The Evolution Of A Goblin To The Peak

Chapter 1183: Secret Realm

Heiming Mountain.

Deep beneath the stone and silence lay an underground base carved into the mountain’s heart.

Dim lights flickered across a steel desk where a man with golden hair streaked with violet sat motionless, shadows curling around his shoulders like a cloak.

Vashno.

Before him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with red hair, his posture tense, as though the weight of the entire mountain pressed down on him.

Vashno didn’t look up as he spoke. His voice was quiet, too quiet.

"How many people have we lost?"

The red-haired man swallowed, the sound loud in the stillness.

"Sir... the casualties have reached almost ten thousand."

Silence slammed into the room.

Slowly, Vashno raised his gaze. A grim, unreadable expression tightened his face as the magnitude of the loss settled like a cold, heavy stone between them.

They couldn’t abandon everything and flee into the unknown. The rest of the continent was suffering too, hounded by the Gluttony Army at every turn. And even if escape were possible, they couldn’t bring themselves to leave the people here to face the threat alone.

"What should we do?" Vashno murmured, his voice low, heavy.

Raven answered without hesitation. "A secret realm again... Of course, we’ll fight for it."

A secret realm meant opportunity, vast stores of knowledge, magic resources, and power that could elevate their entire organization. It was the kind of chance no one could afford to ignore.

But the risk was dire.

Several secret realms had surfaced over the past few months, each one plunging the land into chaos. Every appearance had sparked brutal clashes, desperate scrambles for control, and rivers of blood. Countless lives were lost each time.

"I will personally go there..." Vashno declared.

Raven stopped, turning sharply toward him. "You?"

Vashno held her gaze and gave a firm nod.

...

A day later.

Doranjan and Eztein crossed into the neighboring town, a place worn thin by fear and conflict. Smoke clung to the rooftops like a lingering memory of yesterday’s battles. Every street carried the same uneasy rhythm: hushed voices, hurried steps, watchful eyes.

The war between Angels and Fallen Angels had carved scars into this land. Here, no one walked without caution.

As they moved through the town, the truth became undeniable. The reports they’d heard hadn’t been exaggerated—they had been mild.

Battles ignited every day.

Sometimes in the distance.

Sometimes a few streets away.

Sometimes close enough to smell the burning.

Doranjan and Eztein stopped at a quiet corner, leaning against a stone wall as they surveyed the town.

"Even in this place..." Eztein murmured, eyes narrowing, "there are experts hiding in plain sight."

Doranjan crossed his arms. "Should we talk to them?"

"Yeah. Let’s confront one directly." Eztein pushed himself off the wall with a faint sigh.

They searched the streets until their senses led them to a tavern half-buried in shadows. Inside, the air was thick with alcohol and exhaustion. Hidden in a corner booth sat a tall man in battered leather armor, drinking alone, as though trying to disappear into the darkness.

Doranjan and Eztein approached, taking the seats opposite him without a word.

The man lifted his gaze slowly. His expression did not change but his eyes sharpened. "What do you want?"

Eztein leaned forward slightly, meeting his stare head-on. "What’s the current situation in this land? We just arrived. We need the truth."

The man studied them, feeling for their strength, probing for a hint of aura. His brow creased when he sensed nothing.

Impossible.

"What exactly do you want to know?" he asked carefully.

"Everything," Eztein replied. "Tell us what you know. If we have questions, we’ll interrupt."

The man’s lips twitched. "Not for free."

Eztein slid a small pile of silver coins across the table.

A clean, clear clang echoed between them.

"Good." The man pulled the coins into his hand as quickly as a pickpocket. Then he began to talk.

He spoke of ravaged towns, of angels falling from the sky with wings torn or burning, of Fallen Angels stalking the night like living shadows. He described shifting territories, unpredictable clashes, and powerful figures hiding among ordinary civilians, each waiting for the right moment to strike.

Doranjan and Eztein listened in silence, interrupting only to sharpen details, names, patterns, movements, key figures. Their presence weighed heavily, like two storms disguised as travelers.

An hour passed before the man finally stopped, his voice hoarse.

Eztein dropped a few extra coins on the table to cover the man’s drinks, then stood. Doranjan followed, and together they walked out of the tavern, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft creak.

Moments later, a slender man slid into the booth, eyes darting after the pair.

