The goblin war band emerged from the corrupted forest in disciplined formation—three ranks of twelve, shields locked, weapons ready. The war chief stood behind them, his ice-covered armor glinting in the winter sun.
Kieran watched from the command platform, his tactical overlay analyzing their approach.
[Enemy Forces: 36 Winter Goblins + 1 War Chief]
[Formation: Shield Wall Advance]
[Objective: Testing defenses, probing for weaknesses]
[Recommended Response: Ranged harassment, preserve melee capability]
"Archers!" Kieran's voice cut across the defensive positions. "Target the front rank! Fire-enchanted arrows! Loose on my mark!"
Twenty archers drew, fire-tipped arrows glowing with magical heat.
"LOOSE!"
The volley arced through the air, streaking orange against the gray sky. Arrows struck shields, armor, exposed flesh. Where fire met ice-corrupted flesh, steam erupted. Goblins shrieked.
[5 Goblins wounded, 2 killed]
[Enemy: 34 + War Chief remaining]
But the formation didn't break. The goblins closed ranks, raised shields higher, and continued advancing.
"Second volley! LOOSE!"
Another wave of fire arrows. More hits. Three more goblins fell.
[Enemy: 31 + War Chief]
The war chief barked commands in the harsh goblin tongue. The formation split—two groups of fifteen peeling left and right, flanking movements designed to envelope the defenses.
"They're adapting already," Elara said from her position. "Smart bastards."
"Expected. They're testing our range and reaction time." Kieran's mind processed the tactical situation at machine speed. "North barricade, shift half your forces east! South barricade, reinforce west! Don't let them encircle!"
The militia moved according to his commands, redeploying smoothly after days of drilling.
The goblins reached the outer barricades—crude wooden walls reinforced with stone and ice. They didn't try to climb. Instead, they produced crude axes and began chopping.
[Stage 1: Barricade Assault]
[Goblin Objective: Breach outer defenses]
[Time to Breach: 8-10 minutes without intervention]
"Fire teams forward! Target the choppers!"
Militia members with fire-enchanted spears moved to the barricade edges, thrusting down at the goblins below. Screams rose as fire met corrupted flesh. Goblins fell back, burned and dying.
But others immediately took their place. For every goblin killed, another stepped forward with axe or crude hammer, resuming the demolition work.
"They're using attrition tactics," Kieran observed coldly. "Acceptable casualties to breach defenses. Conventional thinking would be to pour all our forces into stopping them. That's what they expect."
"What do we do?" Marcus asked, watching the brutal exchange.
"Let them breach the outer barricade. It's expendable. We fall back to secondary positions where the killing ground is better prepared."
"Let them through?"
"Controlled retreat is different from running. We trade space for dead goblins." Kieran's voice was emotionless calculation. "All forces, prepare to fall back to inner barricades on my signal. Burn the outer positions as you retreat—deny them cover."
[Tactical Decision: Sacrifice outer defense for better killing ground]
Ten minutes later, the outer barricade splintered. Goblins poured through the breach, shrieking victory cries.
"NOW! RETREAT!"
The militia pulled back in coordinated withdrawal, touching torches to oil-soaked sections of the outer barricades. Fire erupted behind them, creating a wall of flame between the advancing goblins and the retreating defenders.
The goblins hesitated at the fire wall—winter creatures, ice-aligned, instinctively fearing flame. It bought precious seconds.
The defenders reached the inner barricades—better constructed, elevated positions, clear firing lanes. This was the real defensive line.
"HOLD HERE!" Kieran commanded. "Reform positions! Prepare for sustained engagement!"
The goblins came through the fire, partially burned, enraged. They charged the inner barricades with fury rather than discipline—exactly what Kieran wanted. Organized enemies were dangerous. Enraged enemies made mistakes.
"FIRE AT WILL!"
Fire arrows, enchanted spears, coordinated volleys—the inner defenses opened up with everything. Goblins fell in heaps. The ice armor that protected them from normal cold did nothing against magical fire.
[12 Goblins killed in the assault]
[Enemy: 19 + War Chief remaining]
But some got through. Three goblins scaled the inner barricade, landing inside the defensive perimeter.
