Chapter 12: The Fires of War

The Bonefang War Party lay in ruin. Their dead were strewn across the battlefield, the dirt soaked in blood and venom. Those who had fled would carry a singular message back to their chieftain—Leav was not to be trifled with.

But victory was not enough.

Leav stood over the corpse of the Bonefang captain, his fingers curling into a fist as a familiar heat coursed through him. His body shifted, adapted—his vision sharpened, his limbs felt lighter, faster.

[Adaptive Mutation Activating…][New Passive Skill Unlocked: Warborn Instinct](Faster adaptation to combat situations. Increased reaction speed and resilience in battle.)

Leav exhaled, feeling his body settle into its new strength. He was evolving, just as his tribe was. But evolution meant nothing without direction.

The Bonefangs would regroup. They would come back, stronger and angrier. Leav couldn't just wait for their next attack.

He had to strike first.

The goblin camp bustled with new energy. The warriors, once mere scavengers, had tasted true victory. They stood taller, sharper, hungry for more.

Tear barked orders as bruised but determined fighters clashed in mock combat, honing their skills. Yorl stood among them, his face alight with a dangerous fire. He had learned from his mistakes—his movements were still fierce but measured.

In the shadows, Weal worked over his poisons, his excitement barely contained. "One cut, and they'll be dead before they even realize they were hit," he muttered, grinding a strange red herb between his fingers.

Frot, ever the opportunist, whispered among the newest recruits, securing his network of spies and informants.

Leav observed them all, then turned to Trek, the closest thing the tribe had to a strategist.

"The Bonefangs are watching us," Leav said. "What will they do next?"

Trek adjusted his tattered robe, his sharp eyes gleaming. "They won't attack immediately. Their leader, Chieftain Varrak, is no fool. He will seek to understand you first. Expect scouts. Assassins, perhaps. He will test your strength before making his move."

Leav smirked. "Then let's not give him the chance."

He was done waiting. It was time to go on the offensive.

Leav summoned his war council—Yorl, Tear, Weal, Frot, Trek, and the three new warlords he had recruited:

Grak of the Hollow Teeth – A brute, loyal to the strongest force.

Rell the Taker – A cunning raider, quick and efficient.

Thurak of the Tunnels – A master of underground warfare.

"The Bonefangs expect us to sit and wait," Leav said, his voice firm. "We won't. We move now, before they regroup."

Frot grinned. "You have something in mind?"

Leav nodded, tracing a rough path on the dirt map. "We take one of their supply camps. Weal's poisons will weaken them. Rell's raiders will strike fast. Thurak's tunnelers will cut off their retreat. And Tear's warriors will finish the job."

Yorl's eyes gleamed with excitement. "When do we move?"

"Tonight."

The Bonefang supply camp, known as Blackfang Hold, lay nestled within a canyon. Defended by nearly twenty warriors, it was the heart of their supply chain—food, weapons, even captives.

Leav's forces moved under cover of darkness.

Thurak's tunnelers had spent the last two nights digging beneath the outer defenses.

Weal and his poisoners had already tainted the camp's water supply.

By the time the first Bonefang sentry collapsed, foaming at the mouth, Leav's warriors were already in position.

Then, Rell's raiders struck.

Knives flashed in the moonlight, slicing throats before the alarm could be fully raised. Goblins screamed as the raiders tore through the camp, setting fire to supply crates and cutting down fleeing warriors.

As the Bonefangs struggled to organize, Leav signaled the main attack.

Tear roared, leading his warriors into the fray.

Yorl tore through the enemy ranks with newfound precision, his wild aggression now tempered by strategy.

Frot and his spies picked off the commanders, cutting the head off the enemy forces.

By the time dawn broke, Blackfang Hold was nothing but ashes and corpses.

The Bonefangs had lost one of their key supply lines.

And they would know exactly who was responsible.

By the time Leav's warband returned to camp, the news had already spread. The Bonefangs would retaliate.

Trek confirmed it. "Scouts report that Chieftain Varrak has begun rallying his warriors. He will march soon."

Leav smirked. "Then let's give him a warm welcome."

Three nights later, the Bonefangs arrived.

Fifty strong. A true war party.

The battle would take place in the Bloodhills, a stretch of uneven terrain that Leav had chosen for one reason.

He had set the battlefield himself.

Traps lined the hills—spiked pits, poisoned caltrops, even buried explosives crafted from volatile herbs.

As the Bonefang warriors charged, the ground beneath them gave way.

Screams filled the air as goblins plummeted into hidden pits lined with sharpened bones.

Weal's poisoned darts silenced enemy archers before they could fire.

Thurak's tunnelers burst from the ground, dragging Bonefang warriors into the depths.

Then, the melee began.

Yorl fought like a demon, cutting through the disoriented Bonefangs with terrifying efficiency.

Tear led the front lines, smashing enemies aside with raw power.

Leav moved like a shadow, striking where it mattered.

At the heart of the battle, he found him—Chieftain Varrak.

The old warlord was massive, his body riddled with battle scars. He swung his greatclub with brutal force, each blow shattering the earth beneath it.

But Leav had already evolved beyond him.

With Warborn Instinct, he moved faster, sharper. He dodged every strike, countering with brutal precision.

Then, he saw his opening.

Leav lunged, his blade sinking deep into Varrak's chest.

The chieftain's eyes widened. He gasped, blood bubbling at his lips.

Then, he collapsed.

Silence.

Then—a deafening roar of victory.

As the surviving Bonefangs dropped their weapons and knelt, Leav stood over Varrak's corpse, breathing heavily.

His body shifted again.

[Adaptive Mutation Activating…][New Passive Skill Unlocked: Predator's Dominance](Enemies with lower morale are more likely to surrender. Increased presence in battle.)

Leav smirked.

The Bonefangs had been defeated.

And now, they were his.

The goblin tribes had changed.

And under Leav, they would become unstoppable.