From Goblin Slave To Giga-Daddy: A Goblin's Guide to Getting a Harem
Chapter 87: Celeste V/S Gear

Chapter 87: Celeste V/S Gear

"Did we get the information?"

The voice echoed down the stone aisle like a boot to the balls—sharp, sudden, and demanding.

Maximus walked like he owned the whole damn church, boots clinking with arrogance.

Beside him, Jonathan gave a slow, solemn shake of his head.

The kind of shake that says we’re fucked, but with holy flair.

"Not yet, my prince."

He said, hands folded like he was about to bless a newborn—not deliver political treason.

Jonathan’s robes were immaculate.

Starched, pressed, and glowing with that fake-ass piety.

Anyone looking at him would think ’ah, what a kind father of faith.’

But anyone knowing him would think ah, what a holy snake in a velvet cassock.

Still, he didn’t think of himself as a villain.

Oh no.

In his head, he was doing God’s dirty work.

Scrubbing the kingdom clean of sinners, heretics, and anyone who didn’t kiss the right ring.

He glanced sideways at Maximus.

"They haven’t found it yet."

"Incompetent!"

Maximus spat, the glob hitting the marble like an insult made of mucus.

Jonathan winced.

The holy floor defiled. Again.

He wanted to scold him, slap him with scripture, maybe even light some incense in protest—but alas, Maximus was not a man to offend.

He had two things Jonathan respected: a shared thirst for purging filth, and an army with enough swords to baptize a village in blood.

So Jonathan swallowed his pride, smiled like a saint, and silently prayed someone would mop that spit off before mass.

Maximus on the other hand continued his ranting.

"They can’t even find the damn hiding cave after all these months?! How the hell are they even heroes!"

Maximus realy was pissed off.

Its been over some months since the supposed heroes defeated the Goblin king.

Allegedly.

Of course, Maximus and Jonathan knew the truth.

The Goblin King wasn’t just alive—he was probably out there scratching his balls on a pile of gold and laughing at the kingdom’s stupidity.

Ever since that day, those genius "heroes" had somehow convinced the crown—yes, the king and his airheaded, tit-jiggling queen— into thinking there was a high level dungeon in the middle of the most dangerous forest in the kingdom...

Which also happened to be where the rest of the goblins who ran away from human hands went into.

Even a half-drunk butcher could piece it together.

Anyone with a working brain and a bit of meat between their ears knew exactly what was happening:

The heroes botched the job, and now they were stalling with fairy tales and hoping they could end this mess.

But to think, even after all these months, these fools haven’t even founded the goblin hiding lair was somehow impressive and happiness inducing.

Why was it happiness-inducing?

Simple.

’If these clowns are this incompetent, then crushing them later is going to be easier than stepping on a drunk rat.’

Maximus grinned inwardly.

No need to fear them. No need to tiptoe around their so-called "heroic might."

They were nothing but glorified actors in shiny armor, riding high on songs and booze.

’Gods damn it, they’re heroes!’

’How the hell did my idiot brother not suspect anything?!’

’Bunch of two-bit conmen with swords!’

It genuinely boiled his blood.

The kingdom his father built with blood, iron, and at least two civil wars was now in the hands of a gullible fool who thought everyone with a glowing sword was trustworthy.

Jonathan, meanwhile, bowed gracefully to a row of passing clerics.

Holy on the outside, rotten like a temple basement on the inside.

He turned back.

"How are preparations on your end, my prince?"

Maximus gave a half-assed shrug.

"Eh... yeah, we’re getting there."

"Just need those dumb heroes to go fight the Goblin King."

"Maybe even kill the green bastard if we’re lucky."

"Then we swoop in, clean up the mess, and..."

He turned to Jonathan, eyes gleaming with quiet venom.

"...eliminate every last unholy rat crawling in the shadows against us."

Jonathan finally smiled.

Not the warm, holy kind.

The tired, quiet smile of a man who’s just been promised front-row seats to a holy cleansing.

"That’s the enthusiasm I like to see."

"Even if we’re going against the king and his golden-booted heroes, we must never lose sight of the true prize."

Maximus caught the glint in the old priest’s eye. That familiar, calculated gleam.

’Tch. He’s testing me again.’

’This holy fossil and his eternal trust issues.’

’Damn you, Jonathan. But fine—if you want a performance, I’ll give you a goddamn sermon.’

The prince gave a grin sharp enough to shave a bishop.

"To purge this sacred land of every last unholy creature, in the name of God’s will."

Jonathan’s smile spread like a creeping vine. Slow. Delighted. Convinced—for now.

