From Goblin Slave To Giga-Daddy: A Goblin's Guide to Getting a Harem-Chapter 52: Plotting, Plotting and some more Plotting!

"Yes, my prince. I saw it myself. With my very own two eyes. She was moving fast. No hesitation."

"And for someone who’s supposedly retired, she looked like she was two seconds away from unsheathing a sword and cutting her way through heaven."

BAM!

Maximus slammed his palm down on the table, the wood rattling like it had just been slapped by a thunder god.

Then he threw his head back and laughed—loud, deep, victorious.

"Haaa ha ha! So we were right."

"The little heroes have been lying. Hiding things from the king. And from that porcelain-doll of a queen with her perfectly plucked eyebrows."

He stepped back from the table, rising like a mountain with a heartbeat.

Maximus was built like a sculptor had gotten drunk on wine and testosterone.

Towering. Broad.

Blessed by gods both divine and indecent—with a mind just sharp enough to be dangerous.

"We get proof, Father. Real proof. Not hearsay. Not shadow games. Actual, undeniable evidence."

"And then we pull the rug from under them. And watch the whole damn castle fall."

He clenched his fist with a grin that made Jonathan’s spine itch.

"They’ve had us fooled for far too long. But it ends now."

"All those unholy abominations prancing around and tainting our sacred land—hmph—it ends now..."

The moment the word holy land passed Maximus’s lips, followed by unholy abominations, Jonathan’s tired eye gave a twitch.

Ah. There it was.

The real reason behind all this scheming and plotting.

Not politics.

Not ambition.

Just plain, old-fashioned divine zealotry.

The truth burned hot in Jonathan’s chest. This land, once calm and untainted, had turned into a circus of blasphemy.

Sure, the occasional goblin raid at the border was acceptable.

A few stolen goats. A kidnapped woman here and there.

In Jonathan’s eyes, those were manageable losses—necessary sacrifices. All part of the divine balance.

But this?

This new age of goblins being walked around on leashes like exotic pets, trained like dogs, paraded around in town squares... this was heresy in its rawest form.

Damn it all—he was a priest.

Not just any priest, but a devout servant of the most prestigious church in the entire world.

He had given his life to the Lord.

And now?

Now he had to watch from the sidelines while the king—that bastard—welcomed sin into the capital with open arms.

Goblins.

Filthy, feral, sex-crazed little beasts who smelled like burning moss and screamed like tortured pigs.

They weren’t citizens.

They weren’t equals.

They were sins made flesh.

And the heroes? The so-called "champions of mankind"?

They were nothing but traitors in shining armor.

Jonathan hated them.

Hated the goblins.

Hated the heroes for letting them in.

Hated the king for enabling it.

Hated this crumbling kingdom masquerading as a paradise.

And most of all, he hated that no one else seemed to see the rot creeping beneath the gold.

"Tell the church to prepare. I want banners raised, bells rung, and the holy halls echoing with scandal."

"We’re going to make this big."

"I want to see my brother’s smug little face crumble when he learns the heroes have been lying through their perfect white teeth."

"Building their own private goblin army right under his nose."

Maximus cooed with glee, rubbing his hands like a merchant about to close a particularly dirty deal.

Jonathan rose to his feet, his priestly robes rustling like dead leaves.

"What about him?"

"The traitor?"

"Yes. Him."

Maximus turned slightly, pausing just long enough to flash a thin, oily smile.

One of those slow, wolfish grins that made you feel like your skin was being appraised for market value.

"Oh, he’ll be compensated... quite generously. Like I promised. Riches, women, titles—the whole bloody buffet."

Yes. The traitor would be rewarded.

Just long enough for the ink to dry on his betrayal. Just long enough for the kingdom to split at the seams and the crown to fall into Maximus’s waiting hands.

Then?

Then the traitor would be removed. Quietly. Painlessly, if he behaved. Painfully, if he didn’t.

After all, promises are only binding if the throne isn’t yours yet.

And Jonathan?

This holier-than-thou blowhard with a cathedral full of nutjobs ready to throw themselves into fire at a sermon’s notice?

He’d be next. Of course he would.

Maximus was only playing along with this divine farce because of the church’s reach.

Because Jonathan’s blessed flock were rabid, obedient, and just dumb enough to march to their own deaths if someone waved a holy symbol and cried heresy.

But the moment the old priest outlived his usefulness?

Maximus would wipe his boots with the scripture and burn the altar for firewood.

Jonathan gave a sharp nod, his jaw tight.

This wasn’t just politics anymore.

This was holy war. Light versus filth.

And he wanted those promises kept—not just for him, but for the Lord above, who surely watched with burning eyes.

"What about that monster pretending to be a hero?"

"We need to deal with her before she sinks her teeth into the necks of our kingdom."

His voice was flat, but there was a pulse of venom beneath it.

Maximus almost flinched. My kingdom, priest. But he swallowed it down and gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

"We need that monster alive. For now."

"To show the world that the king—my brother—has handed the fate of the kingdom to a creature not even fit to be caged."

"When the world sees that, when the nobles choke on their wine and the peasants whisper in fear... that’s when we strike."

"And once it’s over, I’ll gift-wrap her and hand her over to you."

Jonathan’s eyes lit up, just a little. That was the deal.

He’d heard of her.

The beast.

The spawn of sin.

Half vampire, half succubus—fully damned. An abomination in skin and blood.

And yet the heroes welcomed her. Trusted her.

He didn’t want to just kill her.

He wanted to open her up and know.

What made her tick, what made her dangerous, how her blasphemous body worked, and how to break it.

Not for curiosity. For strategy. To learn the enemy. To erase them.

Not just her.

All of them.

"We need him to do it. Their kind... they’re too strong for us regular humans."

"We need a Monster Vanquisher."

"And I know one—the famous one. With him on our side, we’ll purge this land clean of every last trace of unholiness."

Jonathan’s eyes gleamed with something rare—conviction, madness, maybe both.

The old priest was ready to toss it all on the altar, and Maximus... Maximus liked that.

But then the name clicked.

"You don’t mean...?"

Maximus blinked, a shadow of doubt creeping in.

He knew the name. Everyone did.

And frankly, he wasn’t thrilled by it.

Jonathan only smiled. Like he’d just lit a match and tossed it onto a dry forest.

"Yes. Him. The mythical monster slayer. The so-called Herald of Light. Jasper Flintwood."