Chapter 119 - 118: When Soldiers Watch Elves

Chapter 119: Chapter 118: When Soldiers Watch Elves Three days later - Edge of the Elves’ Encampment Morning mist wove between the trunks like pale smoke, clinging low to the forest floor. Lumberling stepped quietly toward the secluded edge of the goblin village, where the trees grew denser, shaped subtly by elven magic. A hush hung in the air, thick and reverent, an unspoken boundary no one crossed lightly. He halted beneath a makeshift arch of woven branches, then moved forward without hesitation. In the clearing ahead, Aurelya stood among a few elves, her golden hair catching the diffused light. She was the first to notice him. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she crossed her arms, amused. "Well, well. The strange human returns," she said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "You always show up near trees. Is that a habit of yours, or just part of your charm?" Lumberling exhaled through his nose, unfazed. "Lady Vaenyra," he called, ignoring Aurelya’s jab. From within the shaded folds of a tent, the elven leader emerged, tall, composed, flanked by Sylra and Thessalia. The moment Vaenyra stepped into the clearing, the air shifted. The light itself seemed to hesitate. The forest held its breath. "I came to remind you," Lumberling said, calm and direct. "My subordinates have returned. We’ll be striking at Earl Cedric’s territory soon. If you still intend to come, be ready." At the name, the silence deepened. Even the wind stilled. Vaenyra’s expression tightened, barely, but enough to see the crack beneath her poise. Her gaze sharpened, icy and unreadable. "Thank you. Of course we’ll come," Vaenyra said at last, her voice sharp as a blade drawn through frost. "I still owe him pain." Without breaking eye contact, she stepped forward, elegant, deliberate, unflinching. Lumberling’s lips curved, though it wasn’t quite a smile. "We have unfinished business with him too. Originally planned to settle it later... but with strong and beautiful friends on our side, why wait?" He threw her a wink. Vaenyra’s gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat too long. Her lips twitched, almost a smile, almost not. "Just don’t slow us down," she said, turning her back with a flourish of blue hair. Lumberling shrugged. ’It’ll also be a perfect chance,’ he thought, his pulse quickening, ’to see what mages are truly capable of.’ ... Goblin Village — Assembly Grounds The march toward the training field was hushed, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of boots and bare feet over packed earth. The elves followed Lumberling through the heart of the village, their eyes sweeping across a world reborn through discipline. They passed kobolds hunched over furrowed fields, tilling soil with crude yet purposeful tools. Goblins hauled crates of dried fish and root vegetables, while children from both races darted past the central fountain, laughing, splashing, and utterly unafraid. High above, Shade slithered through the shadows along the rooftops, silent, unseen, watching. Down below, wolves roamed the streets, playful in places, predatory in others. Aurelya let out a soft whistle. "It still feels strange... seeing all this." But when they reached the central clearing, whatever words she had left caught in her throat. Before them, in perfect formation, stood ranks of goblin and kobold soldiers, hundreds strong. The armor they wore was mismatched, salvaged scraps of plate, reinforced leather, scaled hides, yet each piece bore signs of care and use. And their weapons gleamed, polished and sharp, reflecting the pale morning sun. The captains stood at the front, grim, towering. The air shimmered faintly around them with pressure, a tension Aurelya recognized immediately. "They... they have Knight-level auras," she whispered, eyes wide as she watched the gathering. Dozens of evolved monsters stood in formation. In a typical monster tribe, there might be one, maybe two. But this... The clearing was silent, save for the wind, carrying dust, pride, and the weight of something no one could deny. This wasn’t a village anymore. It was an army. Boar-mounted cavalry patrolled the perimeter, tusked beasts snorting as they stamped the earth, their riders clutching crude lances and eyeing the horizon with wary discipline. At the front of the clearing stood the captains, Gobo1, Gobo2, Krivex, Aren, Takkar, Varn, Skarn, and the one standing proudly before them all: Skitz, lean and dangerous as ever. They eyed the newcomers with interest, elven women of rare beauty and terrifying presence, and their brows furrowed as they instinctively felt the power radiating from them. These weren’t just warriors. Each of them pulsed with strength beyond that of True Knights. Yet the goblins and kobolds did not