Chapter 18 – The First Formation Battle
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Three days after the last clash, the cave still reeked of iron and death. Human corpses had been dragged to a ravine, but their screams echoed in memory.
Altair stood at the cave's mouth, gaze fixed on the mist. "They'll come back. Not with their captain this time, but with weaker scouts. A test for my new order."
His ears twitched. Footsteps. Five of them—two spear-wielders, one archer, two women in ragged mage robes. Their movements were sloppy, their equipment poor. Rank E or F.
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Altair raised his claw, his voice sharp.
"Triangle formation. Front line: Kael, Kyren, Davj, Varz. Second line: four grown goblins. Rear: myself, Lila, Mira."
He turned to the hybrids. "Arden, signal when they cross the line. Lyra, pull the rope for the pitfall. Silas, tighten the snare. Neriah, disrupt their sight."
Arden nodded, tapping stone against stone. Tak! Tak! The soft rhythm echoed readiness.
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The adventurers entered, laughing carelessly. "Just goblins. Let's finish this quick."
One spearman stepped forward—and the earth collapsed beneath him. He fell waist-deep into the hidden pit. Lyra pulled the rope, branches and stones falling over him, trapping his body.
Tak! One sharp knock from Arden.
The goblins surged forward, crude spears thrust in unison.
"Wh—what?!" a mage gasped, stumbling back.
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The archer drew his bow—but Neriah darted through shadows, knocking a torch from its holder. Darkness spread, his arrow flying wide.
Silas yanked on his snare, tangling a mage's leg. She shrieked as goblins swarmed, smashing her skull with rocks.
Altair slipped through the smoke, intercepting the archer. His jagged stone plunged into the man's chest. Blood erupted, his body crumpling.
The remaining three adventurers panicked. They turned to flee—but the goblin triangle closed in, stabbing, snarling. They fell one by one, screaming until silence claimed them.
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Five adventurers lay dead. But two goblins fell, and another bled heavily from a spear wound.
Altair stood in the center, his face smeared with blood. His voice rang through the cavern.
"Do you see? Formation turns weak goblins into weapons. Today we won not as beasts, but as soldiers."
The goblins roared, not in chaos this time—but in rhythm, a crude echo of discipline.
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In the corner, Seraphina trembled. Her children—Arden, Lyra, Silas, Neriah—had not fought directly, yet their commands, their ropes, their signals had killed humans.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. "They should be infants… but they're killers already."
Altair glanced at her, his tone cold. "Not killers. Warriors. Monsters who will devour the world. And it began today."
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That night, the pack feasted on a deer caught by traps Arden and Silas had arranged.
Altair sat by the fire, his gaze firm. "With discipline, we can win. With hybrids, we can grow. This is only the beginning. Soon the world will hear of us… and tremble."
The fire crackled. Shadows danced tall along the walls, casting Altair's silhouette like that of a commander.
The first formation had been born. And from it, a kingdom was taking shape.
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