From Goblin Slave To Giga-Daddy: A Goblin's Guide to Getting a Harem-Chapter 27: Finally, an Underwear!

The next morning, Raedon was rudely shaken from his pervy dreams by a knock on his hut. It was Alex, the chiseled poster boy for all things heroic and painfully uptight.

"Get ready. We're going hunting again," Alex said, all business.

For some reason, Raedon's whole body shivered. And not the good kind, like when Alice bent over and accidentally gave him a view of paradise—no, this was the PTSD-flavored kind.

The last time this goblin body went hunting with Alex, he came back looking like someone had played kickball with his ribs.

It wasn't until Alice patched him up, mumbling about "idiotic heroes," that he could walk straight again.

Still, he couldn't disobey the walking virtue-signboard.

Not yet anyway.

Oh, but give it time. Sooner or later, he'd have that smug bastard in a green hat, dancing like a frog at a village fair.

"Man, I've gotta carry weights again, huh?"

Raedon grumbled, stretching lazily and slamming his door shut behind him.

The sun was rising, the air smelled of wet earth from last night's drizzle, and dew clung to the grass like the tears of defeated enemies.

"Ah, well. At least I can drool over the party's snack pack again."

He grinned, rubbing his hands together like a sleazy little merchant counting gold.

"Celeste's milky thighs... Lyra's ass cheeks that bounce like they've got a rhythm section... And Adeleid's big ol' fun bags—like, how do you even shoot arrows with those things without knocking yourself out?"

Raedon sighed, practically moaning in reverence.

"Truly, the gods are generous. What a dream team."

In normal circumstances, just thinking about Celeste's creamy thighs or Adeleid's titanic titanic support system was enough to make his pole stand at full mast, saluting like a proud soldier at roll call.

But not today.

Today, discipline was the name of the game. Because if that damn flagpole rose up now—especially in front of the heroes, and especially with Celeste around—he was done for.

That holy woman was the one who'd planted the soul magic on him, a suppression spell meant to kill off "unclean thoughts."

If she caught wind of a rogue boner breaking through her divine firewall, she'd know something was off.

He glanced down cautiously, like a thief checking his loot. Then, slowly, he lifted the hem of his loincloth...

There it was.

Like a hidden relic.

Like a sacred jewel.

Like a divine artifact sealed away to keep humanity safe from the beast within.

A goddamn underwear.

But not just any underwear.

Not Alex's—because ew, no. This was the same pair Alex gave him long ago in an awkward attempt to make him more "civilized."

He'd rejected it at the time, of course. Proudly tossing it into the corner like some battle trophy he'd never wear.

But now it was his salvation.

The one thing standing between him and total exposure—figuratively and literally.

He'd torn through the whole damn hut like a madman looking for it. Tossed out straw mats, upended clay jars, even checked under his own bed, which was its own kind of horror show. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

But he found it. His Holy Grail. His Elastic Guardian. His Anti-Erection Barrier Mark I.

A simple white underwear with a cute pink bowtie in the upper part.

"Man, why's this so damn itchy?"

Raedon did an awkward little squat, tugging the cursed fabric left and right, trying to adjust it without mangling his goods. It was like wrangling a rebellious snake inside a scratchy potato sack.

"Should've washed it first... Shit."

He muttered, scratching under the waistband like a flea-ridden raccoon.

"Just my luck if I get rashes down there. Heh... then Alice'll have to patch me up again. Maybe even touch it~ Heh heh heh..."

He was whistling like a man skipping into degeneracy when the gods decided they'd had enough.

Thunk!

A stone zipped through the air like a divine bitch-slap and smacked him right in the forehead.

"OW—what the actual fu—!"

He staggered, grabbing his head as stars danced in front of his eyes. The rock wasn't big enough to crack his skull—Raedon had a head like a boulder, after all—but it still hurt like sin.

"The hell!?"

He looked around, eyes darting between walls, houses, and suspicious chickens. Nothing. Just the peaceful little neighbourhood basking in the morning sun like nothing had happened.

He looked down at the offending object. Yep. A rock. A plain, jagged little rock. Which meant someone threw it.

"Grrrr..."

He growled, nostrils flaring, and started simmering through the old Raedon's memory archives for any unresolved rock-based vendettas. But before he could go full conspiracy theorist—

Flick!

Another rock arced over the wall.

Raedon's instincts kicked in and he sidestepped just in time, the stone whizzing past his face with a hum of righteous violence.

"The fu—!"

And then he saw it. A tuft of blond hair peeking over the wall, just for a split second.

"...You little shit."

Raedon's eye twitched.