Three days after the shaman's death, the forest fell silent once more. In the Misleading Woods, quiet never meant safety. It meant something was coming.
Raul sat against the hollow trunk, burns faded to pale scars, his body still aching but steady. His eyes were sharp, alive. The fight had changed him, not just in skill, but in something deeper. His rank progression had jumped from 49% to 56%, a leap that spoke of blood and fire.
Victor stood with his hammer planted in the dirt, breathing slowly, eyes cold as he watched the forest.
Arin sharpened his blade nearby, the rhythm steady, deliberate.
One hundred goblins. Ten squads. Two warriors, eight regulars each.
Dangerous, but manageable.
They had one day to plan. One day to turn survival into slaughter.
Raul spoke first, voice low and sharp. "We can't fight them head-on. Numbers will crush us."
Victor snorted. "No kidding."
Raul ignored him. "We bleed them. One squad at a time."
Arin's eyes narrowed. "How?"
Raul's grin was thin, wolfish. "Divide, Distract, Kill."
He etched lines into the dirt. "They're tearing the forest apart looking for their shaman's killer. No order, no discipline. We thin them out before they understand what's happening. Silent kills only."
Victor frowned. "And if they regroup?"
Raul's eyes narrowed. "They won't. We don't let them know what's hitting them."
Arin leaned closer. "Explain."
Raul's voice was calm, deadly. "We use the woods. Shadows. Noise. Fire if we have to. Kill the warriors first, fast, clean. Without leaders, the rest panic. We finish them before they scream."
Victor frowned. "One mistake and it's over."
Raul checked his blades. "Then don't make one."
They moved at dawn, slipping through the undergrowth like ghosts. The forest was damp, heavy with mist, every root a trap, every shadow a blade. Raul led, daggers whispering against his palms. Arin followed, shield strapped tight, sword ready. Victor brought up the rear, hammer slung across his back.
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The first squad was easy to find: tracks in the mud, broken branches, the stink of goblin sweat. Raul melted into the trees. Raul slipped past the warrior's guard, blade driving up beneath the jaw. Black blood burst free, warm and thick. The goblin shuddered once, then crumpled without a cry.
The second warrior turned, snarling, but Raul was already behind it. A flash of steel, a twist of wrist, and its spine cracked like dry wood. Two kills. Silent. Perfect.
The eight regulars never had a chance. Arin and Victor crashed in like a storm, shield smashing, hammer crushing, blade carving arcs of steel. Goblin skulls cracked, ribs shattered, and blood painted the dirt. In minutes, the squad was gone.
Raul wiped his blades clean, eyes cold. "Next."
The second, third and fourth squad fell the same way, warriors first, throats slit in silence. Raul moved like a phantom, daggers flashing, steps flowing like water. Arin moved constantly, slipping past blows, sword opening throats and bellies. Victor held the ground, shield locked, hammer breaking skulls with thunderous force.
The forest drank their screams.
The fifth squad fought harder; one warrior managed to roar before Raul's blade silenced it. The sound carried, faint but sharp. Time was running out.
"Faster," Raul hissed.
They moved like predators, striking, vanishing, striking again. Blood soaked the roots, and goblin corpses littered the dirt. Panic spread through the remaining squads; they broke formation, scattered into the woods.
Raul grinned. "Perfect."
By afternoon, fifty goblins lay dead.
Only half remained, angry, desperate, hunting in pairs. Raul's eyes gleamed like steel. "We finish this."
The final fight was chaos, shadows twisting, steel flashing, blood spraying like rain. Raul was everywhere, daggers carving, Nimble Steps carried Raul into killing range. He struck once, then moved on, leaving bodies behind him in the dirt.
Arin's blade worked without pause, clean and unforgiving. Victor held the line, hammer cracking skulls, shield ringing as his strength bled away. Goblins fell screaming, then fell silent. The forest followed.
Raul stood over the last corpse, breathing hard, burns crawling across his arms, sweat dripping down his face. His grin was sharp, wild. "Done."
Arin's panel flickered:
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Your subordinates killed 20 Fellhide Goblin Warriors and 80 Fellhide Goblins.
+10 Lord Coins per Warrior. +2 per Regular, Total: 360 Lord Coins.
Current Lord Coins: 442.
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The goblin village was gone. The forest was quiet. And the three of them, blood-soaked, bone-tired, were alive.
They dragged themselves back to the hollow trunk, bodies aching, lungs burning. Raul collapsed against a fallen log, chest heaving. "I swear, if I see another one of those things… I'm turning into one."
Victor flopped down beside him, hammer across his knees. "You think I'm kidding? My arms feel like stone."
Arin sat cross-legged, sharpening his blade with methodical patience. He glanced at them. "Quit whining. We're alive aren't we?."
Victor snorted. "Barely alive, and I don't see you breaking a sweat."
Raul smirked, wiping ash from his face. "Of course, he's our lord, isn't he? Haha."
Arin rolled his eyes. "Laugh while you can. But we need to move from here soon. Hollow trunks aren't forever ya'know."
Victor groaned dramatically. "Deeper into the woods, huh? Just what I needed."
Raul stretched, cracking his neck. "At least the forest gives us room to move."
Arin let a small smile slip. "Rest while you can. Tomorrow, we move again."
Victor threw a twig at him. "Hey!"
Raul laughed quietly. "Hey… don't you dare fight… without me."
The forest creaked outside, low and slow, like laughter. But inside the hollow trunk, silence held, thin, fragile, precious.
Raul slept. Victor stared at the dark. Arin opened his panel.
Lord Coins: 442.
Arin's lips curved faintly.