Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 126

Run!

The young goblin runs across the open plain.

He wears only a pair of ragged shorts, and his body is covered in scars. He can hear the wind, the rustling of the grass, and beyond that, only his own panting and the pounding of his heartbeat.

After running for who knows how long, he stumbles over a stone and falls to the ground.

That fall finally drains the last of his strength. Lying in the grass, he rolls over and raises his hand, staring at the yellow sun and the blue sky through his fingers.

After a moment, he covers his eyes with that same hand. A soft whimper escapes his lips, like a sob—but the corners of his mouth curl upward.

He has made it out. He’s escaped.

No broken bones. No one has caught him. From this day forward, he is free.

The goblin pulls a blade of grass from nearby, sticks it between his lips, and chews slowly as he pushes himself upright.

He stands, brushes the mud from his backside, looks around blankly, and after a while, begins walking in the direction of the sun.

He just keeps walking. When he’s thirsty, he drinks from muddy puddles like an animal. When he’s hungry, he searches for wild fruit and plant roots.

He has no idea where he’s going, or where he even is. If he happens to see a village, he makes sure to steer clear of it.

Sometimes he sees slaves being escorted.

Among them are goblins like him.

But he doesn’t dare go near—he just watches from a distance.

When he passes through woods, he sometimes notices signs of human activity, but he never seeks them out. Living deep in the mountains has taught him that such people aren’t much different from him. They won’t take him in.

Every now and then, the goblin stays in one place for a while. If he finds a house that seems to belong to a single family, he cautiously approaches and asks for a bit of food or clean water.

He travels to many places. He sees goblin slaves being whipped, just like he once was. But he also sees a dignified goblin master being served by elves.

For the first time in his life—a life of slavery since birth—he realizes that not all goblins are born as slaves.

After many days of wandering, he stops at the edge of a city. He wants to settle somewhere where household registration isn’t strictly enforced so that he can find work and make a living.

He scouts the area several times and eventually chooses a small city.

It isn’t large, and its low city walls suggest it hasn’t seen war in many years. Dense forests surround the area, where mushrooms and fungi grow. Even if he can’t find work, he won’t starve as long as he can forage in the woods.

He climbs up to observe the city from higher ground and finds that many races live there—not like the other towns where a single race dominates and others are treated as servants or slaves. Here, goblins live in single-family homes, and elves fly about on business.

The sight feels like a dream.

Everyone seems to live equally and peacefully.

He sees goblins walking down the street hand-in-hand with their children, wearing simple linen clothes and smiling. The children carry little baskets of fruits and vegetables.

No one gives them a second glance.

It looks like an ordinary family—nothing out of place.

The goblin observes for over a month. The more he watches, the more he longs to become a resident of this city.

So many different races living together in harmony, without fighting or discrimination. Even the weakest goblins stand tall.

He doesn’t see a single slave.

No chains. No shackles.

Finally, one morning, the goblin sneaks in.

He doesn’t dare use the city gate. After circling around, he finds a hole in the wall. Luckily, he’s naturally small and thin. Though he scrapes himself squeezing through, he makes it inside.

But once in, he doesn’t dare show himself, only hides from people.

Eventually, after much hesitation, he quietly approaches the home of the goblin family he’s been watching.

They are all goblins. They look so happy—maybe they’ll help him?

Even if they refuse, surely they won’t report him?

He gathers his courage and knocks on their door in the middle of the night.

A kerosene lamp flickers on in the window.

A gruff male voice calls out as the door opens with the irritation of someone rudely awakened.

But when the little master sees the thin goblin standing outside, little more than skin and bones, he freezes.

Then a warm smile spreads across his face. He steps aside and lets the goblin in.

“Come in. Where are you from? Are you hungry? I’ll get you something to eat,” the little master says. He doesn’t ask anything else, just welcomes him inside.

The goblin enters cautiously, terrified. He has never been in a house like this before.

