Chapter 5: The One Who… Made Soup

There was a universal truth for all goblins. They were incredibly stupid.

Even Grog, who didn't fall asleep to neuroscience podcasts from another world, was not the brightest torch in the dungeon.

But there was one but.

He had spent so much time around Agatha and with Dobri that he knew what to do.

He knew that there was no running away from the dungeon. Knew that the only way out was as wall decoration.

But there was one thing he could do. He could… make soup!

"I have been the housekeeper to a great witch!" Agatha was no great witch. Her potion's brewing rate was about 50%.

Most of the time, Grog had been stopped from working further on his garden to put out fires.

But the goblins didn't know that. Nor would they care, should they find out.

"And I know how to make a perfect soup! Heck, I will even cook it!"

"Soup with no meat is just water," the chief said, who was egging Grog on so, as if the goblin would cook himself into the soup.

Which was something that had happened more than once during the leader's tyrannical rule.

Even he was smart enough to know that his race was made up of simpletons.

"Yes! Indeed! But what if I tell you that we can make soup not from meat, but from skin cells?"

Grog knew from the empty looks he was receiving that no one understood what he was saying. Not only that, but most of the goblins probably thought that he was speaking about something out of this world.

They understood the word skin, but the word cell told them a story about the holding cells in their dungeon.

Or their fridges, as they liked to call them.

"Skin cells are what makes up the skin! But do not despair! One can survive as long as there is but one skill cell left!"

Grog was still a goblin. He knew what would make him the new chief, should the old one die.

"And to make the soup and still have that one skin cell, one has to get into the water while it is still cold!"

He also knew that if he tried for something that was too obvious, the goblins were going to make him into soup without caring whether he could be their new chef or not.

"Fine, then! Get in the cauldron!" The chief thought himself clever. But not even could he have foreseen what happened next.

Grog…

Got into the cauldron and began to bathe!

His costume was on a chair, a miracle of civilization in this dungeon, folded neatly and without a wrinkle.

"Now, give me salt!" Grog commanded. "If we are to make the perfect soup then we need salt, don't we? And light the fire!"

The chief took off his skull helmet. This goblin was either insane or very dedicated to his job. The chief didn't know what to think about such a creature.

Salt exchanged hands. Soon Grog was pouring a handful of salt in the slowly heating water.

He submerged.

Now, one might think he was suicidal, but his hair was magical. It was the result of a serum made by a witch.

A witch who was famous for giving indigestion.

After the water heated up enough, and it turned into a lovely green color, Grog got out of the cauldron.

He took a piece of cloth and pointed at the water.

"Good! Now in with the potatoes!" He commanded.

The chief waved him over.

Grog dressed himself and went to the older goblin with the full intention of remembering his face.

So, he could draw a drawing and use it for dart throwing practice.

"Boy, you are very brave," those words sounded so, as if the chief wanted to use other words. Mostly starting with 's'. Grog didn't take it the bad way.

He would have thought such a person like himself stupid as well.

"I have a daughter! She already has two sons!"

Which meant that the lovely girl had eaten her previous two husbands but had felt love in her heart for her children and was still considering whether to eat them or not.

"And I would like a third grandchild."

Grog thought about Agatha, whose belly was not bigger than her bosom, looked at the goblin princess, who was in the process of sharpening a knife, and decided to get it all over with.

"Chief. I would love to, but I am already married. To a witch by the name of Agatha," who was probably still looking at cat videos, Grog thought, but didn't say it.

After all, only those who were a bit touched in the head stared at cat videos the entire day. Grog didn't want to insult Agatha.

If she could make a potion which could grow him hair, then she could make a potion to murder him as well.

Besides, she had all the cultivation roses.

"You deny my daughter?" The chief furrowed his brows.

Grog thought that they looked like a centipede.

"Let us eat the soup first, and then we can see what we should do," the younger goblin said, who bowed to the goblin princess next.

The lady in question began to sharpen another knife. This one a cleaver.

The soup was poured into bowls; the goblins began to eat. One after the other they finished their meals.

Until…

A thump was heard.

There, on the ground, was the goblin princess. Her wavy hair was reaching her legs. Her beer belly was a thing of the past.

The goblins began to chuckle.

She got mad.

Long story short her sharp knives made short work of the goblins. Their now lovely scalp with hair she was going to sell to the black market were nicely lined up by the wall by none other than Grog.

"You don't want to marry me?" The warrior princess asked.

Grog shrugged.

"I have pledged my heart to Agatha's garden," he meant roses and flowers, she understood private regions.

"Fine then, go," she grumbled, as she began to make… soup.