The first morning of the New Management did not begin with a rooster crowing.
It began with the sound of a Mana-Piston vibrating directly against the stone wall of Aris's bedroom.
THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM.
Aris woke up screaming. He tangled himself in the silk sheets, fell out of his four-poster bed, and hit the floor with a thud. The room was shaking violently. Plaster dust drifted down from the ceiling, coating his hair like dandruff from a giant.
THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM.
"Eve!" Aris yelled, spitting out the taste of old drywall. "Are we under attack?"
Eve materialized instantly. She was holding a silver tray with coffee. She was perfectly calm, though the china rattled against the silver.
"Good morning, Master," Eve said pleasantly. "We are not under attack. That is the Heating Committee. They decided the castle was too drafty."
"So they are drilling the wall?" Aris shrieked, clutching the bedpost as the floor jumped beneath him.
"They are installing a geothermal piping system," Eve replied. "They have tapped into a dormant magma vein beneath the castle. The floors are now heating up rapidly. I suggest wearing thick socks."
Aris crawled to the window and looked out into the courtyard.
The Castle of Shadows, once a terrifying monument to dark magic, now looked like an industrial revolution speed-run managed by squirrels on caffeine.
But something was different.
Aris had realized the night before that the Goblins had the energy, but not the knowledge. They knew how to blow things up, but they didn't know how to keep them standing.
He didn't have a shop. He didn't have a teacher. But he had his briefcase. And since arriving in this world, the briefcase had become a tether to his old life—a well of memories that he could physically pull into existence if he concentrated hard enough.
He had spent the night reaching into the leather depths, visualizing the dusty shelves of his grandfather's garage back on Earth. He had pulled out "artifacts."
Basic Structural Engineering. The Haynes Manual for Diesel Engines. The Ikea Assembly Guide for Bookshelves.
He had thrown them into the courtyard and shouted, "Read! These are the blueprints of the Ancients!"
Now, he watched the result. And he realized a critical error.
Goblins couldn't read English.
A group of fifty goblins was gathered around a copy of the Ikea Assembly Guide. They were staring at the diagrams with religious intensity.
"Master!" a goblin priest shouted, running up to the window and holding up the page. "We have deciphered the runes!"
"You have?" Aris asked, leaning out.
"Yes!" The goblin pointed to the picture of the 'Ikea Man' scratching his head in confusion. "This Round-Headed God! He is confused! This means... Confusion is the first step to Wisdom!"
"Uh... sure," Aris said, rubbing his eyes.
The goblin flipped the page to the diagram showing a big 'X' over a figure using a hammer incorrectly.
"And this!" the goblin screamed. "The Crossed-Out Rune! It means the Hammer is Cursed! We must only use... The Holy L-Wrench!"
He held up a tiny Allen key like it was Excalibur.
"ALL HAIL THE L-WRENCH!" the army chanted.
"They are interpreting safety warnings as religious dogma," Aris whispered to Eve. "They aren't using hammers because the picture forbade it. This is going to end poorly."
"Or spectacularly," Eve noted. "Look."
In the center of the courtyard, goblins were building a structure. They were hand-tightening massive bolts using giant, forged Allen keys, treating the tools with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics.
They were actually following the pictures. They thought the stick figure was a deity commanding them to assemble reality.
Aris dressed quickly and walked into the hallway.
He stopped.
The hallway was... immaculate.
Not just clean. It was militarily organized.
Crates were stacked in perfect pyramids. The loose cables were tied up with zip-ties made of leather. There was a goblin standing by a chalkboard, checking names off a list with terrifying speed.
"Name?" the goblin barked.
"Scrap-Chewer," the other goblin grunted.
"You are late," the clipboard goblin snapped. "Queen Lady says late goblins get the Tickle Chair."
"Not the Tickle Chair!" Scrap-Chewer shrieked, sprinting toward his station.
Aris walked further and found the source of this new order.
Lyra was standing in the middle of the atrium. She looked like an Empress in her war room.
She stood straight, radiating an aura of absolute authority. A floating quill was scratching furiously onto a scroll that unrolled endlessly beside her.
"No," Lyra said coldly to a goblin holding a bucket of lava. "You cannot put the lava in the wooden bucket. Think, creature. Wood burns. Lava is hot. The result is a hole in my floor. Do you want a hole in my floor?"
"No, Queen Lady!" the goblin squeaked.
"Then take it to the Obsidian Vat. Move."
She spotted Aris. She didn't wave. She pointed to a stack of parchment on a nearby crate.