The closest defender—a militia member named Derek—raised his spear too slowly. A goblin's ice-blade caught him across the throat. Blood sprayed across white snow.
[Derek: KILLED]
[First Casualty]
"BREACH! EAST SECTION!" Elara shouted.
Kieran was already moving. He vaulted down from the command platform, sword in hand, reaching the breach in seconds. Two more militia members engaged the goblins—one was slashed across the arm, deep enough to expose bone. She screamed and fell back.
[Militia Member: Severe Injury - Combat Ineffective]
Kieran's sword took the nearest goblin's head off. The second goblin turned to face him, snarling, ice-blade raised.
It was fast. The blade came at his face in a blur. Kieran's tactical overlay showed him the attack vector, the optimal counter. He ducked under the swing, drove his blade up through the goblin's jaw into its brain. It died gurgling.
The third goblin tried to flee back over the barricade. Garrett's enchanted hammer crushed its spine before it made two steps.
[Breach: Contained]
[Cost: 1 dead, 1 severely injured]
"Senna! Wounded fighter, east barricade! Arterial bleeding!"
The healer rushed forward with assistants, working frantically to stop the bleeding. The militia woman—her name was Anne—was pale and shaking, shock setting in.
"She'll live if I work fast," Senna called out. "But she's out of the fight!"
The battle continued. More goblins attempted breaches. Each one was contained, but the cost mounted. Two more militia members took serious injuries—one with broken ribs from a goblin's club, another with deep cuts across the chest.
[Militia Status: 1 dead, 3 severely injured, 2 moderately wounded]
[Combat Effective Forces: 37 remaining]
The war chief watched from a distance, observing, learning. It wasn't committing yet—letting its warriors probe defenses, identify weak points, wear down the defenders.
"It's smart," Lyra said, fire spell residue smoking from her wand. "It's spending goblins like currency, learning what works."
"Then we make every lesson expensive." Kieran's voice was flat, analytical. "Aldous, can you hit the war chief from here?"
"At this range? Maybe. But I'd need thirty seconds of concentration, and those goblins would see it coming."
"Then we create an opening."
_______________
The goblins pulled back after the morning assault, regrouping beyond effective arrow range. They'd lost seventeen of their number—nearly half their force—but they'd learned the defensive layout, tested responses, identified sections manned by weaker fighters.
"They'll come again," Kieran said, reviewing the morning's engagement. "Different strategy. They know our ranged capability now. They'll bring countermeasures."
"What kind of countermeasures can goblins make?" Marcus asked.
As if in answer, goblins emerged from the tree line carrying crude siege equipment—shields made from ice-covered logs, mantlets to provide mobile cover, and something that looked like a catapult made from bent trees and corrupted vines.
"Primitive artillery," Aldous observed. "Clever little bastards."
[Stage 2: Siege Warfare]
[Goblin Adaptation: Protected advance, Projectile attacks]
The catapult launched its first projectile—a chunk of frozen, corrupted flesh that arced over the barricades and smashed into a building. The impact shattered the projectile, spreading corrupted ice shards in all directions.
A civilian emerged from the building, screaming. Her arm was impaled by a corruption shard, frost spreading from the wound.
[Civilian: Critical Injury - Corruption exposure]
"GET HER TO SENNA! NOW!"
Two militia members dragged the woman toward the medical station. Kieran could see the corruption spreading—white frost creeping up her arm like living crystal. If it reached her heart, she'd die or worse.
The catapult launched again. And again. Corrupted projectiles smashed into buildings, defensive positions, anywhere they could reach.
"Aldous, can you counter that thing?" Kieran demanded.
"Give me a clear shot and thirty seconds."
"You'll have it. Finn! Can you hit the crew from here?"
"Maybe. They're behind cover, but I can try."
"Do it. When their heads are down, Aldous takes the shot."
Finn's fire arrows arced toward the catapult position. The goblins ducked behind their ice shields. In that moment, Aldous's staff blazed.
"LIGHTNING!"
A bolt of pure electrical energy lanced from his staff, crossing the distance in an instant. It struck the catapult dead center. Wood exploded. Vines burst into flame. Three goblins caught in the blast were thrown backward, smoking and dead.
