Rion sat in the hut like a commander awaiting an assault. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes were cold and vigilant. The light wind blowing from outside whistled through the half-burned walls of the hut. Rion noticed none of it—his entire focus was on internal calculations.
After a while, Gobuto entered. His face showed worry, discomfort, even a hint of guilt. He gently closed the door, then bowed deeply:
"Master…" he said in a low and gentle tone.
Rion slowly raised his head. His eyes were sharp, filled with thoughts despite the coldness.
"How is the village?" he asked quietly, but firmly.
Gobuto placed his hands behind his back and bowed his head for a long moment. Then he answered slowly and softly:
"A total of twenty-four huts have burned…"
Rion's jaw clenched slightly. He squeezed his fingers together, gathering his thoughts.
"So… more than fifty percent," he said in a cold, but precise tone. "How many goblins remain?"
Gobuto looked at the ground, lowering his voice even further:
"Fifty-four… and about fifteen are burned but still alive."
This number plunged Rion into thought. He slowly rose from his seat. It was as if the burden on his shoulders had grown heavier. He took a few steps and looked outside. The smoke rising from the village ruins was barely visible now, but not entirely gone.
"Deliver my order," Rion said in a firm voice. "Stop the search. Instead, look for another shelter. We can't sit here waiting for the attack."
Gobuto bowed deeply.
"Yes, master," he said and quickly left the hut.
Rion watched him for a while, then sank back into his thoughts. "This place can no longer protect us. The enemy will return." He thought this inwardly.
The hill — Bren's party
On the hill, Bren's party was positioned, ready for battle. They had been watching the time since morning, carefully analyzing every small movement from the village side. They had thought the fire might flare up again, but nothing had changed yet.
Bren went to the edge of the hill and stared at the village from afar. The smoke was very faint, the fire had not extinguished completely but was no longer burning—as if the entire village was holding its breath.
After a while, Kovo came to Bren's side. He spoke in a low voice, with vigilance:
"Bren… they stopped searching. They didn't even try to extinguish the fire."
Bren fell silent for a moment. Then he looked at Kovo—his face showing worry mixed with sharp reflection.
"I think their leader is smart," he said, placing his hand on his chin. "If my guess is right, they'll change location. Because retreating to another place is better than sitting and waiting for the next attack."
Kovo looked at Bren with doubt:
"So, do we change our plan?"
Bren took a deep breath, as if thinking deeply. Then he slowly shook his head.
"No, we don't change it." "They'll take about a day to prepare. Now they want to conserve their strength. They're not paying attention to the fire—that's a sign too."
Kovo sighed lightly and submitted to Bren's decision.
"We attack at noon," Bren said, lowering his voice. "Let them wait a bit."
Kovo nodded:
"Good," he said and turned back to inform the party of this decision.
Bren looked again at the village in the distance. Nothing had started yet.
---Bren clenched his fist, staring at the village from afar. The sun was almost at its zenith, warm rays fully spread across the hilltop, and the air felt heavy with the approaching battle's pressure. —
Bren paused for a moment, then slowly turned back. There was no heaviness in his steps—only determination, the clear direction of intent. He walked toward the tent. The wind on the hill brushed his shoulders, stirring the ends of his hair.
His party stood ready in front of the tent—whoever was sharpening their knife once more on a stone, whoever was checking the bowstring, but all their faces showed the same outward calm, inner readiness.
Bren approached and stopped right in front of them. He took a deep breath and said in a firm, confident tone:
"The time for attack has come."
These words spread through the air as a heavy, but clear command. The party looked at each other—proud, determined, with faith in their own strength. Then they nodded in unison and rose from their places. Their movements were quiet, but filled with the intensity that was needed.
They approached the village. Among the old burned huts, the few remaining goblins were visible, some pushing aside fallen logs. But no one noticed the adventurers observing them from the hill in deadly silence.
Bren looked at Tarl, with determination:
"We go straight in from the front. Mira and Lira enter from behind. I'll find the leader."
Tarl raised his eyebrows for a moment, tensing his massive body. His voice held submission not—warrior confidence:
"Understood, Bren."
Bren turned to Kovo.
"You know what to do, right?"
Kovo took his bow in hand and lightly pulled the string. In the reflection of the gleaming arrowhead, his eyes seemed sharper.
"As always," he said in a confident tone.
At that moment, the party formed ranks. In each of their steps was silence, inside—a force ready to explode. The sign of the sun at its zenith shortened the shadows on the ground, and the time approaching the battle was becoming more palpable.
Bren and Tarl slowly entered the village from the front. The weathered wooden barriers cracked under their feet and tumbled aside. From amid the smoke, several goblins noticed them and growled angrily:
"Grrr… grrrr!"
—with that sound, they rushed at them.
Bren instantly changed his stance: he lowered his head, bent his right leg, and extended his left leg back. Gripping the sword with both hands, he gathered strength. As he prepared for the strike, dust lightly rose around him, filling the air with tension.
The next moment passed like lightning. With Bren's forward lunge, the whistle of cold steel echoed in the air.
Two goblins didn't even have time to blink before falling behind, Bren passing by them. They didn't understand what happened—only, in an instant, their bodies shuddered, then split in half at the waist and collapsed to the ground. Blood sprayed upward like a hot fountain, splashing onto the earth.
Tarl grinned from behind:
"Have you gotten stronger, Bren?" he said.
Bren glanced briefly, in a proud tone:
"I expect the same from you," he said and ran toward the center of the village.
The goblins, seeing them, began rushing from both sides with rage. Bren raised his shield and struck his long sword against it:
"DRG! DRG! DRG!"
—the ringing sound spread throughout the village. Hearing the noise, all the goblins roared like mad and rushed toward them.
Tarl turned toward the dozens of goblins pressing from the left. He lightened his body, bent his legs smoothly, and stood ready for the strike. His breath appeared as cold smoke—he was awaiting the battle.
At that moment, a sharp hot wind blew from behind. In the next instant, a fireball flew from the sky and struck the group of goblins.
BOOOOM!!!
The explosion shook the village. Fire sparks scattered around, the goblins screamed and writhed in the burning chaos.
Bren turned back—standing there was Mira, holding a staff with a yellow mana crystal glowing at its tip.
"Good," Tarl said shortly, but satisfied.
But other goblins began rushing at them again. Their eyes gleamed viciously through the black smoke, and the dust swirled like a small storm on the ground.
The battle was only just heating up. Tarl took a deep breath. "Tarl, be ready!"
Kovo was running toward a taller tree near the village.
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