Fear and anxiety.
They weren't just thoughts; it was like they were physical textures coating my skin.
It was the way the sweat cooling on the back of my neck seemed to turn into ice.
It was the sensation of goosebumps rising violently along my arms, the fine hairs standing at attention, rigid and electrified, only to cower back down into the pores of my flesh a second later, terrified of being exposed to the air and beyond.
It was like my body was reacting to a predator in proximity, long before my eyes confirmed it.
I was crouched low, my knees digging into the damp, unexpected soil of the Avarnovan Oasis. This was one of the rare, verdant pockets scattered across the Caeloran Wastes—a dense patch of life surrounded by miles of death. The grass here was tall, waist-high blades of emerald and teal that swayed in the stagnant air. I kept my head down, peeking through the gaps in the foliage, the sharp edges of the grass blades just brushing the underside of my eyes.
'Stay low. And stay quiet. And do. Not. Breathe.'
My back felt heavy, cluttered. The weight of my shortsword and shield was familiar, but the bo staff strapped diagonally across them felt awkward and foreign, a wooden limb threatening to snag on a branch and give me away.
'Need to second-guess all this MESS before I ever go spying in the grass again.'
My hands, encased in their worn gauntlets, gripped the rough, peeling bark of the tree I was hiding behind. I squeezed until my knuckles turned white, the leather of my gloves creaking faintly—a sound that roared like thunder in my own ears.
'Hoo~h… Huh-hoooo~h…'
My breathing was a jagged rhythm, too loud, too fast. I forced air in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to slow the hammer beating against my ribs.
Staring into the dense thicket ahead, I squinted into the gloom.
'Where are you… where are you…'
Then, I saw them. The heralds of the dead.
Bugs.
An entire swirling cloud of oversized gnats and fat, antsy flies buzzed in a localized frenzy. In the real world, bugs were often found by humans congregating around trash or stagnant water. But out here? In this danger zone? They followed meat. Dead meat.
And whatever was dragging that dead meat was what I was hunting.
The tall grass parted, swishing violently, trampled under a heavy, confident stride.
'Pig-Face… Found.'
My target emerged from the shadows.
It was hideous, of course. A Hobgoblin, but far nastier than the one I'd fought on the dunes. This one was a mountain of corded muscle and scarred, sallow skin that looked like old parchment stretched too tight over bone. Its lower jaw jutted out, revealing yellowed tusks that dripped saliva onto its bare, hairless chest. One of its ears was missing, just a jagged hole on the side of its head, and it wore a necklace of what looked disturbingly like finger bones.
But it was what the monster was dragging that made my stomach turn.
Gripped in its massive, four-fingered hand was the hind leg of a deer-like creature. It wasn't an earthly buck; its fur was a deep, midnight blue, speckled with glowing, spiral patterns of silver that seemed to pulse faintly even in death. The carcass slid heavily through the grass, its antlers snagging on roots, leaving a flattened trail of crushed vegetation as dead as itself.
I pressed my face harder against the tree bark, my breath hitching in my throat.
'Don't move. Just watch. Learn its path.,, And please don't throw up.'
It had been four days since Godspeed shattered my illusions in the sand. Four days of grueling, sun-baked misery where "training" usually meant getting beaten into the dirt while being lectured about momentum. Or tactics. Or martial arts. Or Weapons… Or, well…
'You get the idea.'
But today was different. Today, I was alone.
Well, "alone" wasn't quite right.
The bugs were just maddening. I had a tiny, whine-pitched gnat that kept trying to dive-bomb my ear canal. I swiped at it irritably, almost losing my grip on the tree, and immediately froze, terrified the movement had been too loud.
Twenty feet ahead, the hobgoblin adjusted its grip on the dead Star-Stag, according to Godspeed's mental library of whatever-and-ever. Only for it to stop abruptly, its head swiveling like a turret.
I held my breath, refusing to let any other noise eek out.
Godspeed's words from the previous day echoed in my skull. I had been face-down in a dune again, spitting sand, while he stood over me with that infuriating calm.
"Don't be a hunter," he'd said, poking me with his staff. "A hunter thinks about the kill. Be a tracker. A tracker thinks about their life. You need to know it better than it knows itself."
He'd droned on while I gasped for air, having taken the pommel of a sword to the gut earlier. "How does it move? What triggers its aggression? Is it headstrong, or calculating? If there's water, does it jump, swim, or go around? If there's a tree, does it climb it to scout? You need the ability to predict their life. And you can only predict what you understand."
