The midday sun cast a pale light over the jagged hills as the goblin horde advanced like a living wave of chaos. Dust churned beneath thousands of clawed feet. The sky echoed with snarls, roars, and the guttural laughter of monsters anticipating slaughter. Goblin war banners fluttered atop bone pikes. Crude drums pounded in eerie rhythm.
At the center of the horde, riding atop a black-scaled warg the size of a small house, sat Vice Commander Kaldor.
Kaldor was no ordinary goblin. Towering over his kin at nearly two meters tall, he wore dark, jagged armor pieced together from the remains of fallen enemies. His green skin bore the scars of countless battles. A cruel greatsword rested on his back, its hilt wrapped in monster sinew. His yellow eyes glowed with intelligence—and caution.
He scowled as he looked toward the distant rise of Arthur's territory. Barely five kilometers ahead, the tall stone walls of the human's town loomed in the distance, partially obscured by the haze of the hot plains.
"We're too close to turn back now," he muttered to himself.
One of the silver-ranked leaders riding beside him—a twisted goblin mage with a staff made of charred bones—glanced sideways. "You seem troubled, Vice Commander."
Kaldor didn't answer immediately. He scanned the terrain through narrowed eyes. The wind carried the smell of magic. Of steel. Of order. Not the lingering weakness and ruin he expected.
"They say he lost nearly all his forces to that madman Kazu," Kaldor finally said. "That this human, Arthur, barely survived. That's why we were sent—to finish him while he's down."
The mage grinned, revealing a row of yellowed fangs. "Then why do you doubt?"
"Because this doesn't smell like a defeated enemy's territory," Kaldor growled. "It smells... prepared."
The mage shrugged. "Even if he has some soldiers left, we have ninety thousand. One town. One foolish human lord. No matter how cunning he is, numbers will crush him."
Kaldor said nothing. He wasn't convinced.
He turned his gaze backward.
Behind him marched twenty thousand goblin soldiers, bearing rusted spears and serrated blades. Alongside them came the beasts: ogres clad in spiked armor, trolls dragging clubs made from tree trunks, black wolves, poison spiders, and even a handful of blood-hungry orcs from the eastern pits. The large monster gathering groups—ten thousand strong each—flanked the main host like monstrous wings.
Above them all, the shrieks of flying beasts echoed across the skies.
By all logic, Arthur should be doomed.
And yet...
Something felt wrong.
As they crested a small hill, Kaldor pulled the reins of his beast to a halt. The entire horde slowed, a chain of guttural confusion rolling through the ranks.
Kaldor stood atop his warg, lifting a long black spyglass to his eye.
Then he saw it.
His blood turned to ice.
"W-What...?"
There, in the distance, beyond the haze of heat and dust, stood Arthur's army.
Not a ragtag band of survivors. Not a scattering of terrified peasants.
A wall of steel and discipline.
Rows upon rows of archers lined the high walls, their bows drawn and ready. The banners of the Bronze Eagle and Starlight Units snapped in the wind.
Behind them, lines of robed figures stood with glowing staves—the mages, already casting.
Dozens of cavalry units flanked both sides, hidden behind the terrain but visible to a trained eye. He could see their gleaming armor catching the sunlight.
At the front line, standing deathly still, were warriors in thick, black-plated armor. They did not shift. They did not sway. They stood like statues—Blood Knights.
A second line stretched behind them—Bronze and Silver warriors in disciplined formation.
And at the rear, high above all, stood Arthur himself. A crimson cloak billowed behind him like a flag. His golden eyes gleamed like a predator who had just cornered his prey.
Kaldor's hand trembled.
"This... this is impossible..."
The mage beside him followed his gaze and paled. "He rebuilt his army?! But how? This should be—"
"SHUT UP!" Kaldor roared.
The horde, hearing his sudden fury, went silent.
"Every scout we sent reported minimal resistance. The humans barely showed activity outside their walls. We were told the territory was weakened!"
One of the silver-ranked captains hesitantly stepped forward. "M-My Lord… perhaps… perhaps they summoned reinforcements from a nearby kingdom—"
"There are no kingdoms nearby strong enough to send this kind of force in two days!" Kaldor barked. "This isn't just a recovery. This is... a trap."
Rage clouded his thoughts. His hands clenched so hard his knuckles popped.
He had been sent by Dark City's Lord Kahli with the belief this was an easy conquest. Crush the weakened human. Claim his territory. Secure more resources and summon zones.
But instead—
He was staring down a military giant.
He growled and grabbed the mage by the throat.
"You told me we'd catch them off guard!"
"I—It's not my fault! I swear!" the mage croaked. "This is unnatural! No one can rebuild an army like this overnight!"
Kaldor hurled the goblin aside like trash. The mage crashed into a boulder with a shriek.
Kaldor turned back toward Arthur's walls.
The human had not moved.
He stood still—watching.
Mocking.
"Summon the captains," Kaldor ordered, voice cold. "All of them. Now."
Within moments, five silver-ranked goblin captains and ten lesser leaders knelt before him.
Kaldor pointed toward the horizon.
"That is no broken army. That is a storm waiting to crush us. We're going to war with something far worse than we expected."
"What do we do, my Lord?" one of the captains asked nervously.
Kaldor hesitated.
A part of him wanted to retreat—to preserve what remained of their horde. But turning back now would be suicide. The Dark City wouldn't accept failure.
No. He had to press on.
"We move forward," he said. "But with caution."
He pointed at the far east and west hills.
"Send scouts. I want those cavalry flanks monitored. If they break our formation, we're finished."
He then turned to the mages. "Prepare all spells. The moment those archers fire, retaliate."
Then to the trolls and ogres. "They go first. Absorb the brunt of the assault."
And finally, to his own war-beast. He climbed back onto it with a snarl.
"I will lead the first wave."
"But, Vice Commander—!"
"I *will* lead!" he snapped. "We strike first—and we hit hard. If we can break their front, their discipline may shatter."
He glared back toward Arthur's walls one final time.
"You think you've fooled us, human?" Kaldor muttered. "We'll see how long your shiny army holds once blood starts to flow."
Far above, a horn echoed from the walls.
The battle was about to begin.
And for the first time in years...
Kaldor wasn't sure they would win.