waver. Discipline. Order. And something more, raw intent. Readiness. An eagerness for war. Gobo2 elbowed Gobo1, "Wohoo, looks like our Boss’s finally attracting women. Beautiful ones, too. He’s got a harem now." Gobo1 puffed his chest with pride. "Obviously. The stronger the man, the prettier the entourage. That’s the natural law of the world." Skitz cackled. "They say beauty follows strength, but in this case, beauty also follows someone with the biggest kill count." Krivex muttered, "I thought beauty followed coin?" Takkar snorted, "Nah, that’s in cities. Out here it follows lunatics with scary eyes." Varn crossed his arms. "Anyone else feel like we’re about to be hit with a divine punishment if we keep talking?" Skarn, the quiet one, finally spoke: "I just hope they don’t mind the smell. We’ve been eating roasted beetles for three days." Skitz smirked. "Speak for yourself. I’ve been brushing my fangs with crushed mint leaves." "You stole that from my pouch!" Gobo1 snapped. The banter rolled, but their gazes remained sharp. The goblin soldiers didn’t flinch. They had faced monsters, starvation, war. They had trained under insane pressure, bled beside each other, and clawed their way up to something more than what the world expected of them. They didn’t fear the elves. They were curious. Eager. A low hum of tension sparked in the air, like a match hovering near dry tinder. Skitz’s grin widened. He looked ready to lunge. Lumberling stepped forward, calm but firm. "Easy," he said, voice cutting like tempered steel. "Don’t get too excited. One wrong move and you’ll be flattened into mushroom paste." A few chuckles slipped from the line, but their shoulders lowered, the tension draining without shame. His word was enough. Thessalia stepped forward, eyes scanning the army. "These aren’t monsters..." she said, almost to herself. "They’re soldiers." Aurelya nudged her, amused. "And here I thought the meditation thing was the weirdest part." Lumberling turned to them with a half-smile. "Says the walking hurricanes in silk. If it comes to it, none of them stand a chance against you." He looked back at his troops. "But for what we need... we won’t need them all." Krivex leaned in and muttered to Skitz, "So... does this mean we’re off the hook?" Skitz snorted. "Off the hook? We are the hook." Lumberling’s voice cut through their whispering. "Skitz. Aren. You’re with me." Skitz sighed theatrically. "See? Hooked." Lumberling pointed to several goblins in light gear, ex-mercs from Duskpire. "You four, too. Gear up." Then he turned to the rest. "Gobo1, Gobo2, Takkar, Varn, Skarn, bring your best men. Stay just behind us. We’ll need plenty of hands... for looting." He grinned. Gobo2 grinned wider. "Looting?" Gobo1 nudged his brother. "Told you the gods favor us." "Only if we don’t get blown up first," muttered Varn. Krivex exhaled, visibly relieved, until Lumberling turned his way. "You’re staying. Handle things here." Krivex froze mid-step like a kicked wolf. "...Of course I am." He walked forward, pulled a worn scroll from his belt, and handed it over. "Everything we know, Cedric’s outposts, patrol routes, supply caches. Even where he parks his fancy horses." Lumberling raised a brow. "You scouted his horse stables?" "Hey, intel is intel." Lumberling gave him a nod and turned back to Vaenyra. "We move light and fast. My people know the terrain. We can get you close without drawing attention." Vaenyra’s eyes swept over the assembled group. Her gaze lingered briefly on Skitz, who was already spinning his dagger like he was bored of waiting for the mission to start. Then to Aren, whose steady, unblinking stare met hers, silent, but full of unspoken challenge. She gave a faint nod. "Very well." With a gesture, she signaled her warriors. Five elves remained behind to guard Sylra. The rest fell in line, trailing after her with silent grace. Lumberling led the way, veering toward the narrow southern trail, a shadowed route snaking toward the Earl’s territory. He glanced over his shoulder once, then forward again. ’So it begins,’ he thought. ’Our revenge will be done soon enough... Shame it won’t be our hands finishing the job.’ ..... Moments later, at the village gate. The gate creaked open as the strike party departed. Dozens of elves, robed and armed with bows or slender blades, moved like shadows under the sun. As they crossed beyond the threshold, Aurelya matched his pace, a crooked grin tugging at her lips. "Try not to meditate yourself into a coma out there, human." Lumberling smirked. "I’ll do my best. You, meanwhile, don’t trip over your ego." She laughed, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder.. "Fair enough." Behind them, the gates shut with a final thud. The trees closed in. The village vanished behind foliage and shadow. And the hunt began.