Chapter 19: Shadows in the Dark

The days following the first real skirmish with the Bonefangs had forced a shift in the camp's atmosphere. The thrill of victory had settled into something heavier—expectation. War loomed, and every goblin knew it.

Leav stood near the center of the encampment, watching as the goblins worked with a new sense of urgency. The trenches had been expanded, new wooden spikes reinforcing the defenses. Fires burned in controlled sections, smoke rising into the air as Frot directed a group of scouts preparing to leave for reconnaissance.

Weal was hunched over a crude wooden table, a handful of smaller goblins surrounding him. Their eyes gleamed with curiosity as he poured a sickly green liquid from one flask into another. The mixture hissed, releasing a faint plume of steam before settling into a calmer state.

"Too volatile," Weal muttered to himself. "A few drops could kill instantly, but in a real battle, we need something slower. More controllable."

Leav approached, arms crossed. "How much do we have so far?"

Weal wiped his brow, smudging dirt and soot across his forehead. "Enough to coat a dozen blades, maybe more if we dilute it. But that would weaken the effect."

Leav nodded. "Keep refining it. We don't need an instant kill—we need something that cripples them, something that makes them fear being cut at all."

Weal grinned, his sharp teeth flashing. "Fear, huh? I like the way you think."

Leav turned his attention elsewhere. Tear had taken charge of the warriors, pushing them harder than ever before. Every day, he drilled them, forging what was once a disorganized rabble into something resembling an actual army.

[POV: Tear]

Tear slammed his fist into a goblin's chest, sending the warrior sprawling onto the dirt. "Too slow!" he barked.

The goblin wheezed, struggling to rise. Others around them hesitated, unsure whether to help their fallen comrade or continue training.

"Do you think the Bonefangs will wait for you to recover?" Tear growled. "They will rip you apart while you gasp for breath. Again!"

The fallen goblin gritted his teeth and pushed himself up. He rushed forward, swinging his crude club wildly. Tear dodged effortlessly, stepping to the side before striking the goblin's wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon.

"Sloppy. Strength means nothing if you can't land a hit."

The other goblins watched in silence. They had all seen this routine play out before, yet every failure hardened them. Every bruise, every pain, was a lesson.

Yorl stood at the edge of the training ground, watching intently. Unlike the others, he didn't flinch at Tear's brutality—he thrived in it.

Tear turned to him. "You. Get in here."

Yorl grinned and stepped forward. Unlike the rest, his excitement was clear. He wasn't here to learn; he was here to break something.

The moment Tear gave the signal, Yorl lunged. His movements were raw, wild, his strength unmatched by any of the other goblins. His fists swung with reckless abandon, each blow powerful enough to shatter bone.

But Tear had been expecting it.

He sidestepped the first swing and drove his knee into Yorl's stomach. The larger goblin coughed but barely staggered before launching another attack.

Tear blocked, twisted, and drove his elbow into Yorl's ribs. This time, Yorl stumbled back, his eyes gleaming with something beyond simple rage.

Excitement.

He laughed, wiping blood from his lips. "Again."

Tear smirked. Maybe there was hope for this one after all.

[POV: Leav]

As dusk settled over the camp, Leav stood atop a small rock outcrop, gazing toward the horizon. The Bonefangs were still out there, watching, waiting. They wouldn't sit idle forever.

A rustle behind him drew his attention.

Frot stepped forward, his usual smirk in place. "News."

Leav turned fully. "Tell me."

"The Bonefangs have started moving. Small warbands, nothing large yet. They're testing the waters."

Leav frowned. That meant they weren't certain of his strength yet. They were probing, looking for weaknesses.

"We need to make them bleed before they gain confidence," Leav said.

Frot's smirk widened. "Already ahead of you. I have scouts mapping out their movements. We can strike at one of their scouting parties tonight."

Leav's mind worked quickly. A decisive attack now could disrupt their plans, put them on edge. But it had to be done right.

"Gather a team. I want precision, not a slaughter," Leav ordered.

Frot gave a mock bow. "Of course, great leader."

[POV: Frot]

Frot moved swiftly through the trees, his team of chosen warriors following closely. The Bonefang scouts were just ahead, moving cautiously through the underbrush.

Amateurs.

Frot raised a hand, signaling for silence. He gestured toward Weal, who dipped a cloth into a vial of poison before handing it to one of the warriors. A silent kill was better than a messy one.

The first Bonefang goblin never saw it coming. A hand wrapped around his mouth, and a blade sank into his throat. The poison acted fast, paralyzing him before he could even struggle.

The others didn't last much longer. Within minutes, the entire scouting party was dead, their bodies left in the open as a message.

Frot wiped his dagger clean and grinned. Let them wonder. Let them fear.

[POV: Leav]

By the time Frot and his team returned, the mood in the camp had shifted again. The Bonefangs would find their dead, and when they did, they would know.

Leav sat by the fire, listening to Trek as he spoke in hushed tones.

"There are whispers of something stirring deeper in the ruins," the shaman said. "Something ancient."

Leav frowned. "Superstition?"

Trek shook his head. "Perhaps. But even superstition has power."

Leav stared into the flames. The Bonefangs were an immediate threat, but if there was something else lurking in the shadows, he needed to know.

For now, he would focus on what was ahead. The Bonefangs were testing them, but soon, he would be the one testing them.

And when the time came, he would ensure they never rose again.