The village was too quiet.
Caleb should have noticed it sooner. Should have trusted the itch between his shoulder blades that had been growing for the last hour. But confidence was a poison that tasted too good to spit out.
They crouched on the ridge, watching. The goblin settlement spread below them like a wound in the earth. Crude huts, bone scaffolding, the central fire pit still smoking. But the movement was wrong. Too orderly. Too purposeful.
"Where are the guards?" Dina whispered.
Caleb scanned the perimeter. She was right. No sentries. No patrols. Just a few goblins moving between the huts with deliberate efficiency.
"They're baiting us," Soren said.
"No." Caleb studied the patterns below. "They're preparing."
Marek shifted beside him, rusted cleaver in his grip. "For what?"
Before Caleb could answer, the forest behind them erupted.
Goblins poured from concealed positions. Not the crude, scattered hunters they'd been killing. These moved like soldiers. Shields locked, spears leveled, advancing in a coordinated line.
"Move!" Caleb roared.
They scattered down the slope toward the village. Behind them, goblin war cries echoed through the trees. Ahead, the settlement's few visible inhabitants vanished into huts like smoke.
Ellen stumbled, her makeshift spear catching on a root. Soren grabbed her arm, hauling her upright. "Stay together!"
They ran. Not tactical. Not planned. Just desperate flight toward whatever cover the village might offer.
That's when the trap closed.
Goblins rose from spider holes they'd never seen. From beneath brush piles. From trenches covered with branches and moss. Dozens of them. All around the village perimeter.
They'd been herded.
Caleb's mind raced. Count the exits. Assess the threats. Find the weakness.
There wasn't one.
"The huts!" he shouted. "Break through!"
They charged the nearest structure. Caleb hit the wall first, shoulder down, expecting crude construction to give way.
The impact rang like hitting stone. The wall held. Hidden reinforcement.
A spear thrust caught him in the ribs, sliding off bone. He twisted away, blood streaming, and slashed with his notched dagger. The goblin fell back.
More came.
Marek roared, swinging his cleaver in wide arcs. A goblin ducked under the swing and drove a bone blade toward his chest. He caught the wrist, twisted, but two more goblins flanked him.
"Marek!" Dina screamed.
He saw the trap too late. A goblin snare, hidden in the tall grass. His foot hit the trigger. Wooden stakes slammed shut like jaws, crushing his left hand against a sharpened post.
The snap of bone was audible.
Marek's scream cut through the battle. He stared at the mangled mess where his hand had been, stakes driven through palm and wrist.
"Cut it!" Caleb yelled, fighting off two goblins with his dagger. "Cut it now!"
Marek's cleaver came down. Once. Twice. The hand separated at the wrist.
Blood sprayed. He collapsed.
Ellen tried to reach him, limping on her injured leg. A goblin tackled her from the side. They rolled, Ellen's spear skittering away. The creature's claws raked across her thigh, tearing through cloth and skin down to muscle.
She screamed.
Soren's shield cracked under repeated blows. Three goblins pressed him back toward the fire pit. His movements were slowing. Exhaustion or blood loss.
Dina stood over Ellen, throwing rocks with mechanical precision. Each one found a target. But for every goblin that fell, two more appeared.
They were losing.
Caleb counted. Twenty goblins still standing. Maybe more coming. His group was broken, bleeding, surrounded.
"Fall back!" he shouted. "Fighting retreat!"
But retreat where? The goblins had closed every exit.
That's when he noticed it.
The goblins weren't pressing their advantage. They could have overwhelmed the humans in seconds, but they held back. Maintained distance. Like they were following orders.
Orders from what?
A horn sounded from somewhere beyond the village. Low, resonant, unlike any goblin call they'd heard.
The attacking goblins stopped. All at once. Perfect coordination.
In the sudden silence, Caleb heard it. Footsteps. Heavy. Measured. Something large approaching through the trees.
"What the hell…" Soren gasped.
The footsteps stopped just outside the village perimeter. Hidden in shadow.
Then a voice spoke. Not goblin. Not human. Something else entirely.
"Enough."
The goblins backed away. Not fleeing. Repositioning. Still ready to attack but waiting.
Caleb grabbed Marek under his good arm. "We go. Now."
Dina helped Ellen to her feet. The girl could barely stand, blood soaking through her torn pants.
They limped toward the village edge. The goblins watched but didn't follow. Just stood there. Waiting.
Whatever had given that command stayed hidden.
But Caleb felt its eyes on them as they stumbled into the forest. Evaluating. Measuring.
They'd been tested.
And they'd failed.
The interface pulsed weakly as they collapsed in a clearing half a mile from the village.
[Floor Five Status: Incomplete]
[Casualty Assessment: High]
[Tactical Adaptation Required]
Marek was unconscious, his severed wrist wrapped in strips of cloth that were already soaked through. Ellen lay on her side, breathing shallow, her leg a mess of torn flesh.
Dina stared at her hands. They were shaking.
"We're not hunters," she whispered. "We never were. We're just the prey that got lucky for a while."
Caleb looked back toward the village. Smoke still rose above the trees.
Something was down there. Something that understood tactics. Something that had been watching them, learning from them, preparing for them.
The Tower wasn't just testing their ability to kill goblins.
It was teaching the goblins to kill them back.
And whatever was giving the orders had just let them go.
The question was why.