Chapter 13: The Weight of Power

The Bonefangs had fallen. Their chieftain lay dead in the dirt, his lifeblood soaking into the earth. All around him, goblins—both Bonefang and his own—knelt in silence, waiting for Leav's next move.

Power was a living thing. It didn't settle—it shifted, morphed, threatened to slip away at the slightest mistake. Leav had claimed it. Now, he had to hold onto it.

He looked down at Varrak's corpse, his heart pounding. His mutation was still spreading, his muscles tingling, his instincts sharper than ever. He was changing, again.

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

The surrounding goblins felt it. Even without a word, they knew that standing against him was no longer an option. He wasn't just a warlord anymore. He was becoming something greater.

Leav turned his gaze toward the remaining Bonefang warriors. Broken, confused, leaderless. They expected him to execute them, to rule them through blood and fear.

But that was the old way. His way was different.

"You have a choice," Leav said, his voice carrying over the battlefield. "You can die like your chieftain. Or you can evolve—survive, grow stronger, and fight for something greater than scraps and old grudges."

A long silence. Then, one by one, the goblins bowed.

The Bonefangs had been conquered. Now, they were his.

The battle had been won, but war left scars deeper than wounds. The Bloodhills still stank of death, and the wounded groaned as crude healers tried to mend them. The Bonefang camp, once a fortress, now lay in ruins.

Leav stood on the remains of Varrak's throne, surveying his new forces. Too many were wounded. Too many were hungry. The chaos of victory would mean nothing if they crumbled now.

Frot, ever opportunistic, sat on a barrel near the fire, flipping a stolen dagger in his fingers. "You've got an army, Leav. Now what?"

Leav's fingers curled into a fist. "Now we make them stronger."

The Bonefangs had ruled through brute strength, but that wasn't enough anymore. They needed food, weapons, strategy—a foundation.

"Weal," Leav called.

The poison-maker looked up from his work, his hands stained with strange powders. "Hmm?"

"We're stretched thin. How long can our supplies last?"

Weal tilted his head, calculating. "Maybe two weeks. A month, if we ration."

Not good enough.

Leav turned to Rell, the raider queen. "What about trade? Can we take what we need?"

Rell smirked. "There's always something to take. But if we hit the wrong targets, we bring too much attention. And after this battle, eyes will be on us."

Leav nodded. Reckless looting would make them a target. They needed something more stable.

Then, he looked at Thurak. "What about underground? Resources, food, water—what's hidden beneath?"

The tunnel warlord stroked his chin. "The caves run deep. Old tunnels, lost caches—there are things buried down there. But there are dangers, too."

Leav's mind raced. They had options. But choosing wrong meant death.

He needed time to consolidate his power. To rebuild.

But the world wouldn't wait for him

Night had fallen, and with it came the first signs of trouble.

Leav sat outside his tent, sharpening a jagged blade, when a scout stumbled into camp. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear.

"Trouble," the scout gasped. "Riders. Not goblins."

Leav's grip tightened. "How many?"

"At least ten. Armed, armored. Moving fast."

Not goblins. That meant humans. Or worse—mercenaries.

Leav stood, his mind already working through the possibilities. Had their raids drawn attention? Was this retaliation? A warning?

Frot appeared at his side, grinning. "Company already? I guess word of your little victory is spreading."

Leav ignored him and turned to Tear. "Get the warriors ready, but hold position. We don't strike first."

Tear nodded, his massive form disappearing into the shadows.

The riders arrived within the hour.

Dressed in dark leather and steel, they weren't soldiers. Their armor was mismatched, their weapons worn but deadly. Mercenaries. Hired blades.

At their front, a woman sat tall in the saddle. Dark hair, a scar across her cheek, eyes sharp as steel.

She didn't dismount. Didn't need to. Her presence alone was enough to demand attention.

"I am Captain Lirien," she called out. "I represent a very powerful employer."

Leav stepped forward. "Employer?"

"The kind that watches from the shadows," she said. "And he's interested in you."

Leav felt something stir in his chest. A new challenge. A new opportunity.

He smirked. "Then let's talk."

The meeting was tense. Lirien and her mercenaries sat in the war tent, surrounded by goblins who were barely restraining their hostility.

She was calm. Too calm. She knew she had leverage.

"My employer has been watching the chaos in these lands," she said, sipping from a stolen goblet. "He sees potential in you."

Leav leaned forward. "And?"

"And he wants to know—are you smart enough to take an offer?"

She placed a sealed letter on the table. "An invitation. A test."

Leav met her gaze. A test meant danger. But it also meant reward.

He took the letter and broke the seal.

Inside was a single command.

Find the Ruins of Ash'Kar. Bring proof of entry. Survive.

Leav smirked. He loved a challenge.

Two nights later, Leav stood before the ruins.

They were massive, ancient, crumbling. Signs of a civilization long gone, devoured by time and war.

The air was thick with something unnatural. The shadows moved wrong.

Weal whispered, "This place feels… cursed."

Leav only smiled. Perfect.

The goblins entered the ruins.

They would prove themselves. They would survive.

And Leav would evolve again.