For three days, they watched.
By day, they hid among the trees, studying the goblins from afar. By night, they slipped back into the cave to rest. And the longer they observed, the heavier the weight in their hearts became.
The goblins weren't mindless. They weren't beasts.
They loved. They built families. They raised children and guarded them fiercely. They had warriors, chiefs, generals, even kings leaders who stood to protect their people, just like humans once did in the old days.
It was no different from watching another version of themselves.
And yet…
If these creatures ever poured into the human world, it would be catastrophic. Even if their strength lagged behind, their sheer numbers could drown entire cities. Hunters wouldn't be enough. Humanity could be overrun.
The truth was undeniable. This wasn't just a discovery. It was a war.
On the fourth night, Andrew broke the silence. "We have to cripple them. First the water supply. Cut it off."
Paul nodded grimly. "And poison it. Starve them out from the inside."
The others exchanged uneasy looks but said nothing. Survival left no room for mercy.
This dungeon was unlike any they'd ever seen. Hundreds of miles across, larger than any S-rank dungeon ever recorded. A thousands so vast it could have been a country of its own forests stretching endlessly, soil rich with untapped resources, trees thick and tall enough to feed humanity's needs for generations.
If they could take the core, they'd gain thirty days of control before the dungeon collapsed. Thirty days to claim its treasures. Thirty days to decide what to do with a world hidden inside a dungeon.
Jordan's voice was heavy, his eyes shadowed with guilt.
"I know it's hard to accept," he said quietly. "But like them… we're victims too. Victims of whatever entity hides behind the System."
He clenched his fists. "Maybe we're no different from the goblins. But if there's one truth I can't ignore it's this: we still have to survive."
The night was silent.
Shadows stretched long across the goblin village, and in that darkness, Jordan moved like a blade of death.
Rapid Slash [D].
His sword flashed once, twice ten times. By the time he stopped moving, tens of goblins had already collapsed, their throats spilling into the dirt.
Not one had time to scream.
Andrew followed close behind, bow drawn, arrows of swirling wind forming at his fingertips. Each shot cut clean through a target's chest or throat. Those who staggered, who dared to draw breath for an alarm, were silenced by another arrow before the sound could escape.
When the last body fell, the night returned to silence broken only by the faint ripple of the nearby river.
Paul stepped forward, his face grim. He lifted a massive log, straining as he rolled it toward the corpses. One by one, the bodies were dragged to the riverbank, weighted with stones, and shoved beneath the current.
The water carried them away, but not far. Bloated flesh would rot downstream, poisoning the goblins' own lifeline.
Andrew's stomach twisted as he watched. He tightened his grip on his bowstring, voice low. "If this works… an epidemic will spread within days."
By day, the hunters hid deep in the cave, sleeping fitfully. By night, they emerged to hunt.
Every patrol that crossed their path was slain, their corpses dragged to the river and left to rot beneath the current. Stones kept the bodies submerged, water seeping into every wound. The air above the river began to reek, the stench of decomposition spreading further with each passing night.
It wasn't only the dead. The hunters added their own waste to the water, grimly certain it would worsen the contamination of water.
Andrew had explained it in a whisper one night, his eyes hollow but steady.
"Humans… we're full of diseases. The only reason we survive them is because of medicine, vaccines. But goblins? They've got nothing. If they drink this water, their bodies won't know how to fight back. One sip will be enough to spread sickness through the whole city."
It was brutal. Dishonorable. But effective.
By the eighth day, exhaustion gnawed at them all. Their eyes were sunken, their bodies aching from the endless cycle of hunting and hiding. And worst of all, the goblins were beginning to notice.
Entire patrols had vanished. A village lay abandoned, its inhabitants gone without a trace. Whispers spread through the goblin city, and at last, the fury reached the throne.
In the heart of the fortress, the Goblin King slammed his fist into the stone table, the impact echoing through the hall. His sharp tusks gleamed as his voice rose in a guttural shriek.
"Shrieeekk! Krk-krkk!"
The sound rattled the air, but the words carried meaning.
"Why has an entire village disappeared without corpses?!"
The generals bowed low before him. One finally spoke. "Majesty… our knights have found nothing. The reports confirm over a hundred soldiers missing. But there were no bodies. Nothing stolen. If it were bandits, they would have taken supplies. This… this feels like something else."
The King's eyes narrowed. "A monster?"
"It is possible," the general admitted. "Perhaps a beast stalks the land, picking off our kin in silence."
The hall stirred uneasily.
The King rose, his cloak billowing as mana flickered faintly around his staff. Unlike most of his kind, he was a mage—one of the rarest among goblins. At his side stood two generals, one clad in heavy armor with a greatsword, the other lean and sharp-eyed with a spear in hand.
"Then we will hunt this monster," the King growled. His voice rang with authority, with pride. "Send out the wolf cavalry. Sweep every road, ever part of forest, every village, every shadow. Find it. Kill it. Before it dares to strike again."
The nobles bowed in unison. "Yes, Majesty."
The order from the Goblin King was swift, and within a day, the ground began to tremble.
The wolf cavalry had been unleashed.
Two hundred riders thundered out from the fortress gates, their formation sharp and disciplined. Each goblin was no common soldier—they were B-rank elites, their green skin hidden beneath plates of dark armor. In their hands gleamed weapons forged of black steel, a metal feared even among hunters for its durability and sharpness.
But it was their mounts that struck true terror.
Each rider sat astride a demon wolf, beasts the size of horses with glowing eyes and fangs like knives. Their growls rumbled like thunder, claws tearing through earth with every stride. Individually, they were C-rank monsters but together, bound with their riders' skill and coordination, they were considered A-rank threats.
At the Hunter Association, there was a saying whispered among veterans:
"If you see the wolf cavalry, you're already dead."
Records confirmed it. In countless raids on A-rank and even S-rank dungeons, the highest casualties came not from dungeon bosses, but from these mounted units. Fast, relentless, and organized they hunted in packs, cutting down hunters before they could regroup, overwhelming them with sheer speed and precision.
Now, that same dreaded cavalry was sweeping through the dungeon, fanning out in search of the "monster" that had been preying on goblins in the night.
And in the shadows of the trees, the hunters who had started this silent war realized just how dire their situation had become.
Andrew who's the scout the most agile in the group saw the cavalry, lining up to the entrance wall of city, he activated his speed boost and run as fast as he can to the cave.
Now it became much more dangerous after all wolves has great sense of smell it will not take long before the discovery of what they did will happens.