"Aris," she said, her voice crisp. "You are late. That is your pile."
"My... pile?" Aris blinked.
"Permits. Requisitions. Zoning laws for the new latrines," Lyra listed without looking up. "I handle the logistics. You are the King. You handle the vision. Start approving."
Aris walked over to the stack. He felt like a junior intern.
He picked up the first paper. It was a request from the Demolition Squad.
Request: Testing new blasting powder on East Wall.
Aris thought for a moment. He remembered his corporate training. Be encouraging, but set boundaries.
He wrote: 'Approved. But please exercise caution and keep the noise down.'
He handed it to a runner.
Thirty seconds later, a massive explosion rocked the castle. A chandelier fell from the ceiling and shattered.
Lyra stopped writing. She turned her head slowly to look at Aris.
" 'Exercise caution'?" she repeated dryly.
"I told them to be careful!" Aris protested, his ears ringing.
"Aris," Lyra said, her voice patient but firm. "They are goblins. 'Caution' to them means 'only use half the dynamite'. You left the variable open. You cannot leave variables open."
Aris swallowed hard. He picked up the next paper.
Request: Build slide in main tower for fast travel.
He looked at the paper. He couldn't just say 'Yes'. He couldn't just say 'No'. He had to think like a goblin, but lead like a King.
He wrote: 'Approved. Must include braking mechanism. Must land in soft material. Do not aim at kitchen.'
He handed it off.
Ten minutes later, a goblin flew past the window screaming "WHEEEEE!" followed by the sound of a splash.
"Report!" Aris shouted at the runner.
"Slide works, Boss!" the goblin cheered. "We used molasses for brakes. Very sticky. And we land in pile of sheep wool!"
"See?" Aris looked at Lyra, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I learned. I specified the landing."
"You did," Lyra noted, looking out the window. "However, you did not specify clean sheep wool. That goblin is now covered in manure."
Aris groaned and put his head in his hands. Leadership wasn't just about giving orders; it was about outsmarting the literal interpretations of five thousand idiots.
"Next paper," Aris whispered. "I can do this."
Aris left the administrative center, his brain hurting, and headed toward the infirmary tent.
He peeked inside.
It was a scene of horrors. Or, depending on who you asked, a girls' day out.
Valerius was hovering over a goblin who was strapped to a chair. As the group's Alchemist and Healer, she viewed biology as more of a "suggestion" than a rule. She was wearing a blood-splattered apron and holding a pair of rusty pliers.
"Open wide," the Pale Alchemist cooed. "Let me see those rotting pegs."
The goblin opened his mouth. Valerius yanked a tooth out with a wet pop.
"Next!" she sang.
Elowen was standing right next to her. The Fire Mage was holding a small, concentrated flame at the tip of her finger.
"Cauterizing!" Elowen announced happily. She jammed her burning finger into the goblin's mouth.
HISS.
"OW-YAY!" the goblin screamed, confused by the pain and the relief.
"Next!" Elowen laughed. "This is fun, Valerius! It's like popping corn, but wet."
"I know," Valerius giggled, tossing the tooth into a jar that was alarmingly full. "We are making a necklace later. Do you think Aris wants a tooth necklace?"
"He's a King," Elowen said, firing up her finger again. "Kings love gross trophies. We should make him a crown of molars."
Aris slowly backed away from the tent. He decided he did not need a check-up.
He finally reached the Great Hall.
Kaelen was there. He was surrounded.
The Captain of the Guard was sitting on a crate, holding his sword. Five goblins were polishing his armor with a level of dedication usually reserved for religious artifacts.
"Shiny Man needs more shiny!" a goblin shouted, rubbing Kaelen's greave with a rag.
"Careful with the filigree," Kaelen advised gently. "It's ancient Elven craftsmanship."
"We fix!" another goblin said. "We add... Void-Iron."
The goblin held up a chunk of black metal that seemed to absorb the light around it.
"We found it in the basement!" the goblin cheered. "Very heavy. Very cursed. We melt it onto your sword hilt. Now sword is heavier! Hits harder! Bonk logic!"
"Bonk logic," Kaelen repeated, testing the weight of his blade. The hilt was now black and pulsed with a faint purple energy. "It... actually feels incredible. The balance is perfect."
"We read the Sacred Book of Haynes!" the goblin said proudly, holding up the car repair manual upside down. "The runes show a circle turning! We think it means... Spin to Win!"
"I don't think that's what it means," Kaelen mused, "but I love the enthusiasm."
In the far corner, Thal was standing in his designated 'Shadow Zone'.