Indeed, that was supposed to be the plan.

At least, from the poor father’s holy perspective.

But in the back of Jonathan’s sanctified skull, another voice was cackling.

’Hehehe... Once that crown’s mine, you’ll be the first I burn at the stake, you uptight son of a bitch sky-daddy.’

"By the way, Father, how’s your end of the preparation going?"

"Don’t tell me you’re gonna show up at the end of the battle just to sprinkle holy water on the corpses."

Maximus and Jonathan both chuckled like schoolboys hiding behind the church after skipping mass.

Jonathan raised his arms dramatically, as if conducting a silent choir.

"See for yourself, my prince."

They arrived at the end of the long corridor—a corridor so absurdly pristine and echoey it practically screamed "self-important."

At the end stood a pair of towering double doors, gilded with gold, white marble, and the kind of dramatic excess only zealots and nobles could justify.

The second they stepped close, two holy knights in obnoxiously glowing golden armor pushed the doors open in perfect sync.

And then—BAM! Blinding light.

"Shit!"

Maximus hissed, shielding his eyes like a vampire seeing the sun for the first time.

"What the fuck is this?! Heaven’s tanning salon?!"

Jonathan winced at the profanity but didn’t respond.

He just gritted his teeth with the practiced patience of a man who’s heard Maximus curse inside a chapel one too many times.

Jonathan sighed through his teeth, resisting the urge to smack him.

"Please, mind your words, my prince. That is the Holy Forge of Purification."

Maximus peeked through his fingers.

"It’s a goddamn eye-searing rave, is what it is..."

After a moment of blinking through the divine glare, Maximus finally dropped his hands—and his jaw followed suit.

"Father... this..."

Jonathan watched his reaction with a proud little smirk.

This was exactly the response he’d hoped for.

The grand doors led not to a chapel, but to a sprawling open courtyard surrounded by towering white walls.

Inside, rows upon rows of robed figures moved in flawless synchronization—holy magic dancing from their hands, light swirling like ribbons in the air.

Maximus’s eyes widened.

"What in the blessed fuck..."

"Twenty thousand warriors of God, my prince."

Jonathan said, voice booming with pride.

"Trained in light magic, blessed in battle, and loyal to none but the divine."

"And to you, of course," Maximus added with a grin.

Jonathan gave a modest shrug that didn’t hide his smugness one bit.

"Of course."

A moment passed.

Then Maximus chuckled.

Then cackled.

And then full-on laughed, echoing through the courtyard like a man who had just tasted world domination.

"I was worried for nothing, Father!"

He said between breaths.

"With your holy army and my steel, not only can we cleanse this kingdom of every unholy rat—we can torch the heresy out of the neighboring kingdoms too! What do you say, Father?"

Jonathan looked at him, eyes twinkling, lips curling into a grin that matched the madness on Maximus’s face.

"Oh, my prince," he said softly. "I thought you’d never ask."

...

Meanwhile, Rae was sprinting through the woods like a half-naked maniac, trying to wrestle his loincloth back on while chugging a health potion from his mouth like a feral squirrel drinking from a beer bottle.

"F-Fuck me sideways! Why now?! Why the hell now?!"

Moments ago, he was enjoying the deepest, sexiest nap of his life.

His balls finally empty, his soul floating—and then bam, the system shoved reality right into his face.

[⚠️ ALERT! Celeste is near Gear!]

[Run! Run, you sexy idiot! RUN!!]

It hit harder than Alice’s tongue.

Rae was still sore. Everywhere.

His body was running on leftover magic fumes and sheer panic.

He stumbled, nearly tripping on his own half-wrapped dong as he tried to tie the loincloth and not flash the entire forest.

"Dammit! DAMMIT!"

He spat the empty vial and sucked in a breath just as the potion kicked in like a shot of espresso to the soul.

Trees blurred past him until—skrrt—he slid behind one and peeked out.

Fifty meters ahead... there she was. Celeste.

And she was standing dead center of the clearing—face-to-face with him.

Gear.

That smug, beastly, too-powerful-for-his-size young goblin who had humiliated her entire team like it was a warm-up exercise.

Her sword hand was trembling. Her breathing erratic.

’No... no no no! Not now, Celeste!’

Rae gritted his teeth. He could feel it.

That moment when a proud warrior was about to do something either epic or tragically stupid.

Celeste’s aura was rising. Her stance tightening.

What Rae didn’t know was that, she wasn’t trying to fight him, rather she was contemplating...

She was contemplating of using that move.

The forbidden one.

The one that could end it all.

Or destroy her completely.