"What’s with those two?" he whispered.

The tall man exhaled slowly, still staring at the door.

"Don’t go near them," he muttered.

His voice had lost all arrogance, replaced with something closer to fear.

"Those two aren’t ordinary... They’re dangerous."

...

Swoosh!!

Eztein and Doranjan shot through the sky like streaks of lightning, the wind screaming past them as they raced toward the secret realm that was on the verge of awakening.

Moments later, they descended into a rugged valley. The air here felt heavier. They stood side by side atop a rocky ledge, eyes fixed on the blinding radiance in the distance.

A pillar of light surged upward, flooding the valley with raw mana. The ground trembled. The air warped and shimmered as if it were boiling. Space itself twisted around the beam, bending the scenery like ripples around a falling star.

"A secret realm..." Eztein murmured. "This phenomenon isn’t normal. This one is massive."

"It should be," Doranjan replied, gaze narrowing. "Something this big will pull in every expert in this land."

They didn’t advance. Not yet. Both of them remained still, watching the violent distortion from afar. They knew better than to rush in first especially with so many hidden factions waiting to strike behind the curtain.

"Prepare yourself," Eztein said, a smirk forming. "We’re making a big move this time."

"No problem," Doranjan answered calmly.

This was part of their plan. If Vashno was anywhere near this region, he would hear about them once they caused enough noise inside the realm.

Doranjan’s expression darkened. "I have a strange feeling... this secret realm didn’t appear by chance."

"Me too," Eztein admitted. "These realms started opening one after another a few months ago. It’s like someone deliberately placed them here."

The two watched the distorted horizon, the light growing brighter, almost hungry.

Something was coming. And this time, it wouldn’t be small.

Time passed quickly.

More and more people converged on the phenomenon—warriors, wanderers, mercenaries, zealots. Their strengths varied wildly, but their purpose was the same: to seize whatever treasure, knowledge, or power waited inside.

The air was thick with tension, like a storm ready to break.

Yet no one made a move.

They all understood the unspoken rule: The fighting begins inside the secret realm.

Once they were beyond the gateway, all restraint would be abandoned.

Eztein and Doranjan watched from afar, silhouettes against the distant cliffs.

Ohm!!

The light at the heart of the valley blazed, swelling in intensity. Waves of energy tore outward, shaking the land like a living heartbeat. Space twisted, folded and then peeled open.

A gateway appeared.

A shimmering tear in reality, pulsing with ancient power.

Everyone understood what that meant.

The secret realm had opened.

Boom!!

At that moment, countless auras erupted at once, violent, radiant, and overwhelming. Like a volcano exploding, the sheer force of their combined energies shook the valley.

Dozens, then hundreds of figures shot forward, racing toward the newly formed gateway. The air cracked and thundered as waves of power surged past.

Eztein and Doranjan did not move.

They stood quietly, watching the chaos unfold.

The largest forces, the Angels and the Fallen Angels, moved like two tidal waves, each faction marching with unshakable confidence. They were the undisputed rulers of their territories, feared and revered across the world. When they ascended, the entire crowd instinctively stepped aside.

One after another, groups vanished into the gateway.

Only after the biggest factions had entered, after the ground stopped trembling from the passing armies, did Eztein and Doranjan finally exchange a glance.

Then, without rushing, they lifted off the ground and flew toward the gateway.

Behind them, only a handful of minor experts remained—those with little backing, little influence, and little chance.

The battlefield ahead would not be kind to them.

...

Eztein and Doranjan emerged on the other side of the gateway, and found themselves suspended above a boundless ocean.

Waves stretched in every direction, an endless expanse of shimmering blue that swallowed the horizon. There was no land, no islands, no structures. Only water and sky.

"Is this... the secret realm?" Eztein muttered, staring up at the bright, unnaturally clear heavens.

"Most likely," Doranjan replied. His eyes narrowed as he tested the air, the mana, the subtle restrictions woven into the world. "This realm is enormous. I can’t even see its boundaries. But one thing is certain, the laws here aren’t stable enough to support a God-rank being."

Eztein lowered his gaze to the waves below. Something shifted beneath the surface.

"I sense life," he said. "But only low-rank monsters. Not a single intelligent presence so far."

A strange quiet settled between them.

No enemies.

No allies.

Just the whisper of the vast ocean beneath.