He’s afraid of dirtying it, so he scrubs his feet against the threshold over and over before finally stepping inside, hunched over.

There is no electric light—only the kerosene lamp the little master holds.

Even inside, the goblin doesn’t dare move. He stands stiffly by the door, afraid of being mistaken for a thief.

Soon, the little master returns from the kitchen, carrying the lamp and a small basket of bread.

“Come sit,” he says, gesturing to the goblin.

The goblin catches the smell of fresh bread and begins to salivate. He stares at the basket, eyes glowing green with hunger.

Just as he’s about to lunge forward, footsteps echo from the stairs.

The hostess comes down with their child.

The goblin freezes.

He’s afraid—afraid they’ll throw him out.

But the scolding he expects never comes.

The woman’s voice is gentle and sweet. From the stairs, she asks, “Is it a traveler?”

The little master looks up and smiles at her. “Maybe he got lost. He must’ve been starving. Let him eat first—we’ll ask later.”

She comes to stand beside her husband, still holding the child. All three of them wear the same gentle smile.

“Don’t be shy, go ahead and eat,” the hostess says. “I’ll pour you a glass of milk. It’s hard to get milk these days—only goat’s milk. Is that all right?”

The goblin has already rushed to the table, clutching the bread and stuffing his mouth. At the mention of milk, he quickly looks up and nods.

He’s seen slave masters drink milk before—something expensive even for them, let alone slaves.

The hostess pours him a glass.

The little master fetches a jar of sugar from the cabinet and places a handful in front of the goblin.

As the goblin eats, tears well up in his eyes.

He has never experienced such kindness.

This family… is made of good people.

He chews while crying and silently swears that one day he will repay them.

After the meal, they lead him to the living room. A kerosene lamp lights the table. The whole family sits with him, asking where he’s come from and why he looks so haggard.

Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe it’s their warmth. Whatever it is, the goblin’s emotional walls come down.

He thinks, They’re goblins like me. It’s okay to tell them.

So he does. He tells them everything.

“How pitiful,” the hostess sighs. “Outside this place, goblins can’t catch a break.”

The little master asks, “After running for so long, do you think anyone’s looking for you?”

The goblin shakes his head. “I walked a long way to get here—maybe dozens of days.”

The couple exchange a look, then smile.

“You must be exhausted. We happen to have a spare room. Go ahead and rest.”

The goblin is deeply moved. “I’ll find work as soon as I can. I’ll repay you—I’ll give you my whole first year’s income!”

“No need,” the little master says. “We’re all goblins. We help each other.”

He leads the goblin to the spare room on the first floor. When he opens the door, there’s no musty smell—someone has recently cleaned it.

A bed stands waiting. The hostess brings in a quilt.

The goblin is overwhelmed.

He has never been this happy in his life.

Right then and there, he wishes he could rip out his heart and liver to show how grateful he is.

“Go to bed early.” The man stands at the door of the room, and he says softly and gently, “I’ll call you to have breakfast together tomorrow.”

The goblin quickly responds, “Okay, okay.”

The door closes slowly.

The light disappears.

The goblin realizes that there’s no window in this room. He is shocked and walks to the door carefully, reaching out and pushing it.

The door is not locked.

The goblin breathes a sigh of relief. He blames himself for being suspicious and pats his forehead.

Others take him in kindly and they are of the same kind, but he still suspects that others want to harm him.

What’s the benefit of harming him? He has nothing else except this body of flesh and blood, not to mention that his flesh and blood is worthless.

But the goblin doesn’t go to bed to sleep—he doesn’t take a bath, there are fleas on his head, and there is mud and dust on his body. He doesn’t dare dirty the bed of this kind man, so he walks to the corner and curls himself up.

Although he doesn’t sleep on a soft bed and doesn’t have a blanket, he doesn’t have to worry about wild animals appearing, nor is he affected by the cold wind at night.

The goblin closes his eyes drowsily and falls asleep slowly.