18. Shadows in dungeon

Dungeon – 13th Floor

The Almiraj had fled.

Orcbolg watched as its form disappeared into the mist. A monster running from a fight—it wasn't normal.

But chasing blindly wasn't an option.

Instead, he knelt and examined the battlefield. Tracks. Blood splatter. Movement patterns.

There was a pattern in how the monsters had moved. Organized, not random.

They had waited. Coordinated.

Just like—

Goblins.

His grip on his sword tightened.

Following the Signs

He moved carefully through the dungeon, avoiding unnecessary fights. His focus was on signs of movement.

Then—he heard it.

A low click.

A trap?

Instinct took over—he jumped back.

A rock spear shot from the wall, impaling the ground where he stood.

His eyes narrowed.

Dungeon traps existed. But this wasn't natural.

Something set it.

A New Threat

He wasn't alone.

Orcbolg slowly turned—shadows shifted in the mist.

Then—they stepped forward.

They looked like Kobolds. But their eyes gleamed with intelligence. Their posture wasn't hunched—they stood upright, gripping makeshift weapons.

And they spoke.

Not words. Not language.

But signals.

One growled. Another tapped a rock twice with its claw.

Then—they attacked.

The Battle

Orcbolg dodged the first strike, deflecting a club with his shield.

He swung his sword, but the Kobold ducked, countering.

Smarter. Faster. More coordinated.

But they were still monsters.

He adjusted—broke their formation.

A kick to the knee sent one staggering. A shield bash cracked another's skull. Precise, efficient, relentless.

Then, as fast as they came—they retreated.

Not out of fear. A tactical withdrawal.

Orcbolg didn't chase.

Instead, he muttered.

"...Something is changing in the Dungeon."