Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP-Chapter 267: Volatility

" Careful it is extremely volatile; if it breaks, it’ll explode," Flogga said, her voice losing all its usual rough humor.

What...then why hand it over to me?

I accepted the flask with both hands, careful, slow, almost ceremonial. The moment it settled into my palms, I felt a heat radiating through the clay, not burning, just a steady warmth that told me something inside was very much alive. When I tilted it even slightly, a thin hiss escaped from the interior, like the mixture was irritated I’d moved it at all.

That sound alone made every instinct in my body tighten.

I didn’t waste time guessing.

I activated [Analyze], letting the system give me the truth before my imagination painted something worse.

The description unfolded.

[Blazeburst Flask]

A sealed stone-clay flask warm to the touch, filled with a volatile mixture of scorched moss, fireseed powder, and distilled spark-oil. Even the faintest shake makes the contents inside churn and hiss. When thrown, the flask shatters and releases a violent burst of compressed flame that erupts outward in a short, explosive wave.

I blinked slowly.

Oh.

A bomb.

She handed me a bomb like it was a cup of water.

I kept my face straight, but internally, I was shaking my head hard.

How was she so casual about this?

Still, I couldn’t deny how impressive it was. The flask was small enough to fit neatly in my grip, light enough to throw, and clearly powerful enough to turn whatever it hit into charred regret.

Useful. Very useful.

Just... terrifying.

"The explosion is nothing powerful," Flogga said, waving her hand as if she was talking about a mildly annoying spark instead of something that could incinerate a goblin’s face. "But if you throw several of them at a beast, it’d be more than enough to kill it."

That alone made my brows rise. Several small blasts were still blasts.

She continued, matter-of-fact as always.

"Again, it isn’t fully complete, just like the bitterroot draught. I still need to stabilize it. Right now, it’s too volatile. Even a tiny crack could set it off."

She gave the flask a little tap with her nail, and it hissed again.

"And shaking it too much," she added, "could also make it explode."

I gulped.

The flask suddenly felt twice as heavy in my palms, as if the thing had grown a heartbeat and wanted to jump out.

My grip tightened instinctively, and then immediately loosened because tightening felt like the wrong choice too. Every movement felt dangerous.

With the gentlest hands I’ve ever used in my life, I placed the bomb back into Flogga’s waiting grip.

She tucked it into a padded wooden box like it was just another ingredient, then turned back to her cauldron without concern.

Only when it was fully out of my hands did I exhale.

My shoulders dropped, my chest relaxed, and I finally allowed myself to breathe like a normal living being instead of a man holding his own death.

"That thing..." I muttered, leaning back against the wall. "It’ll definitely come in handy during a fight."

If we had hundreds of those flasks, raining them down from the watchtowers would turn any invading force into charcoal. The image alone made me grin.

Flogga really was a blessing to the clan.

Every item she crafted had purpose. Even the bitterroot draught, disgusting as it was, had potential once she refined it.

Flogga finished tucking everything away, then turned back to me with her usual sharp, observant stare.

"So, young totem, do you still intend to get the garnets today?"

"Yes. The earlier the better," I replied. "But before that, there’s something I want to do."

"And that is?" she asked, leaning slightly on her stirring stick.

"Same thing I once did. Sharing my skills."

Flogga’s eyes widened a little. "Ah. That’s right, young totem. I almost forgot you could do that."

She stretched out her bony hand without hesitation and used a skill I had shared to her [Flame Orb].

A small orb of fire flickered to life above her palm, swirling faintly. She didn’t let it grow or burn; she dismissed it almost immediately, a faint smile tugging her lips.

"Why’d you stop? I wanted to actually see you holding a fireball," I said, half-teasing, half-curious.

"I don’t want to waste my mana," she replied without shame. "I need it for potion making."

"Understandable," I nodded.

"Also," she added, stirring the air with her hand, "the skill isn’t really compatible with me. I can’t shape it into anything destructive like you or Narg can. I mostly use it to light the shed, warm a lamp, or start a fire when I gather wood."

"Oh?" I raised a brow.

That confirmed it then.

Sharing abilities wasn’t some universal shortcut. Compatibility mattered. If I gave the wrong skill to the wrong goblin, it’d be wasted, or worse, dangerous in their hands.

Flogga, unaware of the small lecture forming in my head, went on.

"Truly, young totem, being able to share your skills... that’s a broken ability." She chuckled lightly. "Very broken."

"Broken?" I muttered. " I thought every Chosen could use it."

I had always wondered whether my ability to share skills was something every Chosen could do or if it was just another strange feature tied to whatever anomaly I was.

I had asked Gork but he says he’d never seen anything like it.

Another person who could answer that, was Flogga, afterall she used to be a Chosen herself.

So I asked her plainly.

Flogga stopped stirring and gave me a look like I had just said the dumbest thing in the world.

"Obviously not! What do you mean everyone? I don’t think I had such a skill when I was chosen."

"Is that so?" I murmured, rubbing my chin as I thought about it.

Hearing her say that gave me a bit of comfort, but not complete reassurance.

"But the thing is, I only acquired the skill the moment I became chief; you never...