(Chapter 2) While running a TRPG campaign as the DM with my friends, we suddenly got transported into the game world—becoming the very characters we had carefully designed, in a world whose entire setting was created by me!!!

Chapter 2

Traveling along The Trade Way, this seemingly ordinary caravan concealed a dark undercurrent. The Caravan Master, a bald man named Garrick, ostensibly transported spices and silk from the south. However, the carriage reinforced with Ironwood and enchanted with a deceptive Anti-Magic Field—which was merely a shoddy silence ward—held the true cargo: freeborn maidens destined for the underground black markets of Skullport in Tidegate.

Garrick tightened his reins, his horse whinnying uneasily. His gaze was locked dead ahead at the green figure blocking their path.

It was a Goblin.

Under normal circumstances, upon seeing a lone Goblin in the lands of Runfare, Garrick would not hesitate to order his mercenaries to turn it into a sieve. But this one was an anomaly. He was stark naked, wearing no armor and wielding no rusted scimitar, simply standing with swagger in the middle of the road.

What made the throats of Garrick and his mercenaries go dry was not just the creature's presence. Though the Goblin stood only a meter tall, the massive appendage swinging heavily between his legs with every step was as terrifying as a Hill Giant’s club.

"Boss, what... what kind of monster is that?" The deputy mercenary’s hand was sweating as he gripped his Crossbow.

"Don't panic," Garrick narrowed his eyes. As a slaver who lived on the edge of a blade, he instinctively sensed an aura from this Goblin that even the Open Lord of Tidegate did not possess. Perhaps this was a Sorcerer using a polymorph spell? Or the avatar of some evil Deity?

Deciding to play it safe, Garrick raised his hand to signal a hold on the attack. He shouted in fluent Common, "Hey! Friend... ahead! Are you lost? If you want a toll, I can give you ten Gold Dragons, as long as you step aside..."

Reed Cole stopped.

He tilted his large green head, his pointed ears twitching as if he had heard an amusing joke. His turbid, yellowed eyes held no fear of human weaponry; instead, they were filled with the cold curiosity of a child about to crush an ant.

"Communication failed," Reed muttered. Though he spoke in Goblin, the disdain in his tone was understood by all.

In the next second, Reed simply raised his three-fingered left hand with lazy indifference.

There was no long incantation, no exaggerated casting materials. To a Level 20 Wizard, low-tier spells were as natural as breathing.

"Magic Missile."

The air instantly solidified, then erupted into a deadly honeycomb. Countless streaks of ghostly blue arcane missiles burst from Reed’s fingertips. Unlike the few spheres of light released by an ordinary mage, this was an arcane deluge that blotted out the sun.

There was no suspense, no tactical maneuvering.

The two heavy-armored warriors at the front didn't even have time to raise their shields before their heads exploded like watermelons smashed by a war hammer. Garrick didn't even have time to scream; he and his warhorse were shredded into fragments by the violent force field. Blood, organs, and shattered armor bloomed like fireworks across The Trade Way.

It was a one-sided massacre. In a mere three seconds, the slave caravan of twenty guards was reduced to a pile of carrion and that single, specially made carriage.

Reed flicked his hand, shaking off nonexistent blood, satisfied with the fluidity of casting in this body. "Hmm, spell slot consumption is almost zero. My Intelligence modifier is ridiculously high."

He stepped over the corpses, the sticky blood soaking the coarse hair on his feet. He walked straight to the surviving carriage—he had deliberately controlled the trajectory of the Magic Missile to spare it.

Extending a sharp claw, Reed didn't even bother with a Knock spell. He simply yanked, and the heavy lock was twisted off by terrifying magical force.

Clang.

The door was roughly pulled open, and sunlight pierced the dim cabin.

The cramped space reeked of desperate sweat. Three young women, ragged and bound by Manacles, huddled in the corner. The sounds of slaughter outside had already terrified them, but when the door opened to reveal the blood-spattered, grinning green demon, their fear reached its peak.

Especially when their eyes inevitably fell upon the massive, erect phallus that remained unstained by blood—a visual assault more aggressive than death itself.

"Ah—!"

The two women on the left rolled their eyes back, the dual shock to their physiology and psyche causing them to faint instantly.

However, the woman in the middle did not faint.

She possessed cascading Raven-colored hair, and though her face was smudged with dust, it could not hide her soul-stirring Amber eyes. She trembled violently, her back pressed against the carriage wall with nowhere to retreat. She looked at Reed’s hideous, ferocious goblin face, and then at the terrifying weapon capable of impaling her.

In the face of extreme fear and violence, within this slaughterhouse thick with the scent of blood, a twisted sense of submission—rooted in biological instinct—exploded within her.

She didn't scream.

Instead, under the oppressive gaze of this max-level Goblin Archmage, the fallen noble lady named Seraphina breathed rapidly. Her legs involuntarily clamped together, and a strange, lewd flush began to rise on her pale cheeks.