Chapter 11: Forging the Future

The first light of dawn bathed the goblin camp in a cold, pale glow. Leav stood at the center, surveying the tribe that was slowly reshaping itself under his rule.

The warriors who had sworn loyalty after the nighttime purge now stood among his growing forces. Some were uneasy, their loyalty untested. Others carried the sharp confidence of survivors who knew they had chosen the winning side.

But loyalty needed to be reinforced.

"Gather them," Leav instructed Frot. "We need to set the foundation for what's coming."

Frot smirked. "A speech? Or another demonstration of power?"

Leav's gaze was unreadable. "Both."

---

By midday, the entire tribe stood assembled in the central clearing. The old chieftain's seat, once a crude wooden throne, had been burned—a symbol of the past destroyed. In its place stood Leav, flanked by his growing inner circle.

He took a step forward.

"We are no longer the weak, disorganized tribe we were before," Leav began, his voice carrying over the gathered goblins. "The old ways failed us. Brute strength alone is not enough. Fear alone is not enough."

Some of the goblins exchanged uncertain glances. They were used to leaders who ruled through intimidation alone.

Leav let the silence settle before continuing.

"We will become something more. Stronger. Smarter. A force that none dare challenge." He gestured toward Tear. "Our warriors will train harder than ever before."

Tear stepped forward, his expression cold and unwavering. "I will break the weak and build the strong. If you cannot fight, you have no place here."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The weak had always been cast aside, but never this openly.

Leav pressed on. "We will not only fight harder—we will think sharper." He nodded at Weal and Frot. "Weal will oversee food and supplies. We will not starve or grow desperate. Frot will ensure we strike with precision, not reckless aggression."

Frot offered a small, amused bow.

Leav's gaze swept over the tribe. "And Trek will teach us the knowledge of the past. We will learn from those who came before us. We will not repeat their failures."

Trek, silent until now, gave a knowing nod.

Leav's voice hardened. "This is the future I offer. But only to those willing to fight for it."

Silence.

Then—one by one—goblins began pounding their fists against their chests, a primitive sign of agreement.

The weak hesitated. The strong embraced it.

Leav had taken the first true step in forging his army.

---

Tear wasted no time implementing his brutal training regimen. Warriors were broken down and rebuilt. Goblins who had never wielded a weapon before were forced to train until their hands bled.

Yorl thrived in this environment. His rage found purpose, his strength tested against multiple opponents. But his aggression was still unchecked.

Leav watched as Yorl fought three goblins at once, knocking one unconscious with a savage blow. Too reckless. Too wild.

He turned to Tear. "If we can't control him, he'll burn out before he becomes useful."

Tear grunted. "He's strong. He needs limits."

Leav considered. Limits were not Yorl's strength. But redirection was.

"Then let's give him something to focus his rage on."

-

Leav's scouts reported signs of movement near the hunting grounds. A rival goblin warband was active nearby.

A test.

Perfect.

Leav called Yorl, Frot, and a few of his warriors. "We're going hunting."

Yorl grinned. "Finally."

Frot arched an eyebrow. "Hunting? Or extermination?"

Leav smirked. "Both."

---

The enemy warband was smaller than expected—six goblins, led by a scarred brute who carried a rusted axe.

Leav watched from the trees. "This is your test, Yorl."

Yorl's eyes gleamed. "Alone?"

Leav shook his head. "I want to see you lead. Take three warriors. Kill them all."

Yorl's grin widened, but there was hesitation. He had never led before.

"Fine." He turned to the warriors. "Follow me. Kill anything that moves."

Yorl charged.

His warriors followed.

The battle was quick, brutal. Yorl cut through the first enemy with raw power, but his reckless attacks left him open. He took a wound to the arm—a reminder that rage alone wasn't enough.

But the fight was won. The rival goblins lay dead, their blood soaking into the dirt.

Yorl stood over them, panting, his expression unreadable.

Leav stepped forward. "How did it feel?"

Yorl clenched his fists. "Not enough."

Leav smirked. Good. Hunger for more meant growth.

But he needed Yorl to understand the lesson. "You were wounded."

Yorl scowled. "It's nothing."

Leav grabbed his arm, squeezing the wound. "This 'nothing' could be your death next time. Power without thought is weakness."

Yorl's glare met his. For a long moment, Leav wondered if the berserker would lash out.

Then—a slow nod.

Leav released him. "Good. Next time, fight smarter."

---

That night, as the goblins celebrated their victory, Trek approached Leav.

"There is news," Trek said quietly. "The chieftain of the Bonefang Tribe has taken notice of your rise."

Leav's expression didn't change, but his mind raced. The Bonefangs were larger, stronger. If they saw him as a threat, war was inevitable.

Trek continued. "They will not attack yet. They will wait, watching, testing your strength."

Leav nodded. That meant time. Time to grow stronger. Time to prepare.

He turned to Frot. "I want spies watching them. I want to know their every move."

Frot smirked. "Already ahead of you."

Leav's gaze hardened. This was the first true step toward war.

But he would not wait for the Bonefangs to strike first.

He would take the fight to them.