Eventually, without hesitation, he laid the bundle—the fragile babe wrapped in cloth—at the base of a gnarled old tree. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
So, this is it, the Great Sage thought. My fate is sealed.
There were only two possible outcomes: either a monster would find him and end it swiftly, or nothing would happen to him and he’d die of starvation instead.
He’d known this was a possibility from the moment he realized he couldn’t choose the circumstances of his rebirth. But still, he had believed and hoped that being born alive, rather than stillborn, meant he might at least survive until the age of five, when his magic would awaken.
For things to turn out like this… Was I wrong to wish for another life? Is this a punishment for my arrogance in reaching too far? For trying to defy the natural cycle and take a second turn at life, alone?
If so… perhaps, this is justice.
With that quiet resignation, the Great Sage closed his eyes. He began to accept his fate and was ready for whatever would happen to him next, the real death that even his magic could not delay forever.
Perhaps this, too, is fate.
Just then—
“Mom! Mom! There’s something over here!” A high, rough voice pierced the forest’s silence.
Goblin speech? The Great Sage’s thoughts, previously numb with resignation, sharpened instantly.
He understood every word. This peculiar language, spoken only by goblins, was utterly incomprehensible to ordinary humans. Yet the Great Sage had always grasped its nuances. His title stemmed not just from his magical prowess, but from a vast knowledge that spanned disciplines, cultures, and languages, encompassing almost every known tongue—and even a few forgotten by time.
“It’s a human baby…” one goblin muttered, her tone hushed and wary.
“Huh?! What’s a human doing out here? No way!” another squeaked, her voice a mix of shock and genuine concern.
“Abandoned, maybe… Or something happened,” the first one conjectured, her tone thoughtful.
They were two female goblins, an adult and a child—likely mother and daughter—distinguishable by their voices and speech patterns.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a flicker of hope ignited within the Great Sage. Until this moment, he had only imagined certain death if discovered by monsters. However, he’d made a critical oversight: he hadn’t considered being found by goblins.
These humanoid monsters, typically no larger than a human child, even when fully grown, possessed single horns and reddish skin. Crucially, their temperaments varied wildly; some were gentle and curious, others vicious and cruel. In that regard, they weren’t so different from humans.
Still, nearly every goblin interacting with human society had done so through violence. These were the encounters people remembered and feared. For generations, goblins had been universally branded as dangerous beasts.
I remember now… It was in my early thirties, in my previous life, when I first discovered peaceful goblins. Yet even then, they remained hated and hunted. But perhaps things have changed in this new era? Maybe goblins are seen differently now, the Great Sage thought, with a sliver of hope that a new human-goblin relationship might lead to his salvation.
“Humans are scary, aren’t they?” The child goblin’s voice, hushed with worry, broke through his thoughts. “My friend told me they’ll kill you the moment they set their eyes on you.”
The older one paused, then replied softly, “Yeah, that’s true.”
The Great Sage’s heart gave a sudden jolt.
What did she say…?
Her words were a sharp, bitter reminder that cruelty wasn’t exclusive to one race, nor kindness to another. And in this world, fear still flowed both ways.
Since not all of them are violent, there should be a law—one I helped create—that prohibits the indiscriminate killing of goblins. Has it been abolished? Or has the truth I uncovered—that some goblins are gentle—simply been forgotten over time?
The Great Sage’s thoughts spun in quiet, bitter frustration.
Magic aptitude is considered a useless trait. Goblins are once again feared as monsters. Just what has happened to this era?
He desperately sought answers, but found none.
“So, what do we do with this human?” the younger goblin asked, tilting her head, her tone thick with concern. “If we leave the child here, he’s definitely gonna die, right?”
Though their demeanor was free of malice, the Great Sage fully anticipated them leaving him to his fate. After all, what reason did goblins have to go out of their way for a human infant? A pang of regret struck him for not having done more in his past life to disseminate the truth about their kind.
Then, in a voice of simple conviction, the mother goblin declared, “We will help the child.”
The Great Sage blinked inwardly, stunned.
Did she say she’d help me?
“Huh? Help him? Why?” the younger goblin asked, her bafflement clear.
“Not all humans are bad,” the older goblin replied. “That’s what the village elder always says. And if we leave a baby this young out here, he’s guaranteed to die. That’s just too cruel.”
“Yeah… I guess that’s true. He’s actually kinda cute, huh,” the younger goblin added, peeking at the bundle with wide eyes.
With surprising gentleness, the mother goblin scooped the Great Sage into her arms and said gently, “Let’s head back to the village.”
“Okay!” the younger goblin chirped, beginning to walk toward her home with her mother and the newly rescued human child.
Are they actually helping me? Then… I’m not out of luck, after all, the Great Sage thought, a cautious relief swelling in his chest.
The mother goblin mused aloud, her voice tinged with uncertainty, “I said we’d help the child, but others in the village might not agree. And truly, I’ve got no idea how to raise a human child.”
Her words struck like a pebble in calm water.