Leopold leaned back, gaze returning to the vast land ahead where the fortress waited unseen. "Except for Hevert, every one of them can stand alone," he added quietly, "Together, they are why this army dares to march so boldly."
The young man tightened his grip on the club.
Hevert raised his voice again. "Move!"
The Keepers took the lead. Slaves followed, clubs clenched tight. Soldiers closed in behind them, formation unbroken.
As they marched, Leopold leaned closer to the young man. "Remember this," he said quietly. "Weapons don't decide survival. Awareness does."
The young man tightened his grip on the club, eyes fixed forward.
Ahead, beyond dust and blood, waited the fortress.
And the first test of whether he would live long enough to earn a name.
They had not gone far when Samantha Hawk raised her hand.
The signal was unhurried, almost careless, yet the effect was immediate. The marching line faltered, then stopped—soldiers bracing their stance, slaves halting mid-step, the entire column freezing as if the air itself had thickened.
Samantha's eyes lingered on the barren stretch ahead, sharp and distant at the same time, as though she were watching something unfold just beyond sight. She turned her head slightly toward the man beside her.
"Fortified shield," she said, her voice calm, bordering on bored.
Arnold Ironfire responded without a word.
He stepped forward and drove his shield into the ground.
THOOM.
The impact sent a dull vibration through the earth, up the legs of those standing nearest. Runes carved into the shield ignited in pale white light, and in the next breath, transparent barriers surged into existence.
Layer upon layer of shields unfurled across the front line—rows and columns interlocking with mechanical precision. The formation sealed tight, leaving no gaps, no weakness. A wall of force stood between them and whatever lay ahead.
A heartbeat of silence followed.
Then the sky burned.
Something screamed through the clouds.
Massive fireballs tore downward like fragments of a collapsing sun. They struck the land in violent succession—
Explosions bloomed across the field, fire rolling outward in crushing waves. Heat slammed forward, the ground trembling beneath their feet.
The slaves panicked.
Freed from their chains only hours ago, many had not yet learned how to stand without fear pressing down on their backs. Some screamed. Some broke formation and ran away, bare feet kicking up dust as survival overwhelmed reason.
The young man felt it too—that sharp, instinctive pull to turn and flee. His muscles tensed, already shifting—
"Stay."
Leopold's voice cut through the chaos.
The old man's hand closed around the young man's arm, firm and steady. There was no panic in his grip, only command. "Stay where you are."
The young man hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he stopped.
He planted his feet and forced his breathing to slow, eyes fixed forward. The fireballs continued to rain down, but the shield wall held, flaring brighter with every impact.
Screams rose from the rear.
The young man flinched and tried to look back.
Leopold shifted just enough to block his view. "Don't," he said quietly. "Keep your focus. Our enemy is in front of us."
The screams faded.
The explosions did not.
Leopold's jaw tightened. He knew what had happened behind them. He also knew that looking would change nothing.
Then, abruptly, the bombardment ceased.
A warm, golden radiance spilled from above, bathing the battlefield in light. The young man looked up and saw an enormous magic circle suspended in the sky, intricate runes glowing with divine precision.
As the light washed over him, strength surged through his body. His fatigue vanished. The dull ache in his limbs faded, replaced by a steady, grounded energy. Around him, others straightened, wounds closing, breaths evening.
Leopold inhaled slowly as the pain in his body receded. He blinked his once swollen eye. "Healing and enhancement," he murmured. "Illumi's work."
Now, the barrage of spells stopped.
Samantha moved first.
She drew an arrow in one smooth motion—posture loose, eyes sharp. Peonome lifted her staff beside her, murmuring under her breath. Mana rippled outward, and the arrowhead flared crimson with a sharp, heat warping the air.
Samantha released.
The arrow tore through the sky, leaving a burning trail. A heartbeat later, the horizon detonated—
Fire and shockwaves rolled outward, the explosion dwarfing the earlier bombardment. The earth buckled. Debris rained down.
Samantha smiled faintly. "Interesting."
Peonome tilted her head, expression curious rather than impressed. "What's interesting about a cluster of goblins?"
Samantha's eyes narrowed. "A goblin general."
The atmosphere shifted.
The Keepers fell silent.
So did Leopold.
A chill crawled up the young man's spine. "What's a goblin general?" he asked, keeping his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his chest.
Leopold did not look away from the smoke rising in the distance. "A goblin with the strength, intelligence, and power to rival a Keeper."
The young man swallowed. "But we have five Keepers," he said. "They can deal with one goblin general, can't they?"
Leopold finally turned his head, meeting the young man's gaze.
"The general isn't the real danger," Leopold said quietly.
He let the words settle before finishing.
"It's the one he serves," he said. "The Goblin King."
The roar came without warning.
RRRROOOOOAAAAAARRR—
It was not the cry of a beast announcing its presence, but the sound of command—deep, layered, and absolute. It rolled across the barren land and sank into bone. A moment later, the ground answered it. The earth shuddered, a low rumble swelling into something that felt disturbingly like an approaching storm.
Samantha exhaled through her nose. "Brace yourselves," she said, finally sounding alert. "They're coming."
At first, there was only movement at the edge of sight—a jagged line where dust met sky. Then the silhouettes grew clearer, swelling as they advanced, until the land itself seemed to vomit them forth.
Goblins.
Thousands of them, easily outnumbering both slaves and soldiers ten to one, charging at a terrifying speed. Small, twisted bodies pumping forward with manic energy. Among them ran greater goblins, broader and smarter, their eyes glowing with crude intellect. Massive orcs thundered at the center of the formation, tusks bared, weapons raised.
And towering above them all—
An abnormally massive goblin, its armor scavenged from fallen foes, its presence dragging the air down around it. Sword resting on its shoulder.
The goblin general.
Hevert stepped forward, blade still sheathed, voice ringing sharp and disciplined. "Archers," he barked. "Draw. Wait for my signal."
Behind the slaves and soldiers, bows came up in practiced unison. Arrowheads glinted in the sun. The young man could feel the tension crawling through the ranks, a thousand breaths held at once.
"Wait," Hevert snapped, eyes narrowed. "Wait—"
The goblins surged closer.
"Now!"
The sky darkened as arrows screamed forward in a lethal arc. For a brief, hopeful moment, it looked as though the front ranks would be skewered—
A roar answered the volley.
One of the greater goblins raised its staff, symbols carved into bone flaring sickly green. A violent wind surged forward, crashing into the arrows mid-flight. The volley faltered, then died, shafts clattering harmlessly to the ground.
A murmur of dread rippled through the lines.
"Mages!" Hevert commanded.
Staffs rose. Mana ignited.
Fireballs tore through the air. Ice lances followed, then jagged spears of stone. Peonome joined them without hesitation, her casting seamless and relentless. Explosions ripped through the charging mass, bodies torn apart, limbs flung skyward.
Still, the goblins did not stop.