[Enemy Artillery: Destroyed]
[3 Goblins killed]
[Enemy: 16 + War Chief remaining]
The remaining goblins retreated again, this time showing visible fear. They'd lost more than half their force and their siege weapon. The war chief was gesticulating angrily, clearly reassessing the situation.
"We're winning," Elara said, hope in her voice.
"We're surviving," Kieran corrected. "The war chief hasn't committed yet. This was all expendable troops testing us. The real attack comes when it decides the position is worth taking despite the cost."
As if hearing him, the war chief raised its ice-covered axe and roared. The remaining goblins formed up into a single tight unit—shields locked, weapons ready, absolute commitment to the assault.
[Stage 3: Final Assault]
[All remaining enemies committing]
[No retreat, no mercy]
"This is it," Kieran said calmly. "All forces to the barricades. Fire everything we have. They're coming to break us or die trying."
The militia formed up, exhausted but ready. Wounded fighters who could still hold weapons took positions. Even some armed civilians joined the line.
The goblin formation charged, shields raised, moving with surprising speed despite their size.
"VOLLEY FIRE! AIM FOR THE LEGS! BREAK THEIR FORMATION!"
Arrows struck low, under the shields. Goblins fell, their formation disrupted. But they kept coming, climbing over their own dead.
They hit the barricades like a hammer. The shield wall slammed into the wooden defenses, axes and clubs rising and falling. The militia met them with spears and fire-enchanted blades.
It became chaos. A melee, close-quarters brutality where formations meant nothing and survival was measured in seconds.
Kieran fought on the front line, his sword finding goblin flesh again and again. A club glanced off his shoulder—pain flared, but he kept moving. His tactical overlay still functioned, still calculated optimal strikes, still processed threats.
A goblin nearly got inside his guard. Lyra's fire spell took it in the face, burning away corrupted flesh. She fought beside him, her wand and a borrowed dagger working in coordination.
Garrett held a section of the barricade alone, his hammer crushing any goblin that tried to pass. Three lay dead at his feet. A fourth tried to climb over them—the hammer caught it mid-leap, sending it flying backward with shattered ribs.
Elara coordinated the eastern defense, her enchanted spear taking goblin after goblin. She was efficient, brutal, effective—exactly what Kieran had trained her to be.
The war chief finally entered the battle, its massive axe cleaving through a militia member's shield and arm in one strike. The fighter went down screaming.
[Militia Member: Severe Injury - Arm nearly severed]
"CONCENTRATE FIRE ON THE WAR CHIEF!" Kieran commanded.
Fire arrows, spells, enchanted weapons—everything focused on the leader. The war chief's ice armor absorbed the first hits, but cracks appeared. Then a breach. Fire found corrupted flesh beneath.
It roared in pain and rage, spinning to face Kieran. Their eyes met across the battlefield.
The war chief charged directly at him, axe raised.
Kieran's tactical overlay calculated a dozen responses. None had survival probability above 40%. The war chief was too strong, too fast, too experienced.
But Kieran had one advantage: he didn't care about fighting fairly.
"NOW!" he shouted.
From concealment, three militia members released a cargo net—heavy rope weighted with stones. It caught the war chief mid-charge, tangling its legs. The massive goblin crashed to the ground.
Aldous's lightning struck while it was down. Lyra's fire engulfed it. Finn's arrows found its eyes. Elara's spear drove through its throat.
The war chief thrashed, dying but not dead, its corrupted vitality keeping it alive through injuries that should have been lethal.
Kieran walked up calmly and drove his sword through its brain.
[War Chief: KILLED]
With their leader dead, the remaining goblins broke. Seven survivors fled toward the corrupted forest, scrambling over barricades, abandoning weapons, seeking only escape.
"Let them run," Kieran ordered. "Don't pursue. They're finished."
[SECOND WAVE - DAY 1: VICTORY]
[Enemy: 37 goblins arrived, 7 fled, 30 killed]
[Friendly Casualties: 1 militia dead, 5 injured (3 severe, 2 moderate), 1 civilian critical]
[Hostages Taken: 0]
[Defense: Held]
Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the moans of wounded and the crackle of dying fires.
