From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties!-Chapter 220: Do Not Open The Door! [FIXED!]

Gribnox returned home as the sun dipped below the horizon, his body tired from the journey back to the farm. He’d spent the day visiting Murkfang and the others at the main settlement, checking on how things were progressing and informing them about what was happening with Byung via his son’s dreams, and catching up on news he’d otherwise miss in their isolated location. The horse ride back always took longer than he remembered, his legs aching from the distance, but it was worth it to maintain connections with his fellow goblins even after choosing this life as they were more understanding to his choices than they would have been without Byung.

He pushed open the door to their modest dwelling expecting to find Naz preparing their evening meal, perhaps with little Grigmor playing nearby with the carved wooden toys Gribnox had made for him.

Instead he noticed immediately that Naz was restless, pacing the small space with agitation that made her muscular frame seem caged, trapped. Her face was drawn with worry, her usual confident demeanor replaced by something approaching panic. She barely acknowledged his entrance, her attention fixed on the small room in the back where they’d set up Grigmor’s sleeping area.

"What’s wrong?" Gribnox asked immediately, his travel exhaustion forgotten as parental concern flooded through him. "Did something happen? Is it—"

"Come," Naz interrupted, her voice tight. "You need to see."

She took him by the hand and led him to their son, pulling him toward the back room with urgency that made Gribnox’s heart pound. What he saw when they entered stopped him cold.

Grigmor was lying on his small bed, but he was clearly not sleeping peacefully. The hybrid child—barely months old but already showing accelerated development that marked him as something unprecedented—was asleep but kept muttering something unintelligible. His small body was sweating profusely, the thin blanket soaked through with moisture that spoke of fever burning out of control. His green skin looked flushed, almost red in places, and his tiny hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically.

Gribnox immediately knelt beside the bed and tried to wake him up, gently shaking his son’s shoulder while calling his name. "Grigmor. Grigmor, wake up. It’s Papa, come on, open your eyes."

But the child wouldn’t wake up, wouldn’t respond to voice or touch or the cool cloth Naz had been using to try to bring his temperature down. His eyelids remained closed, his breathing rapid and shallow, his small chest rising and falling with effort that looked exhausting.

Gribnox looked over at Naz with confusion and growing horror spreading across his face. "Why is he in this state? It’s been less than forty-eight hours since I left this morning to visit the settlement! He was perfectly healthy when I left—eating well, laughing, trying to warn us about what he saw in his dreams. What happened?"

Naz’s expression was anguished, her powerful hands wringing together helplessly. "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice breaking slightly. "Things became worse just a few hours after you left. He was fine when you departed, playing normally. Then suddenly he got quiet, started staring at nothing. His temperature spiked, and he collapsed into this... this state. I’ve tried everything—cooling cloths, herbal remedies, even prayers to ancestors I’m not sure listen to me anymore. Nothing works."

Grigmor still wasn’t waking up despite their efforts, but he kept repeating the same sentence continuously now that both parents were present. His small voice was hoarse, desperate, carrying terror that no child should experience:

"Do not open the door! Do not open the door! Please... do not open the door!"

Over and over, the same warning, the same plea, tumbling from lips that barely moved. His fever-bright eyes remained closed but moved rapidly beneath the lids as if watching something terrible unfold in dreams they couldn’t access.

They had no idea what this meant—what door, whose door, why opening it would be dangerous. But they instantly knew with the certainty of parents bonded to their child that it was connected to Byung somehow. The hybrid child shared blood with the evolved goblin king, carried genetics that had been altered by whatever system governed Byung’s transformations. And Byung had left on some mission, disappeared into dangers unknown, facing threats that could kill even someone with his capabilities.

Gribnox looked horrified as understanding crashed over him, and he turned to Naz with tears streaming down his face. "If this goes on much longer," he choked out, unable to complete the sentence because speaking the words would make them too real. But the implication hung heavy between them: if Grigmor’s condition continued deteriorating at this rate, if the fever climbed higher or the seizures grew worse, there was no doubt their child would die.

Naz felt something break inside her at seeing both her son suffering and her partner crying. She couldn’t sit back and wait for things to get worse, couldn’t remain passive while their miracle child—the first successful orc-goblin hybrid, proof that their races could create life together—slipped away into death or worse.

