Chapter 10

The village felt calm again.

Which, in my experience, was the perfect time for things to go horribly wrong.

Children ran through the half-rebuilt plaza, giggling as they chased each other with paper hats and wooden spoons. Riri was teaching a lesson nearby about the difference between "irrigation" and "irritation," which Bonk kept confusing—to no one's surprise.

On the surface, Underleaf was thriving.

But something itched behind my eyes. Not a real itch, more like a hum. A tension. Like a pulled bowstring somewhere out of sight.

"Elena's late," I muttered.

"Maybe she got eaten," Gresh said without looking up from sharpening his axe.

"Cheerful as ever."

"I'm an optimist. I'm hoping she bites back."

I snorted, then turned—and there she was, emerging from the woods, cloak damp with mist and her expression stormy.

"I'd say you're early," I said. "But your glare says otherwise."

She didn't smile.

"There's a problem."

Of course there is.

...

Apparently, not everyone in the Guild was impressed with our little goblin utopia.

A rogue faction within the Guild had branded me a "corrupted asset." Their words, not mine. A small team of unauthorized adventurers had been dispatched to "confirm reports of monster sedition." Translation: they wanted blood.

"They're not sanctioned," Elena said, pacing the war table. "But they're former knights, mercenaries, and a few… less savory types. One of them is Sir Varun Dalson. He's got history."

"What kind?" I asked.

"The kind soaked in monster blood," she said darkly. "He fought in the Purging Campaigns. He thinks mercy is treason."

"Fantastic," I muttered. "Let me guess: they're already in the forest."

"Likely. And they're not here to talk."

...

Later that day, Sho returned from patrol, quiet as falling snow.

"Tracks," he said. "South ridge. Heavy boots. Four pairs. Spread wide."

I nodded, then gathered a team—Sho, Gresh, two mountain goblins named Rhakka and Munt, and, of course, Riri, who insisted on joining.

"No," I said.

"I helped bury the dead," she replied evenly. "I've earned the right to see what we're protecting."

I couldn't argue with that.

...

We moved silently through the trees. Sho led us like a phantom, his eyes flicking over broken branches, disturbed roots, tiny hints no one else would notice.

Birds had gone quiet. The forest air was sharp. Cold. Waiting.

Gresh raised a hand.

Snap.

A branch cracked to the west. Too heavy to be wind. Too light for a bear.

Sho's fingers brushed mine. A warning.

Thwip.

A dart flew from the underbrush—fast and low. It nicked my shoulder.

Pain exploded under my skin. My knees buckled. My vision spun.

"TAKU!" Riri screamed.

I fell, letting myself go limp.

I could still hear.

"Is that him?"

"Looks like a weakling."

"Grab the girl too. We'll use her if we have to."

So they thought I was helpless.

Good.

...

Two hours later, the roles had reversed.

Bonk, late to the party, crashed down the hill, tripping three traps in a row. One launched a net. The second slammed a wooden cage around the mercs. The third—somehow—catapulted Rhakka into the air. He landed on top of Varun Dalson.

Poetic.

When I stood up, dazed and dust-covered, Sir Varun was pinned to a tree, blood on his cheek and fire in his eyes.

"You," he snarled. "You're a traitor to your kind."

"Which one?" I said. "Human, goblin, or general sense of decency?"

"You're defending monsters!"

"No, I'm defending people."

He spat.

Gresh's blade flashed. "Try that again."

We stripped their weapons, confiscated their orders, and gave them just enough supplies to limp back to the Guild.

Before they left, I handed Varun a sealed note.

"Underleaf welcomes diplomacy. But if you bring war, don't expect monsters to play fair."

He crushed it in his hand.

Good.

Let him carry that anger back like a burning coal in his pocket.

...

When we returned, Riri was quiet.

She had scratches on her arms, a bruise forming on her cheek, but she didn't complain.

"Do you think they'll come back?" she asked.

"Yes."

She nodded. "Then we prepare."

...

The next morning, I gathered the council. Grak, Gresh, Bonk, Riri, Bruz, the mountain goblin elder, and even Elena this time.

"New protocols," I said. "Decoys, false trails, lookout posts, traps. If anyone steps foot in Underleaf again without a banner, we'll know before they reach the stream."

"Bunkers?" Grak suggested.

"Three. North, south, and near the grain storehouse."

"I want metal," Bruz growled. "These new roofs need it. Wood burns."

"Start collecting scrap," I said. "Trade if we must."

"I'll map it," Riri said softly, holding up her book. "We need a defense plan, and a story to match."

I smiled at her. "Historian and tactician. You wear titles well."

She blushed but didn't back down.

...

Later, Elena pulled me aside.

"The Guild Council is divided," she said. "Your note stirred things. Half believe you're dangerous. The other half… intrigued."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they might send another delegation."

I groaned.

"But this time," she added, "it may include nobles."

Worse.

I didn't trust nobles. They smiled with their mouths and stabbed with their estates.

"How long do we have?" I asked.

"A few weeks. Maybe less."

"Then we build faster."

...

By nightfall, the sound of hammering echoed across Underleaf. Children carried water. Goblins dug foundations. Riri drafted maps. Bonk tried to deliver tea to the scouts and spilled it twice.

And me?

I stood atop the rebuilt watch post, overlooking the village.

Lanterns glowed in windows. Smoke rose peacefully into the sky.

This place wasn't perfect.

But it was ours.