The journey took a week. When they reached the top of the last hill, the second base loomed ahead, not as a sanctuary, but as a crucible.
It wasn't just a camp, it was a forge where monsters became soldiers and soldiers became weapons. Every day here bled sweat, pain, and steel. And monster spoils flowed in like blood through the veins of the village's coffers.
High stone walls surrounded it, with wooden watchtowers on top. Sentries stood watch, their spears catching the sunlight as they moved.
From beyond the gates came the sounds of training, the clash of weapons, the shouts of drill leaders, and the heavy stomp of boots marching in rhythm. The air smelled of oil, leather, and the faint smoke of a forge.
A horn blast echoed.
"Gate!" someone shouted. The large wooden gates creaked open.
