Chapter 20: The First Tides of War

[Leav POV]

The cold wind carried the scent of blood and damp earth as Leav stood atop a crumbling stone wall, surveying the ruins below. The fortress they had fought so hard to secure was still far from its prime—cracked walls, broken structures, and scattered debris marred its potential. But it was theirs now, and that meant it could be reforged.

His goblins moved with a sense of urgency, reinforcing weak points, setting up defenses, and tending to the wounded. The remnants of the Bonefang forces that had held this place were gone, but their presence lingered in the corpses strewn about.

Leav tightened his grip on his crude blade. This was just the beginning.

"Frot," he called out.

The scout emerged from the shadows, his usual smirk subdued. "We have a problem."

Leav narrowed his eyes. "Go on."

"The Bonefangs are regrouping. Scouts spotted their forces two days away, and they're not alone."

A slow exhale left Leav's lips. "How many?"

"At least twice our numbers. And they've brought in a hobgoblin war leader."

That changed things. Goblins were dangerous in numbers, but hobgoblins were another matter. Stronger, smarter, and with far greater tactical knowledge, a hobgoblin could turn even a ragtag band into an actual military force.

Leav clenched his fists. They weren't ready for this. Not yet.

But they had no choice.

"Double the sentries. Have Weal prepare traps. Tear will oversee training—our warriors will fight even if they drop from exhaustion."

Frot nodded but hesitated. "And if we can't hold them off?"

Leav's expression darkened. "Then we make sure they pay in blood."

[Tear POV]

Sweat dripped down Tear's muscular form as he watched over the training field. Goblins clashed, their crude weapons sending sparks into the air. He prowled between them, eyes sharp, ready to punish any mistake.

"Again!" he barked.

A goblin staggered back, clutching his arm where a wooden training blade had struck. Tear grabbed him by the collar and snarled. "You think the enemy will let you cry? If you hesitate in battle, you die."

The goblin swallowed hard and nodded.

Good. Fear was an excellent motivator. But fear alone wouldn't make them strong.

He turned to Yorl, who stood with arms crossed, watching with a scowl. "Your turn."

Yorl stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. The berserker had grown stronger, but his reckless nature was still a problem. Leav had tasked Tear with refining him into a proper weapon—one that wouldn't cut its own wielder.

"Come at me," Tear said simply.

Yorl grinned. Then he attacked.

Fast. Powerful. Wild.

Tear sidestepped, letting Yorl's punch sail past. He countered with a knee to the ribs, but Yorl barely flinched. Instead, he spun, elbowing Tear in the chest. The force was impressive, but it lacked precision.

Tear smirked.

He let Yorl keep attacking, dodging each strike with calculated movements. Every time Yorl left an opening, Tear punished it—a strike to the shoulder, a kick to the knee. It wasn't about overpowering him. It was about showing him where he was weak.

Minutes passed, and Yorl panted, his strikes slowing.

Tear finally struck, a powerful blow to Yorl's gut, sending him to the ground.

"Control," Tear said, looming over him. "Strength is nothing without it."

Yorl growled but nodded.

Progress.

[Weal POV]

The pungent scent of poison filled the air as Weal crushed a dried herb between his fingers. He worked in silence, carefully mixing his latest batch of toxins.

He had always enjoyed his craft. It was an art, in its own way. A single drop of the right mixture could turn a strong warrior into a writhing, helpless mess.

The upcoming battle was the perfect opportunity to test his latest work.

Frot entered the room, barely making a sound. Weal didn't look up. "Something you need?"

Frot chuckled. "Leav wants more traps ready. The Bonefangs will be here soon."

Weal nodded, adding a pinch of powdered mushroom to his vial. "Good. I was getting tired of testing on rats."

He glanced at the various poisons lining the shelves—paralytics, hallucinogens, slow-acting venoms. Each had its purpose.

"Tell me," Weal said, "do you think the Bonefangs enjoy screaming?"

Frot smirked. "Guess we'll find out soon."

[Leav POV]

Night fell, and Leav stood atop the fortress walls, gazing at the distant treeline. The Bonefangs would be here soon.

He opened his status screen.

[Status]

Name: Leav

Race: Goblin Tactician

Level: 7

Skills: Warborn Instinct, Tactical Insight, Commanding Presence

Experience: 62% to next level

Still not enough.

The others were growing as well. Tear had become a true war instructor. Yorl was learning control. Weal's poisons were deadlier than ever. Even Frot had his own hidden influence, shaping things behind the scenes.

But none of it mattered if they lost.

Leav clenched his fists. He wasn't afraid of war. He had no choice but to win.

The future of the goblins was changing.

And he would make sure it changed in his favor.