"Grruhkk!"
I was snapped out of my memory with the hobgoblin's grunt—a wet, phlegmy sound—and continued its trek.
I counted to five, then followed along.
Via… Crawling.
I was actually crawling.
My knees were soaked. The mud thick, a clay-like sludge that smelled of what's decayed since the beginning of time.
Oh. And Hobgoblin Shit.
It seeped through the gaps in my greaves, cold and slimy against my shins. My gauntlets were caked in the stuff, turning my hands into heavy, clumsy clubs.
Every inch forward was a negotiation with the terrain.
Scuttle. Wait. Listen. Scuttle.
"**Gulp!** Guh—Eww…"
And a negotiation with my stomach.
It was degrading. I felt like a cockroach., but I kept my eyes glued to that hulking back: eyes on the prize.
As we moved deeper into the thicket, I started to pick up on things. Small things.
The beast was lazy. Whenever the path narrowed with thick roots or thorny bushes, it didn't push through. It went around. It dragged its prize the long way just to avoid a minor inconvenience.
'Is it Lazy… or preserving energy?'
Then it was a large, fallen log that blocked its path. Instead of finding another path, the hobgoblin grabbed the stag's leg with both hands and heaved it over first, then vaulted the log itself. But it didn't land cleanly. It stumbled on the landing, its left foot catching on a root.
It snarled, kicking the root in a tantrum before moving on.
'Okay… seems to be impatient. And particularly clumsy when frustrated. Bad coordination? Or just bad footing, as well as small feet?'
We reached a small stream, a pathetic trickle of water branching off from the main oasis. The hobgoblin paused. It looked at the water, then at the heavy carcass. Without hesitation, it dropped the leg, waded into the stream, and dunked its entire head underwater. It stayed there for a long time, bubbles surfacing around its ears. When it came up, it shook itself like a wet dog, sending a spray of dirty water everywhere.
It didn't check its surroundings. It didn't even look for threats. Just drank.
'Either it's confidence,' I noted, micro-analyzing every itty-bitty thing, 'Or arrogance. It thinks it's the top of the food chain here.'
I swatted another gnat away from my face, smearing a mix of sweat and grime across my cheek in the process.
Shit like this was easily the inglorious part of my day. The opposite of glam. There were no epic duels, or flashy skills, or booms, and bangs, and explosions galore.
It was just me, in the mud, following a monster that smelled like a wet dumpster.
But.
I felt… informed. I guess.
I was coming to understand this thing now. I knew it hated obstacles. I knew it had a temper. I knew it let its guard down without a care in the wild.
The hobgoblin grabbed the stag again and trudged forward, the dense canopy thinning ahead.
I could tell where it was heading; not much deduction is necessary here.
Home. Returning to the hobgoblin settlement.
"HRROOOO-UUUUGH!"
The sound ripped through the humid air of the oasis—a deep, vibrating baritone that rattled in my chest. It was almost like a howl, guttural and resonant, like a primate's warning call amplified through a megaphone. It felt like…
It felt like my heart slamming against my ribs.
I dropped.
No grace, no tactical precision—just total panicked instinct. I went spread-eagle into the tall grass, my face smashing into the dirt, my limbs splayed out like I'd been shot.
'They found me. Oh my gawd, they found me. I'm dead! I'M DEAD!'
The thought looped in my brain as frantic mantra as I pressed myself into the earth, waiting for impact, for blade, for mace. Waiting for the heavy thud of feet, the whistle of a club, the bite of teeth.
**Thump-thump.** **Thump-thump.**
My heart was so loud I could barely hear the forest. I lay there, paralyzed, my eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the "You Died" screen.
But the blow never came.
Instead, I heard the rustle of grass continue.
**Swish.** **Swish.** **Swish.**
I cracked one eye open, lifting my head an inch off the ground. Through the gaps in the green stalks, I saw the Hobgoblin's back. It was still walking. It hadn't turned around. It hadn't charged. It had just stopped to… yell?
And then, from deep within the thicket ahead, an answer came.
"HRROOO-RAAAUGHR–RAA!"
A second howl, distant but distinct. A call and response.
'Communication.'
The realization hit me, washing away the panic with a cold wave of clarity.
It wasn't hunting me. No, thank gawd. It was just signaling its return.
I let out a shuddering breath into the dirt, my muscles unlocking one by one. I waited for the responding howl to fade, then scrambled back onto my hands and knees.
'Move. While it's distracted.'