She stood abruptly and moved toward the door with a decision, grabbing her traveling cloak and the short sword she kept for emergencies. She mounted the horse they kept stabled behind their dwelling despite the late hour, despite the darkness, despite every logical reason to wait for morning.

Gribnox rushed outside after her, confusion mixing with his fear. "Where are you going?" he called up to her, his voice carrying desperation. "Naz, it’s not safe—"

"To find Byung," she said simply, her tone carrying finality that allowed no argument. Her jaw was set, her eyes burning with determination that would have impressed even the Chieftess herself. "Whatever’s happening to Grigmor is connected to him. Maybe Byung is in danger, maybe he’s the cause, maybe he’s the cure—I don’t know. But I’m going to find him and bring him back, or at least get answers."

Gribnox already knew what needed to be done to keep Grigmor’s temperature under control while she was gone. He could take care of their son—or at least try to keep his fever from spiraling completely out of control. Cold compresses changed regularly, small amounts of water forced past lips when possible, monitoring for seizures or respiratory failure. He wasn’t a healer, but he’d learned basic care from necessity.

Gribnox knew he had to let her go, had to trust that she was making the right choice even though every instinct screamed to keep his family together in this crisis. He decided to support her decision because when it came to tracking, fighting, and surviving in dangerous situations, she was far more competent than him. His fighting days were just starting—he’d chosen the peaceful life deliberately, and his combat skills had never been particularly impressive to begin with. But Naz? She was still a warrior in every way that mattered.

He rushed back inside and grabbed a bag, quickly stuffing it with travel rations, a water skin, basic medical supplies, and a small pouch of the silver coins they’d saved from selling their crops. He ran back out and handed it up to her, his hands trembling. "Be careful," he said, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t contain. "Please. I can’t lose both of you."

Naz took the bag and secured it to her saddle, then looked down at him with an expression that conveyed fierce determination. She nodded once, a promise without words that she would return.

Then she kicked her heels into the horse’s flanks and rode off into the darkness, leaving Gribnox standing alone in their small farmyard with only the sound of receding hoofbeats and his son’s fevered warnings echoing from inside their home.

----

Kraghul lay bound and severely injured in the darkness of his prison, iron chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles with enough slack to allow minimal movement but not enough to stand or properly defend himself. His body was a map of pain—broken ribs that made breathing agony, deep gashes across his torso that had scabbed over but threatened to reopen with any sudden movement, one eye swollen completely shut from repeated beatings. He knew his time was severely limited in this condition, knew that infection or blood loss or simple starvation would claim him eventually if he didn’t find ways to escape this place.

The dwarf had left him here to rot, confident that the bindings and injuries would keep the orc immobilized long enough for whatever dark purpose he had planned. But Kraghul’s mind remained sharp despite the physical trauma, and he’d spent his conscious hours analyzing every detail of his captivity, searching for weaknesses to exploit. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

He knew with growing certainty that there was no way Byung would survive alone with the dwarf, not when that creature revealed his true nature. Because in the process of interrogating and torturing him, extracting information through pain and promises, the dwarf had asked him some very strange questions that didn’t seem normal for simple revenge or territorial disputes.

Part of these questions had been specifically related to Byung himself—his capabilities, his weaknesses, his relationships that Kraghul had witnessed firsthand. The dwarf’s interest in the goblin went far beyond casual curiosity or tactical assessment. It was obsessive, calculated, as if Byung were a crucial piece in some larger puzzle the dwarf was assembling.

And then the dwarf had made an offer, the same twisted bargain he’d apparently extended to Byung before using him. He had promised Kraghul with complete sincerity that he would kill Byung for him after he was done using the goblin for his purposes, would deliver the evolved creature’s head as payment for cooperation and information.

The casualness of that promise, the ease with which the dwarf spoke of murdering someone he clearly needed, revealed something deeply wrong. This dwarf was evil in ways that transcended simple cruelty or ambition—he was working toward something catastrophic, something that would threaten far more than just Kraghul’s pride or Byung’s settlement.

Kraghul needed to escape. Needed to warn his father Urgar about this greater threat that lurked in the shadows, manipulating events toward some apocalyptic conclusion. His personal vendetta against Byung suddenly seemed trivial compared to whatever the dwarf was planning.

But first, he had to break these chains.