Arthur led Percival down the narrow dirt path toward the village, the boy's small steps hurried but careful. Each stumble he caught, each whispered warning he gave—it wasn't just protection. It was the lesson Morgan had instilled in him: patience, observation, precision. Arthur felt her influence linger in every movement, in the calm steadiness that let him survey danger without panic.
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The village was quiet. Too quiet. Thatched roofs leaned haphazardly, smoke curled weakly from chimneys. No guards patrolled, no farmers to be seen—just the faint tremor of life frozen mid-step. Arthur slowed, green eyes scanning. Percival's hand tightened around his arm.
"Get behind me if anything moves," Arthur murmured. His voice was low, calm, practiced—the kind that reminded Percival he wasn't just a boy being saved, but a knight-in-training of sorts.
A scream cut the air. Sharp, frantic, human. Arthur crouched slightly, glancing to Percival, who flinched but obeyed, ducking behind a tilted cart. From the forest edge, shadows spilled forth. Goblins, dozens, snarling, teeth bared, crude weapons in hand.
Arthur's hands rested lightly on his sword—but he didn't rush. He waited, assessing. Morgan's lessons echoed in his mind: don't waste strength on what isn't necessary. Protect first, strike second.
————±————±————±————
"Oh here we go again ".
The first wave hit. Goblins lunged at villagers, shrieks echoing as Arthur moved. One swing, one precise thrust: a goblin down. Another tried to snatch a child; Arthur's blade knocked it aside, sending the creature sprawling.
Villagers scattered, fear and awe in equal measure. A farmer froze with a pitchfork raised; a woman clutched a basket of eggs, trembling. Arthur didn't chide them. None could fight like him yet. Survival demanded guidance, not rebuke.
Percival's eyes widened. "Arthur… how do you fight like that?" he whispered.
Arthur glanced at him, not pausing his movements. "you've always need to be aware. Like every step matters."
"Watch them. Predict them. That's how you survive."
————±————±————±————
The villagers' reactions were immediate.
"By the saints…" an old man muttered from behind a wall, eyes wide. "Who… who is that boy? He moves like a trained Knight!"
A young woman peeked from the barn doorway. "Is he… one of the king's men?"
Arthur didn't answer them. He didn't need to. His presence alone had shifted the village's fear into something more useful: attention, readiness, and a fragile trust that they could survive this first wave.
————±————±————±————
Percival copied silently, ducking, observing, noting Arthur's method. "Arthur… what about the traps you showed me?" he asked.
"They'll do some work," Arthur replied, eyes scanning for movement. "But your attention need to be sharper than their chaos. Focus on what moves, not what falls."
A sudden cry drew his attention: a farmer cornered at the far edge. Arthur sprinted, blade cutting arcs with precision. Goblins fell in patterns he had already calculated—three, four, five, gone before they realized they were exposed.
Percival's stomach churned. "Is… are they dead?"
Arthur's green eyes met his. "They are. Remember this. Death isn't cruel. It's absolute. And understanding it keeps you alive."
————±————±————±————
The first wave ended almost as abruptly as it had begun. Goblin corpses littered the village edge. Broken arrows, splintered carts, and scattered livestock marked the chaos. Villagers emerged, shaking, whispering.
"He… he's saved us…" a child murmured, eyes wide.
A mother clutched her baby, trembling. "Who… who is he?"
Arthur wiped the dirt and blood from his hands, standing tall. "Someone just doing what is right to be done," he said simply, voice carrying over the remnants of panic. No more, no less.
Percival moved closer. "Arthur… why? Why did they come here? Why the village?"
Arthur's gaze swept the forest edges. Signs in the dirt, unnatural paths, traces of goblins moving with purpose. "Someone is driving them. Someone wants this chaos. We'll find out who, and stop them."
Percival swallowed hard. "Someone… controlling them?"
Arthur tightened his stance, the weight of Morgan's teachings settling into him. "Yes. And when we do, they'll regret it."
————±————±————±————
Night fell, but Arthur didn't relent. He worked with the villagers, guiding them to strengthen doors, hide livestock, and dig simple traps along the roads. Percival helped where he could, under Arthur's watchful eye.
The villagers murmured among themselves.
"Look at him—so young, and yet…" an old man said, nodding slowly. "He moves like a master strategist. I'd follow him anywhere."
"He's… different," a soldier-in-training whispered. "Not like the others. Calm, measured… confident. I… I think he could lead us."
(A/N: fu..k I am cringing right now)
Arthur heard nothing of their words directly, but he felt the shift—the subtle spark of hope, of order. Morgan's lessons had made him more than a fighter; she'd reminded him how to inspire, quietly, without fanfare.
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Percival looked up at him, exhaustion in his small frame. "Arthur… you'll fight them all?"
Arthur's green eyes softened, still scanning the treeline. "I will. And you'll watch, learn, and remember. That's the only way to survive."
The boy nodded. Determination brimming. Arthur gave the faintest of smiles. Progress, he thought. Morgan would approve.
————±————±————±————
Silence returned slowly.
Bodies lay scattered near the outer fence. Smoke drifted again. A baby cried somewhere in the distance.
Villagers emerged cautiously.
No cheers.
No dramatic praise.
Just stunned breathing.
A woman approached Arthur, hands shaking.
"They've never moved like that before," she said. "They came straight for the storehouse."
Arthur's gaze sharpened.
"Straight for supplies?"
She nodded.
Another man spoke up. "Last week it was the next village. Same thing. They ignored the livestock. Went for food and tools."
Arthur looked toward the forest.
That wasn't random.
That was direction.
Percival stepped closer. "Someone's guiding them…?"
Arthur crouched, studying tracks near the edge of the road.
The footprints weren't chaotic.
They were layered.
Organized.
"Yes," Arthur said quietly. "This isn't instinct."
His jaw tightened.
"Something is pushing them."
————±————±————±————
Night fell quickly.
Arthur didn't leave.
He repositioned carts to block the eastern path. Ordered barrels rolled to reinforce the gate. Had the villagers dig shallow trenches near the tree line.
He didn't bark commands.
He explained.
Short. Clear. Direct.
And they listened.
Not because he was a hero.
But because what he said made sense.
Percival worked beside him, hands dirty, eyes sharp.
"Arthur," he said quietly while tying rope across a narrow gap, "you think the same thing's attacking every village?"
Arthur looked toward the distant hills.
Faint smoke columns rose in the far distance.
Too many.
"Yes," he answered.
"And whoever's doing it…"
His voice lowered.
"They're testing something."
————±————±————±————
Later, when the village finally settled into uneasy rest, Percival sat beside him on the outer fence.
"You'll fight them all?" the boy asked.
Arthur didn't look away from the forest.
"I'll fight what comes."
A pause.
"And you'll learn while I do."
Percival nodded.
After a moment, he asked quietly:
"Step by step?"
Arthur allowed the faintest smile.
"Step by step."
Beyond the treeline, something moved in the dark.
Not goblins.
Something heavier.
Watching.
The first wave had passed.
But this wasn't chaos.
It was preparation.
(A/N: Guys I probably wouldn't be able to upload this week cause of my exam so this is the last chapter for now, well toodles)