I followed the trail of crushed grass the hobgoblin left in its steps, moving faster now but staying low. Every time the Hobgoblin paused, I froze, praying that my breath wouldn't betray me. It was a game of red light, green light with a creature that could snap my neck with one hand .The ground foliage in the area began to grow denser, the shrubs twisting together into a natural wall, until suddenly, the canopy broke, and trees fell.
Like, actually, there were trees fallen everywhere, sprawled over one another. The few left standing were scarred with deep, jagged cuts, as if something had been testing its weapons against them.
But, there it was. The Settlement.
I don't know what I expected. Maybe a fortress of stone, or a labyrinth of caves. But this… this was… crude. Caveman stuff. It was a sprawling enclosure in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by a wall of wooden stakes. They weren't majestic fortifications; just tree trunks, stripped of their branches and jammed into the earth side-by-side, maybe ten feet high. There were no battlements, no walkways for archers. Just a fence.
'It's definitely not a castle,' I gathered, my eyes scanning the perimeter, 'It's more of a pen. They just want to keep things out.'
I stopped at the edge of the clearing, hidden behind a thick fern, and looked out, only for the Hobgoblin to stop.
It dropped the stag carcass with a wet thud, the sound echoing slightly in the clearing. I watched, my heart hammering, as it approached the perimeter wall of the settlement.
But it didn't walk in. It couldn't.
There was no gate. No door. Just the wall of stakes.
The Hobgoblin let out a short, sharp bark.
"Ruh-ruh!"
Silence.
Then, a second bark.
"Ruh-rah!"
A moment later, a section of the wall… moved. It wasn't on hinges. It was a panel, cleverly disguised to look like part of the solid barrier, being pushed open from the inside.
'Secret entrance?' I wondered, my eyes narrowing.
No. Not secret. Just… basic. They didn't have the technology for hinges or drawbridges. They just had a loose section of fence.
The Hobgoblin grabbed the stag again and dragged it through the opening. As it disappeared inside, I saw the panel slide back into place, sealing the breach.
'Okay. Now I know how to get in.'
But getting in was only half the problem. I needed to see what was inside.
'I need a better angle.'
To my right, a large tree with low-hanging branches offered a vantage point. After a quick prayer, I shimmied up the trunk, hugging the bark like a scared koala until I was perched on a sturdy limb.
From up here, I could see over the wall.
The inside was a mess of activity. Crude huts made of mud and straw were scattered haphazardly. A fire pit smoked in the center.
And then, movement caught my eye.
Rounding the corner of the perimeter wall was a Hobgoblin. But this… this wasn't like the one I'd followed.
It was big. Considerably bigger. Its shoulders were broader, its posture straighter. The muscles on its arms didn't look stringy; they looked slab-like, dense and heavy. It walked with heavier feet, patrolling the fence line.
And in its hand, it gripped a weapon. Not a club. Not a scavenged bone.
A spear. It was crude—a sharpened stone lashed to a thick branch with leather strips—but it was a weapon of war.
I stared at it, Godspeed's voice filtering through my memory.
**-–-Analyze. Categorize.----**
The ones I'd fought on the dunes? The one dragging the carcass? Those were grunts. Fodder.
'Hobgoblin Infantry,' I labeled them mentally.
But this one… with the spear and the discipline?
'Hobgoblin High Warrior.'
A shiver went down my spine, unrelated to the cold mud on my legs.
The difficulty just spiked.
I scanned the tree line again, finding another sturdy looking tree—this one an ancient, gnarled thing with branches higher up but deeper into the forest to hide.
'Ok, no hesitation… Just, uh, jump and go!~~'
I gathered my legs beneath me, took a shaky breath, and leaped for the next tree. My boots slammed against the trunk—far louder than I wanted—and skidded on the slick bark. My fingers scrabbled for purchase, catching a lower branch just as my grip gave out. I dangled for a heart-stopping moment, the clumsy impact sending a shower of bark and loose debris raining down below. I froze, my heart pounding, praying the noise had been swallowed by the ambient sounds of the oasis.
After a pause, I climbed. Slowly. Carefully. My muddy hands slipped on the bark, sending a shower of loose dirt to the forest floor below. When I reached a branch high enough to see over the wall, I froze.
The settlement was… alive. Way more than I previously saw.
I'd expected a camp. A few bunches of pigs, maybe a fire.
But this was a society.
There were crude huts, dozens of them, arranged in a surprisingly orderly fashion. Smoke rose from a central fire pit, carrying the scent of roasting meat. And at that same pit, was a scene straight out of a nature documentary.
