, but the moment their feet touched the water, they recoiled in panic, scampering back to shore. All they could do was rage and howl from across the river.

The goblins had all awakened as well. They handled the situation far better than Poor Thing, clearly familiar with the ghouls’ habits. With a river between them, they stood at the bank, laughing boldly at the monsters on the far side. Some even picked up stones and threw them, though none had the strength to hurl them across the hundred-pace-wide river—still, this reckless display delighted the cowardly goblins.

So, the two sides spent half the night bellowing at each other across the water. Only as dawn neared did the ghouls, at last, slink away, unwilling but defeated.

“All right, time to get moving,” Shaya said, giving Poor Thing a tug. Then, after a moment’s thought, he added, “But before we set out, there’s something important to do.”

That important matter was—

Bathing!

No, not Shaya himself, nor did he intend for Poor Thing to bathe (in any case, even if Shaya threatened her with a blade, she’d never jump into the river before everyone and wash herself).

No, it was the goblins who needed a bath!

Goblins possessed a truly remarkable tradition: their hygiene habits were the worst among all known civilized, intelligent species.

In fact, there wasn’t even a word for “clean” in their language.

For most goblins, from birth to death, there might never be a single bath. Their bodies were perpetually smeared with dirt, dust, and layers of questionable, foul-smelling secretions. Over time, it was as if armor had formed on their skin.

Among the goblins, only those of high status ever bathed—chieftains, lords, and… princesses.

Indeed, when Shaya asked Princess Ox, “Do you ever bathe?” the princess cocked her head, thought hard for a moment, and finally replied that the last time had been during her grand wedding with the lord. Before that? She couldn’t recall.

In short, you cannot measure a goblin by human standards. Among goblins, those who even bother to wipe themselves after relieving themselves are already considered the rare neat freaks.

Imagine, if you will, standing beside someone who hasn’t bathed or even wiped in years… What would they smell like?

Now imagine not one, but a whole group.

It was only out of necessity that Shaya had assigned Princess Ox to guard the prisoners yesterday—standing with a group of goblins for longer than a single meal was enough to kill you with the stench, unless you had a defective respiratory system.

But now that he’d decided to bring the goblins along, Shaya at least owed it to his own nose to take some precautions.

The goblins were all lazy, and after a round of gesturing and shouting, none would willingly jump into the river. Shaya, losing patience, simply kicked the nearest ones into the water himself. The rest, seeing his fury, hurried after with a series of splashes.

Princess Ox, recently promoted to jailer, laughed at their plight—until Shaya pointed at her, then at the water. Only then did she realize she, too, was not exempt.

Many tales describe bloody massacres with the phrase “the river ran red with blood.”

But when a group of goblins bathe, the effect is the same!

A horde of goblins, none of whom had ever bathed in their lives, thrashed in the river for half the morning—not because they wanted to stay, but because Shaya stood on the bank with his axe. The first to try climbing out was promptly knocked back in—with the flat side, of course.

By the time noon neared, the goblins had almost scrubbed away several layers of skin.

More alarming still, the river near the bathing spot ran black for a long stretch downstream.

“Thank goodness we’re heading upstream,” Shaya said, patting his chest in relief. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t drink from this river if you paid me.”

Poor Thing had already retreated far away. Watching a crowd of naked male goblins bathe was certainly not something that suited her status.

Shaya came over and found Poor Thing changing the dressing on her wounded leg.

“Hey,” Shaya called abruptly, looming over her. “Let me ask you something.”

“What?” Poor Thing instinctively froze, quickly pulling down her trouser leg to cover her calf.

“Who is Adeline?”

Poor Thing’s whole body jolted, her eyes wide as she stared at Shaya in disbelief.

Shaya stroked his chin, eyeing her carefully. “You know,” he said, “you talk in your sleep. Last night, when those ghouls woke you, I happened to hear you say that name.”