The air hung thick with anticipation as the defenders of Korazu moved like shadows along the Ridge Wall. Reivo's plan had been set into motion—a fragile web of deception that relied on timing, courage, and the hope that the boss goblin's arrogance would blind it to the trap. Reivo tightened the straps of his leather armor, his fingers trembling only slightly. Beside him, his father checked the edge of his sword, the rasp of steel against whetstone a steady, grounding rhythm.
"Remember," his father said without looking up, "the moment it commits, fall back. Don't try to be a hero."
Reivo nodded, though he knew heroes were rarely made by choice. He glanced westward, where Tomas and the archers had repositioned behind a crumbling section of the wall. The "breach" was little more than a staged collapse of loose timber and rubble, but under the dim morning light, it looked like a gaping wound in the village's defenses.
The goblins had begun to gather again—screeching, hunched figures emerging from the mist in twos and threes. Their boss remained at the treeline, a hulking silhouette crowned by jagged antlers, its eyes glinting like smoldering coals. It carried a crude cleaver, its blade notched and stained, and when it roared, the sound reverberated through the earth.
It's watching, Reivo thought. Waiting for us to falter.
"Now," Tomas hissed from the shadows.
Reivo sucked in a breath and vaulted over the barricade.
The world narrowed to the crunch of gravel beneath his boots and the drumming of his pulse. He sprinted toward the breach, his sword held high in a deliberate show of recklessness. Behind him, villagers shouted in feigned panic.
"They've broken through! Fall back!"
The act was flawless. A handful of defenders near the breach scrambled away, abandoning their posts. Reivo skidded to a halt at the center of the gap, his chest heaving. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, like a ripple through water, the goblin ranks stirred.
The boss goblin stepped forward, its head tilting. Reivo took the head of a goblin corpse, severing it with its sword, then he lifted his eyes meting those of the giant goblin.
"Come on, you overgrown rat!" he shouted, trowing the severed head at it.
The head rolled right between its legs.
The creature's nostrils flared. It was the leader of these goblin, it was always feared from evry other goblin, but now it was being challenged by what seemed to be a child. It would never permit it.
A guttural snarl tore from the boss's throat, and it surged forward, its cleaver carving arcs through the air. The lesser goblins scrambled aside, their shrill cries morphing into a frenzied chorus as they followed their leader's charge.
Reivo's mouth went dry. The plan was working—too well. The ground trembled under the weight of the boss's strides, its yellowed tusks glinting. He backpedaled, luring it deeper into the kill zone.
"Now!" Tomas bellowed.
Archers rose from the shadows. A volley of arrows sliced through the air, thudding into the goblin ranks. The boss roared as a shaft embedded itself in its shoulder, but it didn't slow.
Reivo turned and ran, the thunder of pursuit at his heels. The wall loomed ahead, where his father and a dozen spearmen waited in ambush.
"Jump!" his father shouted.
Reivo leapt, hands scrabbling for the ledge. Strong arms hauled him over the barricade as the boss goblin crashed into the wall below. Wood splintered. The spearmen struck, jabbing their weapons through gaps in the palisade. The boss howled, swiping blindly, but the defenders harried it—a swarm of wasps against a bear. Each spear stabbing it repeatedly.
The archers took out a few jars of flammable oil, throwing them behind the boss to block the oncoming wave of goblins, trying to isolate the biggest threat.
Reivo scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. The trap had hold of the beast, but it wasn't enough. The boss reared back, its cleaver hewing through a spear shaft, and slammed a fist into the wall. The impact sent villagers sprawling.
"The supports!" Tomas yelled. "It'll bring the whole section down!"
Reivo lunged for a fallen spear. The boss had wedged itself halfway through the breach, its claws tearing at the barricade. He drove the spear into its side, aiming for the soft flesh beneath its ribs, inflicting a wound. But the creature twisted, snapping the shaft, and backhanded him into the chest.
Pain exploded across Reivo's ribs. He rolled aside as the cleaver split the ground where he'd lain.
"Distract it!" his father barked. "Aim for the eyes!"
Archers loosed another volley. The boss flinched, raising an arm to shield its face—shafts thudding into its forearm and shoulder—buying the defenders a heartbeat. In that sliver of an opening, Reivo's father vaulted from the wall, dropping like a stone with his blade angled down. His sword sank into the creature's thigh with a wet, crunching impact, the force driving the boss to one knee. Its roar shook the barricade, flecks of spittle spraying across the dirt as it clawed for him.
The boss staggered, momentarily unbalanced. Reivo pushed off the ground, ribs screaming, and lunged. He snatched a hatchet from the dirt—cold metal slick with blood—and closed the distance in three desperate strides. He swung with every shred of strength he had left.
The blade struck home with a meaty crack, burying itself in the boss's eye. The creature convulsed, its free arm flailing, the massive cleaver slipping from its grip and crashing into the mud. For a heartbeat the world froze—no screams, no arrows, nothing but the ragged sound of Reivo's breath.
The boss didn't emit any sound, before its enormous bulk toppled backward. The ground trembled as it hit, dust exploding around it in a dull cloud.
For the lesser goblins, that was enough. Their momentum shattered. The shrill chorus of their cries faltered, wavered, then broke entirely as they scattered in disarray—fear finally overcoming bloodlust.