Chapter 18: Strength in Preparation

The ruins had begun to change.

Once a forgotten and crumbling settlement, it now bore the signs of transformation. Smoke curled from makeshift forges where goblins hammered crude metal into weapons. Trenches were dug around the perimeter, sharpened wooden stakes placed at key points to deter intruders. The air was thick with sweat, effort, and the unmistakable tension of a tribe preparing for war.

Leav stood atop a stone outcrop, surveying his growing forces. The recent clash with the Bonefang scouts had solidified their need to grow stronger, and his goblins had responded with a fervor that pleased him. Yet, he knew their current strength was not enough. Not yet.

His mind worked through the numbers. They had seventy-four goblins under their command now, a mix of warriors, scouts, poisoners, and builders. Each played their role, but their coordination still needed refinement. Discipline was improving under Tear's brutal drills, but the instinct to fight as individuals rather than a unit remained a weakness.

Beyond that, resources were becoming an issue. Weapons were crude, food supplies fluctuated, and armor was almost nonexistent outside of what few scraps they had scavenged. Even with Weal's careful rationing, their stores wouldn't last long without stronger supply chains.

He exhaled, his sharp mind already forming solutions.

Tear was relentless. The once-wandering goblin had become a force of discipline, his dark eyes scanning the warriors before him like a predator measuring prey. Tear had not evolved, but he had refined himself. His endurance had increased, his strikes became sharper, and his instincts as a warrior honed through experience.

He barked an order, and the warriors surged forward, locking weapons with each other in brutal mock battles.

Leav approached as Yorl slammed a fellow goblin into the dirt, his breathing heavy, his body gleaming with sweat. The berserker was improving, but he still fought with reckless abandon.

"Again," Tear commanded.

Yorl's opponent, a wiry goblin with a jagged scar along his cheek, barely had time to recover before Yorl charged. Too straightforward.

"Stop," Leav said, and the warriors froze.

Yorl turned, irritation flickering in his eyes. "What?"

Leav stepped forward, his voice calm. "You fight with strength, but no restraint. Strength is meaningless if your enemy can outmaneuver you."

Yorl scowled. "I won."

Leav didn't argue. Instead, he gestured to Tear. "Tear, fight him."

The other goblins murmured. Tear's lips twitched into a smirk as he stepped forward, his stance relaxed.

Yorl grinned and lunged.

The fight was over in seconds.

Tear sidestepped the charge, letting Yorl's momentum carry him past. A sharp kick to the back of the knee sent the berserker stumbling, and before he could react, Tear's elbow slammed into his spine, sending him face-first into the dirt.

Silence.

Yorl gritted his teeth, pushing himself up. His eyes burned, but it wasn't just frustration—it was understanding.

Tear offered a hand. "You're strong, but you need control."

Yorl hesitated, then took it.

Leav nodded. Good. The warriors were improving, but they still had a long way to go.

Away from the training ground, Weal crouched over a bubbling pot, his sharp eyes focused on the mixture.

The small goblin's knowledge of poisons had grown in leaps. At first, his mixtures were simple—paralyzing powders and weak toxins—but now, he was experimenting with more potent brews. His fingers traced over dried herbs and crushed insects, carefully measuring each ingredient.

"This one," he murmured, tilting a vial, "should cause muscle failure in a matter of minutes."

Leav watched as Weal coated a dagger's edge with the new concoction. The blade gleamed faintly under the firelight.

"Still unstable?" Leav asked.

Weal nodded. "Needs refining. Too much and the body shuts down too fast, not enough and it just weakens."

Leav could see the hunger for knowledge in the goblin's eyes. Weal wasn't just making poisons anymore—he was engineering them, understanding their properties in a way few goblins ever did.

"You're progressing well," Leav said. "But don't just rely on poisons. A warrior who can fight without his tools is twice as deadly when he has them."

Weal smirked. "I'm already learning. Frot's been teaching me how to move unseen."

Leav glanced toward Frot, who was leaning casually against a ruined wall, watching their exchange with amusement. The spy was as sharp as ever, his network of information growing with each passing day. If Weal could combine stealth with his poisons, he would become a true shadow on the battlefield.

While warriors trained and assassins sharpened their craft, another group worked tirelessly—Thurak's tunnelers and Grak's enforcers.

The ruins were becoming more than just a camp. Hidden tunnels were carved beneath the structures, escape routes mapped out to prevent entrapment. Grak's bruisers patrolled the perimeter, reinforcing walls with scavenged wood and stone.

Leav walked through the settlement, taking in their progress.

A goblin approached—a builder, his arms thick with muscle from lifting stones. "Leader," he said with a deep bow. "The trenches are almost done."

Leav nodded. "Good. Keep reinforcing the weak points."

The goblin beamed before hurrying back to his work.

The ruins were evolving into a true fortress.

But it wasn't enough.

That night, Trek approached him with news.

"The Bonefangs have moved," the shaman said quietly. "They've gathered warriors—more than before."

Leav's fingers curled into a fist. He had expected this, but not this soon.

Trek continued, "Their leader, Gorgul, isn't waiting anymore. He's testing us again—small raids, attacks on scouting parties. They're gauging our strength."

Leav's mind raced. They weren't ready for an all-out war yet, but neither were the Bonefangs.

They needed more time.

More strength.

More power.

"We need another edge," Leav murmured. "Something they don't expect."

Trek's expression darkened. "There is something."

Leav turned toward the shaman, eyes narrowing.

"There are ruins deeper in the forest," Trek said. "Older than these. Some say they hold knowledge, relics of the past. Forgotten weapons, secrets of those who came before."

A risk, but one worth taking.

Leav exhaled. They had made great strides, but it still wasn't enough. Their warriors were stronger. Their poisons deadlier. Their fortress more secure.

But against the full might of the Bonefangs, they would still fall short.

If these ruins held the key to tipping the scales, he would claim it.

"Prepare a team," Leav ordered. "We leave at dawn."

The war was coming. It was time to uncover the past—to forge the future.