Kieran surveyed the carnage with emotionless precision. Bodies—mostly goblin, some human—lay scattered across blood-stained snow. The defenses were damaged but intact. Casualties were within acceptable parameters for an assault of this intensity.
"Status reports," he ordered. "Senna, triage the wounded. Elara, casualty count and defensive damage assessment. Aldric, check food stores for damage. Finn, scout the perimeter—make sure no goblins are hiding nearby."
People moved to obey, too exhausted to question or comment.
Marcus approached, looking sick. "Derek is dead. Anne might lose her arm. That civilian woman—the corruption is spreading. Senna doesn't know if she can save her."
"Derek's body needs burning—corrupted blood could spread contamination. Anne gets priority medical care—we need fighters. The civilian gets purification treatment immediately, even if it's painful. We can't risk corruption spreading in the village."
"Kieran—"
"Those are the optimal resource allocations given our situation. Do you have better suggestions?"
Marcus stared at him for a long moment. "No. You're right. It's just... gods, you're cold about it."
"Cold keeps people alive. Emotion doesn't." Kieran turned away. "Excuse me. I need to prepare for tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Seven goblins escaped. They'll report to whatever command structure exists in the corrupted zone. We might face retaliation tonight or tomorrow. We need to be ready."
He walked toward the command platform, already calculating defensive modifications, reviewing tactical errors from the day's fighting, planning for the next engagement.
Behind him, he heard Lyra speak quietly to Marcus.
"He's like this during combat. Pure tactics, no feeling. It's disturbing, but it's also why we're alive."
"Does it bother you? How inhuman he gets?"
"Sometimes. But right now?" A pause. "Right now, I'm grateful for it. We need his tactical mind, not his heart. The heart can come back later."
"If it comes back at all."
Kieran heard this but didn't react. They were right—he'd gone completely into tactical mode during the battle, processing everything as data, making decisions with perfect analytical detachment.
Was that wrong? Derek was dead, but Derek had been in a position where death was always possible. Anne was maimed, but she was alive and could recover. The civilian was critical, but Senna had a 70% chance of saving her with aggressive treatment.
These were facts. Processing them emotionally wouldn't change the outcomes.
So why did Lyra's words—"if it comes back at all"—create a small uncomfortable sensation he couldn't quite identify?
A problem for later.
Right now, he had defenses to repair and a potential night attack to prepare for.
The goblins might return. Or they might not. Either way, Thornhaven would be ready.
Because Kieran Vale didn't know how to be anything except ready.
_______________
As darkness fell, the village tended its wounded and mourned its dead.
Derek's body was burned in a funeral pyre, proper honors given despite the rush. Anne survived surgery—her arm was saved, barely. The civilian woman, whose name was Helen, clung to life as Senna fought the corruption with every treatment at her disposal.
The militia rotated watches, exhausted but vigilant. The goblins might come back. The night was long and full of threats.
Kieran remained at the command platform, studying the battlefield by torchlight. Calculating what the goblins had learned. What they'd try next. What defenses needed reinforcement.
Lyra found him there hours later.
"You should rest."
"I'll rest when the threat is past."
"The threat is never past. Not in a Main Event. You'll burn out."
"Burnout is a resource management problem. I'll sleep when the strategic value exceeds the cost."
She sighed. "There he is. The calculating machine. I was wondering when he'd come back."
"This is who I am."
"No, this is what you become when people are dying. There's a difference." She stood beside him, looking at the same battlefield. "You saved lives today, Kieran. Your tactics, your cold analysis—it worked. People are alive because you don't feel things during battle."
"But you said my heart needs to come back."
"Eventually. Not now. Not when we're in the middle of this." She touched his arm gently. "You can be the tactical machine when we need it. Just... don't forget how to be human afterward."
"What if I can't? What if this is just who I am?"
"Then we deal with that when the time comes. But I don't think that's true. I've seen you care. It's just buried deep when you're in combat mode."
They stood together in silence, watching the night for threats that might or might not come.
Behind them, Thornhaven rebuilt, recovered, prepared.
Day One of the siege was over.
How many more days would there be?
Kieran didn't know.
But they'd survive them.
One calculated decision at a time.