César had been reincarnated in that world for barely seven days.
The moment he became aware of himself, a thought imposed itself with brutal, almost unnatural clarity:
He had to kill his father.
The goblin chief.
With the help of other goblins, it wouldn't be difficult. At least, that's what he believed at first.
Everything changed when he discovered the truth.
His father was not a simple tribal leader.
He was a Goblin King.
In the novel, it was said that the birth of a Goblin King was an almost mythical event; something that could happen, at most, once every hundred years. A statistical error of the world… or a carefully repeated curse.
In Akalán, unlike other worlds, devilhumans — races such as goblins — did not evolve. There were no superior variants nor ascending bloodlines. No glorious mutations or evolutionary leaps.
So what made a Goblin King different?
The answer was simple…
And repulsive.
An innate ability, granted to certain goblins from time to time: Lust Smoke.
A faculty exclusive to their race.
The Goblin King could exhale a thick, sweet, pinkish smoke capable of affecting any woman who came into contact with it. Reason dissolved, lust intensified, and over time, dependence became absolute.
No resistance.
No exceptions.
"Tsk… what a nuisance," César muttered, irritated.
The appearance of a Goblin King always led to the same outcome. The goblins idolized him. To them, his existence meant an abundance of women, guaranteed offspring, and a prosperous tribe. They would quickly kneel before him… and crown him their king.
"I should have imagined it…" he added under his breath, narrowing his eyes.
His memories drifted to his mother, to the moment of his birth. She had been calm. Far too calm for someone in her situation.
It didn't take a genius to understand it.
She was already under the effects of the smoke.
Even so, César smiled.
"But not everything is bad news…" he whispered, his smile widening. "The existence of a Goblin King means the plot hasn't started yet. Damn… that means I reincarnated several years earlier."
It was an incalculable advantage.
During those days, César had captured several adult goblins and, through a combination of cunning and a certain amount of "persuasion," managed to make them join his side. From them, he obtained crucial information.
They knew nothing about humans.
That could only mean one thing.
'They haven't reached this continent yet,' he thought with satisfaction.
He had plenty of room to maneuver.
Moreover, there was another detail.
'And the absence of monstrous crystals only confirms my suspicions…'
Akalán was composed of seven continents and housed an overwhelming diversity of species. As in any fantasy world, there existed so-called good gods and evil gods.
Although, in truth, such distinctions did not exist.
There were only victors…
And losers.
The gods cultivated power through Faith, a resource inaccessible to mortals. For that reason, a divine war broke out. The victorious faction obtained the right to spread its faith freely throughout the world.
The defeated were banished.
Worshipping them was heresy.
And heresy was punished by death.
At present, the continents remained isolated by direct intervention of the gods. But that barrier would not last forever.
On the continent of Muxuu, where humans coexisted with a race known as Barbarians, humans began to discover — with "divine help" — the existence of the other six continents. With each new discovery, their power grew…
And with it, their greed.
Wherever they set foot, they exploited the natives.
The reason was simple.
The gods favored humans.
In the original novel, it was explained that their faith was purer, more intense, of higher quality.
When humans reached the continent of Halvmen — César's home — it would become a bloodbath. The devilhumans were still living in a barbaric era when it came to the use of mana.
Not a single one cultivated it.
They allowed it to grow naturally within their bodies and relied almost exclusively on their racial abilities to fight.
The result was inevitable.
The humans won.
And when the devilhumans were on the brink of extinction, an evil god descended, feigning compassion, and granted them a new cultivation method:
Monstrous Crystals.
These allowed strength to increase rapidly, without effort or discipline.
Too good to be true.
And it was.
The crystals possessed an absurdly low growth limit. To continue growing stronger, one had to devour the crystals of others…
Which also had limits.
A voracious, closed system, doomed from its very origin.
Worse still: humans discovered they could refine those crystals into pills, enormously amplifying their strength depending on the rank of the crystal used.
The supposed gift of an evil god ended up benefiting humans once again.
Why?
Because, in the end, all gods preferred human faith.
And the stronger humans became, the higher the quality of the faith they offered.
'Another reason to save my dear mother…,' César thought, stroking his chin.
His smile was calm.
But his eyes…
They were those of someone who already knew the end of the story.
And he was determined to rewrite it.