Hobgoblins were… cooking.
Not just eating raw meat like animals. They had the stag on a spit. One of them was turning it, while another poked at the fire with a long stick. Nearby, another group was butchering smaller game with sharpened stone, tossing the unwanted parts into a pile.
But it wasn't just food.
I saw a group of smaller hobgoblins chasing each other, playing a rough game of tag that involved a lot of shoving and biting. I saw one sitting by a hut, seemingly grooming another, picking bugs out of its hair.
And then, my eyes drifted to the far end of the settlement.
There was water.
An inlet from the river cut into the camp, a natural dead-end that provided fresh water. But it was guarded.
Several of the smaller, grunt-like hobgoblins tried to approach the water's edge, daring to get a sip. But before they could reach the stream, a larger shadow loomed over them.
It was one of the High Warriors.
The massive hobgoblin shoved the grunt back, sending it sprawling into the dust. The grunt scrambled up, chattering in protest, but the High Warrior just snarled and pointed away. The grunt slumped, its shoulders sagging, and scurried off.
'Hierarchy,' I realized. 'The strong have their own personal fountain. The weak gotta find their own.'
But then, the same damn stinker that I was following through the mud showed up at the drinking hole. I expected them to be pushed away the same, but noo…. They were received. They stuck their head in and drank, unbothered. The High Warrior didn't even spare them a second glance, instead glaring at every other grunt with what I can only describe as a pig-ly sneer.
I suppose that showing off gets them privileges. Hm.
Well.
It was quite brutal, to be honest. Primitive. But, organized all the same.
And.
It was far more alive than I could have given it credit for. My mind raced to absorb all the chaotic details at once: some of the High Warriors were sharpening blades and kicking around grunts near the corner; there were two grunts in charge of the gate/door-thing, and they were pushing each other from some dumb argument; There was a brief, angry spat at the central spit, where one hobgoblin earned a sharp smack to the back of the head from his clearly more-annoyed and bigger partner. I couldn't even really call it a camp; it was more complicated than that, like a society, right down to the meaningless, everyday squabbles.
'Very Caste-System-like.'
I shift my eyeline, towards the biggest hut in the entire settlement—And there, standing motionless, almost blending into the wooden walls, were three figures.
They were Hobgoblins, yeah, but… I can't say they really acted like them.
They didn't move. They didn't scratch themselves or pace. They stood perfectly still, like statues carved from granite. Plus….
'Ah, Shiiiit…'
…They were armored.
Not the scraps of leather the others wore like loincloth. These three were clad in mismatched pieces of metal—a dented breastplate here, a rusted pauldron there. It looked scavenged, pieced together from dead adventurers.One wore a helmet that was clearly too small for its head, sitting askew. Another had a single greave on its left leg.
They looked ridiculous, frankly.
But the way they stood… The way they held their weapons—heavy, rusted swords and axes—wasn't funny at all.
Guarding the hut wasn't their only duty. They were watching. Their eyes scanned the perimeter with a focus that the other hobgoblins lacked.
"Those aren't just big grunts," I mumbled, a cold sweat breaking out on my palms. "Those are the elite. The last line of defense."
A whisper, soft as a falling leaf, brushed against my ear.
"That's correct."
"!?!---AGHHH!"I shrieked, my arms flailing wildly as I lost my balance. My grip on the branch failed, and for a terrifying second, I was free-falling.
I grabbed at the air, my fingers snagging a lower branch, wrenching my shoulder painfully as I swung there, dangling like a forgotten ornament.
My heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. I looked up, wide-eyed and terrified.
Godspeed was crouching on the branch I had just fallen from. He kept on that relaxed, ever-bored look on his face, perched there like a gargoyle in a thrift-store cloak.
"Sentinel," he said simply, pointing down at the armored hobgoblins.
I stared at him, swinging back and forth, my brain short-circuiting between anger and relief.
"You…" I gasped, pulling myself up until I could straddle the branch, hugging the trunk for dear life. "You almost killed me!"
He shrugged. "But I didn't. And now you know what they are called."
He looked down at the settlement, his expression unreadable.
"Sentinels," he repeated. "They don't sleep. They don't drink. They just watch. And they kill anything that isn't one of them."
He turned his swirling, crimson eyes down to me.
"Ready to go?"
I looked back at the settlement, at the army of monsters living their brutal, organized lives.
"Yeah," I whispered, sliding down the tree. "Let's get out of here."