Building a Kingdom as a Kobold-Chapter 59: We Came, We Saw, We Left Before It Got Worse

I would like to formally apologize to every overconfident idiot I've ever rolled my eyes at. Turns out there's a special kind of humiliation in realizing you were exactly twelve seconds away from poking something cursed and exploding.

The forest hadn't even tried to hide it.

One moment, we were trudging through thick underbrush, Cinders mumbling about frogs again and Relay humming some off-tune marching song. The next, the half-elf at the front of our group froze mid-step and raised her hand.

We stopped.

Then we saw it.

It wasn't the smell that got me first—it was the silence. That awful kind of stillness where even the bugs have left. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

The body lay half-curled against a mossy rock near the streambed.

At first glance, I thought it had been burned. At second glance, I realized it hadn't. Not really.

The skin was charred, but the pattern was wrong. The armor wasn't melted—it had... folded? Bent in weird angles like it had been partially digested by magic.

I've played this game before. This is the part where someone says, "It's just a body," and then the corpse blinks.

Spoiler: I am not letting it blink.

Relay took one step forward before I grabbed the scruff of his neck. "No field sketches."

"But—"

"No."

The system flickered into my vision with the tone of a bureaucrat who had given up trying to explain things.

[Residual Magical Trace Detected]

[Source: Unclassified]

[Risk: Very High]

[Recommendation: Leave Now, Thank You]

"I like this new version of the system," I muttered. "It finally agrees with me."

Sylrien moved closer, her usually unreadable expression now leaning toward grim. She bent down, waved a hand, then stood again without touching the body.

"This wasn't natural," she said.

"You think?" I deadpanned.

"More specifically," she added, "this didn't come from the forest."

Oh, great. So it wasn't forest doom. It was... off-brand doom. Wonderful. Can't wait for the collector's edition.

I turned slowly. "Care to elaborate?"

"No."

Of course not.

Back with the squad, arguments had already begun.

"This is obviously a message," Glare declared, cloak flaring somehow despite zero wind. "A sign of what lies ahead. We must press on."

"It's a corpse," Cinders snapped. "And if we keep going, we'll be corpses too."

Flick raised a hand. "Counterpoint: what if the thing that killed him is super cool and we can tame it?"

"Counter-counterpoint," I said flatly, "you have a brain smaller than your ears."

He gave me a thumbs-up.

I turned to the half-elves. "We're pulling back."

Sylrien nodded once. "Wise."

Tinker blinked. "Wait, really? We're retreating?"

"Yes, because we are a functioning civilization, not an adventurer's guild. We're not here to die dramatically and be remembered as a side quest."

We packed up. No one spoke. Even Flick didn't try to climb anything on the way back.

I didn't know what killed that man. But I knew what it wasn't.

It wasn't natural. It wasn't normal. And most of all, it wasn't ours.

Which made it someone's problem. But not ours. Not yet.

And if there's one rule I live by, it's this:

Don't touch cursed things that aren't even your cursed things.

---

The forest felt quieter on the way back. Not peaceful—just... watching. Not that I was going to say that out loud. I've learned what happens when you give the narrative that kind of bait.

The squad had finally stopped bickering. Even Flick was unusually subdued, which was somehow worse than when he talked nonstop. Relay kept glancing over his shoulder like he expected the trees to whisper at him. Tinker stayed dead center in the formation, clutching one of his scansticks like it would save him from existential horror.

I didn't blame them.

Whatever that thing was—the corpse, the magic—it was beyond us. Not in the way dragons or dungeon lords are. This was something deeper. Something old. And my shard had stayed completely quiet the entire time. That scared me more than anything.

Sylrien took the lead again without a word. The half-elves didn't speak either, but they moved faster now. Like they didn't want to be in this part of the forest any longer than absolutely necessary.

We followed them in silence.

By the time we saw the glow of the Verdant Ring's outer lantern trees, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

Camp was still standing. Good. I hadn't made a mistake by pulling back.

Well, not today, anyway.

Victory condition: survived the cursed woods with my organs intact and my flame not screaming. Rank: SSS.

We passed under the arched root-gates and were waved through by a pair of elven scouts. They didn't question the early return. Just looked at us, then at the half-elf rangers, then silently decided not to ask.

Wise.

Sylrien and her squad peeled off toward the upper grove while we made our way to the guest shelter. The squad dropped their packs with various degrees of exhaustion and dramatic flair.

Glare collapsed onto a moss bench like a fallen war hero.

Flick flopped onto the ground face-first and declared he lived here now.

Tinker immediately began cleaning his gear.

Cinders started boiling water with grim determination.

Relay slumped down beside me and whispered, "So, uh... what now?"

I didn't answer immediately.

Instead, I looked toward the altar.

It sat at the heart of the glade, a bowl of woven roots filled with ever-burning flame. Pure white. Steady. Holy, if I were in the mood to believe in that sort of thing.

As I watched, it flickered.

Just once.

The color shifted—pale blue, then back to white. Fast. Subtle. Almost missable.

But I didn't miss it.

I frowned.

The system chimed.

[Incoming System Update Pending...]

[Source: External Flame Convergence Detected]

[Requesting Narrative Permission: Sovereign-Level Access Required]

[Do You Accept?]

I stared at the glowing message.

Of course I was going to accept.

But not right now.

I mean, what's the worst that could happen?