It was the only dirty spot in the castle. The goblins had learned.
A small goblin apprentice walked up to the edge of the shadow. He placed a plate of grilled rats on the floor, bowed low, and whispered, "For the Dusty God."
Then he ran away screaming.
Thal stepped out of the shadows. He looked at the rats. He looked at Aris.
"They are learning," Thal rasped. "They fear the corner. They offer tribute. It is... acceptable."
"You're enjoying the free food, aren't you?" Aris asked.
"I do not eat rats," Thal said, kicking the plate back into the shadow. "But the gesture is appreciated."
Suddenly, the castle shook again.
BOOM.
"2:14 PM," Lyra's voice called out from the hallway. "Right on schedule."
Krakka ran into the room. He was covered in dust, but he was grinning.
"Boss! Boss! Come see! We utilize the Sacred Text of Ikea!"
"The Ikea manual?" Aris asked. "Krakka, you know those aren't magic runes, right?"
"Do not blaspheme!" Krakka gasped, covering his ears. "We follow the Path of the Hex-Key! Look!"
Aris followed Krakka to the courtyard.
The Western Wall, which had been crumbling yesterday, was gone.
In its place was a monstrosity of engineering. It was a wall made of interlocking plates of Adamantine and Scrap-Iron, welded together in a hexagonal honeycomb pattern.
"The Sacred Text showed a Hexagon Key," Krakka explained, holding up the tiny Allen wrench diagram. "We thought... what if Key was Wall? Hexagon is Bestagon!"
"Hexagon is Bestagon!" the goblins chanted.
"We use 'Tab A into Slot B' technology," Krakka explained, slapping the metal. "Modular armor. If dragon breaks one piece? We pop it out. We put new piece in. Click-Clack. Wall fixed."
Aris stared at it. They had misinterpreted a diagram for a screw and accidentally invented modular tank armor.
Kaelen walked up. He drew his newly weighted, Void-Iron sword.
"May I?" Kaelen asked.
"Test it!" Krakka challenged. "Strike it, Shiny Man! Show us the flaws!"
Kaelen looked at the wall. Then he looked at the eager goblins.
He knew that if he used his full strength—the strength that had slain Demon Lords—he would not only vaporize the wall but probably half the courtyard and the goblins standing in it.
He adjusted his grip. He decided to use about two percent of his power. Just enough to be impressive, but not enough to cause a nuclear event.
"Very well," Kaelen said.
He swung.
CLANG-CRUNCH.
The sound was deafening. Sparks flew like a fountain.
The sword bit deep into the Adamantine. The "Tab A" snapped off. Two of the hexagonal plates crumpled inward, twisting like wet cardboard under the force of the blow. The entire wall groaned and leaned dangerously to the left.
Kaelen stepped back, sheathing his sword.
"It is... sturdy," Kaelen lied gracefully. "Most gates would have shattered completely."
Aris winced. The wall was ruined. He expected the goblins to cry. He expected them to quit.
Instead, Krakka ran up to the twisted metal. He ran his claw over the dent.
"Ooooooh," Krakka breathed. "Look!"
"It is broken!" a goblin shouted.
"Yes! Broken!" Krakka cheered. "It broke at the joint! That means the weld was weak! We have DATA!"
The army of goblins erupted into applause.
"WE HAVE DATA!"
"WE FAILED!"
"WE KNOW WHY WE SUCK!"
Krakka turned to Aris, beaming. "Boss! Did you see? It failed exactly at 400 Titan-Force! Now we know! We need double rivets on the Hex-Joint!"
"Back to the forge!" another goblin screamed. "We make it fail better next time!"
Aris watched them swarm the broken wall, tearing it down with even more enthusiasm than they had built it.
"They are... resilient," Kaelen noted, sounding genuinely impressed. "Most armies mourn their failures. These creatures celebrate them as a learning opportunity."
"They are scientists," Aris realized. "Deranged, uneducated scientists."
Aris pulled a pen from his pocket. He looked at the next requisition form Krakka had left. It was for a 'Flaming Moat'.
He paused. He could write 'Yes'. He could write 'No'.
He wrote: 'Approved. But fuel must be non-toxic. Flames must not exceed three feet. And absolutely no sharks with lasers.'
He signed it.
"There," Aris exhaled, feeling the weight of the decision. "I think that covers everything."
Krakka read it. He looked disappointed.
"No lasers," Krakka muttered. "Boss is strict."
Aris smiled weakly. He hadn't won. He had just survived another hour.
"I need coffee," Aris whispered. "And maybe a helmet."