The March of Fate

The goblin shaman stood motionless, his breath shallow, his wrinkled hands trembling ever so slightly. The presence he had just felt—it was impossible. It should have been impossible.

Yet there it was.

The other goblins were still watching Hans, oblivious to the revelation their shaman had just experienced. The weight of Marlic's presence, faint yet undeniable, had sent shockwaves through the old goblin's soul.

Had their fallen lord truly returned?

Hans, unaware of the turmoil in the shaman's heart, had his own problems. The pact with Marlic was sealed, but unease lingered in his mind. The demon lord had agreed to his condition—but only with an ominous caveat.

"If your soul is about to be extinguished, I will have no choice but to act."

Was that a reassurance? Or a warning?

Before Hans could dwell on it further, a commotion erupted near the village's entrance.

A goblin scout burst through the wooden gates, his small form drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged.

"Chieftain! Elders!" he gasped, nearly collapsing. "The lizardmen… they're coming!"

Silence gripped the village.

Then, as if a spark had been thrown into dry tinder, the goblins erupted into panic.

Hans' stomach twisted. Lizardmen?

The shaman turned to the scout, his voice eerily calm amidst the chaos.

"How many?"

"A full battalion, at least!" the scout wheezed. "Armed. Marching straight for us. And… and their banner…" He hesitated before forcing the words out. "It carries the mark of the Iron Tail Chieftain himself."

A collective shudder passed through the goblins.

The Iron Tail Chieftain was no ordinary leader. He was a warrior who had led countless conquests, a strategist whose name struck fear even among monsters. If he was coming in force, it could mean only one thing—this was no casual visit.

Hans gritted his teeth.

"What do they want?"

The scout shook his head. "They haven't sent an envoy. But they're coming. And fast."

Hans turned to the shaman, searching for guidance. Instead, he found the old goblin studying him with unreadable eyes.

"This is no coincidence," the shaman murmured. "They must have sensed something." His gaze sharpened. "Or someone."

Hans stiffened.

"So, my presence has not gone unnoticed," Marlic mused in the back of Hans' mind. His voice was tinged with amusement. "Interesting… The Iron Tail Clan was once among my most loyal allies."

Hans' heart pounded. If that was true, then perhaps the lizardmen weren't coming as enemies. But could he afford to take that risk?

"We need to prepare," Hans said. "If they haven't attacked yet, we should at least try to talk."

The shaman nodded. "Agreed. But we must also be ready for the worst."

The village sprang to life. Goblin warriors rushed to arm themselves. The young goblins and wounded goblins were ushered into the underground burrows. The barricades were reinforced, and makeshift defenses were assembled in the main square.

Hans stood near the gate, gripping the hilt of his worn dagger. He wasn't a goblin. He wasn't even a warrior. But he couldn't stand idly by.

The sun was beginning to set when the first figures emerged from the treeline.

Towering reptilian warriors clad in dark armor, their scaled bodies reflecting the crimson light.

A single figure stood at the front, a massive spear resting across his broad shoulders. His eyes—sharp, intelligent, and gleaming with intrigue—locked onto the village.

He stepped forward, the earth trembling beneath his weight.

"So, it's true," he rumbled, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silence. "The demon lord's will lingers in this place."

The goblin warriors tightened their grips on their weapons.

Hans took a deep breath and stepped forward. His pulse pounded in his ears.

"If you've come to talk, then speak," Hans said, keeping his voice steady. "If you've come for war, then know we won't go down without a fight."

The chieftain's golden eyes flickered with amusement.

"Bold words for a young demon among goblins."

Then, to everyone's shock, he drove his spear into the ground and knelt.

A murmur of disbelief rippled through the goblins.

One by one, the lizardmen followed suit, dropping to their knees in perfect unison.

Hans' breath caught. He had expected threats, maybe even an outright attack. But this?

The chieftain's voice lowered, filled with something Hans hadn't expected.

"Tell me, young demon," the chieftain said. "Are you the one who carries Lord Marlic's will?"

Hans felt every eye in the village turn to him.

This was it. A crossroads.

He could deny it. He could step back, refuse the title, and pretend none of this was happening.

Or he could accept the path that fate had thrust upon him.

Hans clenched his fists.

He had made his choice the moment he agreed to Marlic's pact.

"I am," Hans said, his voice firm.

The chieftain's eyes widened slightly, then his mouth curled into a toothy grin.

"Then our allegiance is yours," he declared. "As it was in the age of our fallen lord, the Irontail Clan stands with you!"

The lizardmen roared in unison, their voices shaking the earth.

Hans barely had time to process what had happened before the goblins erupted into stunned whispers.

The shaman, his expression unreadable, stepped forward.

"My Lord," he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for Hans to hear.

Hans swallowed hard.

What had he just done?

But before he could dwell on his decision, a new voice echoed in his mind.

"Well done," Marlic said, his tone laced with satisfaction. "The first step is complete."

Hans exhaled shakily. The first step… but toward what?

And somewhere, deep within the Forest of Darkness, other forces were stirring.

Beyond the Irontail Clan's territory, in the craggy peaks of the northern mountains, the ogres prepared for war.

Their chieftain, a monstrous brute twice the size of an ordinary ogre, sat atop a throne of bones. His crimson eyes burned with rage as his scouts relayed the news.

"The lizardmen have sworn fealty to that unknown demon," one of them reported, bowing low.

"A demon?" the chieftain bellowed. The ground trembled beneath his fury. "You mean to tell me that those cursed lizards have abandoned our alliance for a lone demon among thise weak goblins?"

"The rumors say… he carries the will of Marlic," the scout added cautiously.

The chieftain fell silent. His grip tightened around his war club.

"Marlic is dead," he growled. "The past is dead."

But doubt flickered in his eyes.

If the Iron Tail Clan truly believed this young demon was Marlic's heir, then the balance of power in the Forest of Darkness was shifting.

And that, he could not allow.

He rose to his full height, towering over his warriors.

"Assemble the clans," he commanded. "We march at dawn."

The war for the Forest of Darkness had begun.

Hans stood before the lizardmen and goblins, his mind reeling.

He had taken the first step toward something far greater than himself. But what came next?

"Do not falter now," Marlic's voice whispered. "You have claimed my will. Now, you must prove yourself worthy of it."

Hans clenched his fists.

There was no turning back.

And far beyond the goblin village, the echoes of destiny had begun to spread.

The world would soon know…

The Demon Lord's will had returned.