For the first time, I was free to explore the village on my own two feet. My newfound strength allowed me to walk, albeit a bit clumsily. My parents followed me closely, their faces filled with pride. Apparently, walking this early was a rare feat for Elven children, who usually took longer to develop physically.

  My father beamed. “He’ll be a great warrior one day,” he declared, his voice full of confidence.

  I smiled internally but had other plans. Why throw fists when you can throw fire?

  Minutes into my waddling exploration, the excitement faded. The village, while functional, was barren of anything remotely stimulating. It was, in the nicest terms, humble. Realistically, it was empty—nothing but tents, a few tools, and an overwhelming abundance of trees.

  Oh, gods, I need a distraction, I thought desperately. Something. Anything.

  Even idle gossip would have been welcome, but instead, I was left alone with my thoughts. Thoughts I would have preferred to forget. I was still grappling with unspeakable truths about Elven society that had burned themselves into my memory.

  I discovered the hard way that Elves were true hippies. They didn’t just live in harmony with nature; they also had a very loose understanding of relationships. Their belief in "free love" was more literal than I could have imagined.

  One day, my parents brought a woman into our home. At first, it seemed harmless—pleasant conversation and introductions. She even leaned over my crib, cooing at me sweetly. Then things got… weird.

  My mother and father started kissing her.

  As soon as I saw where this was going, I slammed my eyes shut and began mentally reciting anything I could think of—poetry, book passages, television quotes. Anything to drown out the horror.

  It didn’t stop there. Another time, it was a man. My father seemed disturbingly comfortable with it.

  WTF! I thought, my baby brain struggling to process this new reality. It felt like I was trapped in a bad porno—or worse, an Elven brothel.

  Over time, I pieced together that traditional marriage didn’t exist among Elves. They formed partnerships that lasted until the individuals grew intolerant of one another. These partnerships were open, and "swinging" wasn’t just a possibility—it was practically a cultural norm.

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  Why couldn’t I have been reincarnated in a monastery instead? I groaned internally.

  My constant bouts of nausea hadn’t gone unnoticed by my mother, who believed I had a weak stomach. She started feeding me herbal medicine to help, but the cure was as bad as the cause. The concoction tasted like what I could only imagine Satan’s butthole would be like.

  One day, my misery was interrupted by alarmed shouting outside. My parents rushed to investigate, and I followed as quickly as my tiny legs could carry me.

  At the edge of the village, I saw the cause of the commotion—a blonde Elven woman, naked and covered in cuts, bruises, and filth. Her eyes were hollow, deadened by the horrors she had endured.

  I recognized that look. I had seen it once before in my previous life.

  This woman had been raped.

  My father cursed under his breath. “Goblins,” he spat. My mother echoed him, her voice trembling with rage and sorrow.

  My father moved quickly to cover the woman with a cloak, his movements gentle but efficient. Even in her battered state, she possessed an otherworldly beauty. But there was no admiration in me—only shame.

  Shame to be a man by association, I thought bitterly.

  Violating another being in that way was always wrong, regardless of gender or species. The thought churned in my mind as I considered the complexities of this magical world. What if other beings have different genders—or none at all? I briefly wondered if Zotherg had a gender but dismissed the thought immediately. Knowing Zotherg, he’d happily explain in graphic detail.

  The woman hesitated, then spoke to my parents in a broken voice, her hands hovering over her stomach. Even without understanding the words, I knew what she was asking for.

  She wanted a tonic.

  She didn’t want to give birth to a monster.

  Curious, I activated [Soul Detect] and [Soul Hack], focusing on the life growing inside her. What I found was both shocking and revelatory.

  The creature in her womb had no real soul—just a fragmented, pseudo-soul that barely flickered with life. Yet its bloodline radiated immense, untapped power. It felt as if I had reached too close to a fire, the raw magic nearly scorching me.

  As I examined further, I discovered the truth.

  The creature wasn’t inherently evil—it was cursed. A dark magic curse had been placed directly on its bloodline, preventing its soul from fully forming and suppressing its latent power. The curse was sophisticated and ancient, its energy reacting violently to my own but leaving the woman unharmed.

  I reeled from the revelation.

  Goblins weren’t what everyone thought they were. They weren’t inherently monstrous but were made that way by a curse embedded in their very existence.

  How many centuries have they suffered under this fate? I thought, my mind racing. Even Zotherg had never mentioned this, though I doubted he knew. The implications were staggering.

  The woman’s dull eyes shifted to my mother, pleading silently for an answer. My mother knelt beside her, holding her hands tightly as they spoke in hushed tones.

  My father stood guard, scanning the forest for signs of danger. The tension in the air was palpable, a mix of sorrow, anger, and helplessness.

  As I watched the scene unfold, a question burned in my mind:

  If Goblins are cursed, is there a way to break it?

  . Why throw fists when you can throw fire? I thought.

  Oh god, I need a distraction! Some entertainment, or even some women's gossip. I told myself. I was beyond bored and I had things I needed to forget. I knew things that should be unspeakable and I wished I could drown my sorrows with booze.

  WTF! I thought. It felt like I was living in an elven brothel or a bad porno, to say the least. It put a whole new spin on the "lord of the rings" in my mind.

  . Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse! I groaned mentally.