Chapter 28: Whispers of the Arcane

The battlefield was silent, save for the crackling of dying embers and the groans of the wounded. The remnants of the rival goblin warband lay scattered, either slain or bound, their weapons stripped away. The night air was thick with the scent of blood and smoldering wood, a grim reminder of the cost of victory.

Leav stood amidst the wreckage, his mind turning not to the spoils, but to the future. The battle had proven his forces were growing stronger, more disciplined, but it had also exposed weaknesses. Too many still relied on brute force. Their tactics, while improving, lacked refinement. He needed more than warriors—he needed intelligence, strategy, and something beyond mere steel.

His eyes drifted to Trek, who knelt beside a wounded goblin, muttering strange words under his breath. Faint green wisps of energy coiled around the injured warrior's leg. The wound, though deep, was knitting itself back together.

Leav narrowed his eyes. "What is that?"

Trek looked up, sweat beading on his brow. "A glimpse of the old ways," he said, his voice hushed. "Not all power comes from the blade, Leav."

Leav had always dismissed shamanic mumblings as superstition, but this was real—something tangible, something useful.

He crouched beside Trek. "Tell me more."

Trek hesitated before nodding. "There were those among the goblins who wielded the energy of the world. It is not the magic of humans, nor the blessings of elves. It is something older—something raw." He gestured to the faint glow still clinging to his fingers. "But it is weak now. We have forgotten too much."

Leav considered this. Strength was not just about muscle. If this power could be harnessed, if it could be understood… it could change everything.

"Find a way to restore it," he ordered. "And teach me."

Trek hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "It will not be easy."

Leav smirked. "Nothing worth having ever is."

[Frot POV]

Frot moved through the camp, watching the aftermath with his usual detached amusement. Victory brought celebration, but it also bred carelessness. Goblins feasted and boasted, their eyes gleaming with the high of survival. Yet Frot knew better—this was merely a pause before the next storm.

His role was different from Tear's brute force or Weal's poisons. He dealt in whispers, in unseen movements. The Bonefangs were not their only enemies. Others lurked in the shadows, waiting for the moment Leav showed weakness.

A thin, wiry goblin approached him, glancing around before speaking. "Scouts report movement in the east. Not goblins—something else."

Frot's grin widened. "Something else, you say?"

The scout nodded. "Tracks. Unfamiliar. Bigger than us. Could be humans. Could be worse."

Frot tapped his chin. Humans rarely ventured this deep unless they had reason. If they were merchants, they could be raided. If they were warriors… well, that was another matter entirely.

"I'll inform Leav," he said. "Keep your eyes open."

As the scout scurried off, Frot chuckled to himself. The game was getting more interesting.

[Yorl POV]

Yorl sat at the edge of the camp, sharpening his blade. The battle had left him restless. He had cut down enemies, felt their bones shatter beneath his strikes, but it wasn't enough. Strength alone wasn't enough.

He glanced at Tear, who was instructing a group of warriors in formations. Discipline. That was what Tear drilled into them. Yorl hated it, yet he could not deny its effectiveness. He had learned to fight harder, endure more, but he still lacked control.

Leav had seen it. That was why he had given Yorl leadership in battle. It had forced him to think, to command, not just destroy.

Yorl let out a breath and stood, approaching Tear. The older goblin barely glanced at him.

"Want something?"

Yorl hesitated, then nodded. "Teach me."

Tear raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you had the patience for it."

Yorl scowled. "I want to be stronger. Not just in my arms—in my mind."

Tear studied him for a moment before smirking. "Good. Then we start tomorrow. You'll hate it."

Yorl bared his teeth. "I look forward to it."

[Leav POV]

The night deepened, but Leav remained awake, staring at the crude map spread before him. The battle was won, but there were more to come. The Bonefangs were crippled, but not gone. Other tribes still lurked. And now, something stirred in the east.

His ambitions burned brighter than ever, but they could not be rushed. Strength without foundation crumbled. He would take his time, ensure every step was solid.

He traced his fingers over the map, imagining the future—not just survival, not just conquest.

Something greater.

But for now, he would build.

And he would learn.