The commotion from the Red Horn Tribe kobold's earlier fight against the giant serpent must have drawn the other kobolds' attention.
Only after the dust had settled did they dare skulk over to investigate.
Yet when they arrived, the Gray Longneck Holy Lord was nowhere to be seen.
That raised the question: why was it gone? Had it fled on its own? And if so, why? Luge was thoroughly baffled. Thinking it over, he could only attribute it to the Red Horn kobold. Perhaps the serpent had been frightened by this tribal warrior, or perhaps what it truly feared was the unseen King of Kobolds.
A brilliant destination for this bald kobold instantly sprang into Luge's mind.
"Bald—big fellow, do you have a name?" he asked.
The hairless kobold blinked blankly. Taken aback by Luge's sudden fervor, he hurriedly shook his head in cooperation.
Most kobolds went their entire lives without a name and had no need for one. Having a moniker like Big Dumb Hum was already a privileged distinction, showing that one had left a mark and possessed recognizable traits within the clan, unlike the countless indistinguishable kobolds who looked entirely identical and vanished forever after a single hunting expedition.
As for the more civilized Aisjin, she owed her proper name solely to Old Gold Tooth's presence.
According to Old Gold Tooth, Aisjin was a rough kobold transliteration of a dark elf bitter confection, its pronunciation quite imperfect.
"Bald Tooth, you are our new king! The Hairless King! From this moment on, remember: you are our Hairless Holy Lord!"
Empowered by Bull's Strength, he clapped a heavy hand on the bald kobold's shoulder. The blow shook the dazed fellow propped on his elbows so hard that he nearly flopped backward onto the ground.
At Luge's signal, Aisjin reluctantly brought over a grass skirt and a long staff.
"These are the symbols of your kingship—the king's scepter and the king's sacred vestment! Now take them and go conquer the kobolds here! Show them your might!"
Saying so, he shoved the items into the bald kobold's chest, seized his arm, and hauled him upright.
The kobold, now christened Bald Tooth, could hardly process what was happening.
"I... I'm not strong like you. The King's orders—"
"Right! Of course you haven't forgotten the King's orders! The King of Kobolds from the Red Horn Tribe is still waiting for you," Luge said solemnly. "If you don't want the King to look down on you for being stupid, you must listen to me. Become the king here, protect this place, and protect the kobolds of this small tribe! Only by trying to be a king on a small scale can you truly help the King of Kobolds and prove you won't disappoint him again. If you prove you can protect us, we'll even consider leaving with you when the time comes! The King will be overjoyed. He will definitely praise you!"
An arcane mark was quietly branded onto Bald Tooth's arm, gradually fading until it turned completely invisible.
Luge had even toyed with the idea of establishing a spell contract, but unfortunately, he had not learned any. Kaliu's diary contained no detailed instructions on magical pacts either. He had no choice but to settle for an arcane mark, leaving a beacon that would allow him to sense Bald Tooth's general location whenever he was nearby.
With Big Dumb Hum's help, Bald Tooth shook off the remaining ice chips, clustered some longer tufts of fur around his waist, and tied the grass skirt over them.
A hairless kobold was, if anything, even uglier.
Yet Bald Tooth was exceptionally sturdy. The absence of fur actually accentuated a brutal, raw power, pushing his hideousness to an entirely new height.
Soon, gasps of astonishment rose one after another among the gathered kobolds.
This cavern was indeed the clan's primary settlement, though a few smaller ones lay scattered elsewhere. Big Dumb Hum stayed by Bald Tooth's side, guiding the new king along. Big Dumb Hum was formally reappointed as the King's Guard, returning to his old duty—only this time, the one giving the orders was Luge, and the newborn king raised no objections.
Luge also instructed Bald Tooth that whenever he encountered difficult matters he could not resolve or comprehend, he should come here and consult Old Gold Tooth. Above all, he was not to disturb Luge without good reason; if something urgent arose, Aisjin would know where to find him.
While the kobolds were witnessing the rise of a new king unlike any they had ever seen or imagined, Luge slipped away alone to the place he had been yearning to explore for so long.
It was a sanctuary known to every kobold in the clan—the largest cavern in the entire area, the master's sacred ground where ordinary kobolds dared not tread.
This astonishingly vast cave served as the palace for each successive Holy Lord.
To Luge, it seemed more like every generation of master's dining hall, bedroom, garbage dump, and whatever else they made of it.
The creatures the clan attached themselves to were sometimes powerful but dim-witted subterranean beasts. Consequently, this great cavern of past Holy Lords was strewn with countless gnawed bones of every size, piled up like miniature hills.
No one knew how many years the kobolds had inhabited this place, but through centuries of accumulation, most of the cavern floor had become nearly impassable.
Different Holy Lords possessed different habits. Some merely ate until full, slept, and woke to eat again.
Others liked to hoard bizarre oddities, and whenever the kobolds served such a master, they racked their brains to present every scavenged curiosity they could find.
*Crack!*
As if on a private sightseeing tour, Luge occasionally crunched brittle bone fragments beneath his feet, gazing upward and looking around as he walked.
"Did it really leave?"
He circled through most of the cavern. Judging by the size of the Gray Longneck Holy Lord and the indentations left behind, he pinpointed a mound of shattered bones where the serpent usually coiled to rest. Rummaging carefully through the gaps, he spotted several grayish-white scales caught between the remains.
"What's this?"
He pulled away the surrounding bones with both hands.
An egg!
Had the serpent come here specifically to lay an egg?
It was about the size of a human head. For a creature as colossal as the Gray Longneck Holy Lord, wasn't that rather small?
Even without finding any black fruit, uncovering an egg was not a bad harvest.
He lifted the egg with both hands. It was icy to the touch, and the moment his fingers closed around it, he sensed that it was a dead egg. Sending out his mental power, he detected not the slightest flicker of vitality within.
Just as disappointment settled in, a movement stirred at his waist.
After the encounter with the female elf, he had hidden both the storage pouch and the nurturing bag inside the leather folds of his shorts.
"Do you want to eat this?"
He brought the dead egg to the opening of the nurturing bag.
"You're just an egg yourself, and this one is bigger than you. You haven't even hatched yet—how are you supposed to eat it?" He gently shook the bag in his hand.
An anxious emotion immediately surged from within, faint mental ripples pulsing steadily through the slightly parted opening.
Unable to resist the small insect egg's persistent fussing, he treated it as a regular feeding. Linking his mental power to the nurturing bag, he directed his intent, and the dead egg vanished smoothly inside. In an instant, the small insect egg quieted down completely.
*It won't get crushed to death, will it?* he wondered.
The nurturing bag swayed slightly, as if guessing his thoughts, offering reassurance that all was well.
After another brief look around, the messy surroundings yielded nothing else of value. Unwilling to waste more time, Luge decided to leave the search to Big Dumb Hum and Aisjin.
He then returned to his spacious bedroom open on three sides and resumed his study of the lovely Demonskin spell. As he departed, cheers drifted faintly from behind; the clan's kobolds seemed to be swarming around their new king, streaming through the adjacent tunnel into the Holy Cave to celebrate.
Leaning back into his familiar spot, he held the book with undivided focus. The pages of Demonskin turned steadily beneath his fingers, their rustle growing faster and faster. Yet only his hands moved. His unblinking eyes remained glued to the parchment, his breathing barely perceptible, the angle of his elbows and the curve of his neck so motionless that his entire body seemed poised to dive straight into the text.
Chapter 25