The next day began with an unusual energy in the camp. Michael barely had time to rub the sleep from his eyes before noticing the commotion outside his tent. Voices called out, urgent and clipped, the sound of boots crunching against the dirt growing louder. The usual morning hush was gone, replaced by the sharp clanking of armor and weapons being strapped into place. He frowned, tossing his blanket aside before stepping out into the crisp morning air.
Immediately, he spotted the movement. Soldiers were rushing in the same direction, their expressions sharp with focus. The usual morning routines—eating, cleaning, checking equipment—had all been abandoned. Instead, men were grabbing their weapons, adjusting their armor, and forming up in a loose but organized manner. Michael caught the faint echoes of orders being barked from somewhere ahead.
His gaze followed the stream of bodies, and his ears picked up the words that confirmed his suspicions.
"All forces! Gather in front of the command tent!"
"Can't have a moment of peace…" Michael muttered, stretching his arms before quickly grabbing his gear. He adjusted his sword belt, making sure it was secure before he moved with the crowd, weaving between the gathering soldiers until he found himself near the front.
It didn't take him long to see them—three figures standing at the entrance of the command tent, their presence alone enough to command attention.
The Grandmasters.
Sarah, arms crossed, swept her sharp gaze over the assembled men. Chris stood tall, his massive spear planted firmly into the ground, his expression unreadable. And in the center, Elijah, ever composed, adjusted his glasses as he observed the gathered forces.
Michael kept his expression neutral, though he felt the weight of what was coming. They wouldn't call for a gathering like this unless it was serious.
Elijah finally stepped forward. The murmurs of the crowd died instantly. He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd.
"North of here, an abandoned mine has been occupied by goblins. Scouts have confirmed a large gathering—too large to ignore. This is not a minor infestation. If left unchecked, they could become a significant threat to the nearby settlements"
A ripple of unease moved through the ranks, though no one spoke. Goblins, by themselves, weren't considered dangerous. But in numbers, organized, they could overwhelm even trained warriors.
Elijah continued, his tone unyielding. "We move out immediately. All able fighters will march to the mine and exterminate the threat. Only a small force will remain behind to watch the camp…"
Michael exhaled heavily. "Of course…"
He had been hoping for a slower day. Maybe some extra training, maybe even some time to himself. Instead, they were moving out to kill things before he had a chance to eat breakfast.
Still, he did nothing to openly protest. Instead, he quietly watched as the soldiers around him began to move, the tension in their shoulders shifting into something more focused. No hesitation. No questioning. Just a quiet, practiced efficiency as they prepared to move out.
***
The march began swiftly. Michael expected a rigid formation—columns of soldiers moving in neat, orderly lines. Instead, they spread out, their advance resembling a sweeping tide rather than a disciplined march.
It didn't take him long to understand why.
This wasn't a march for war. It was a hunt.
The soldiers didn't just move through the forest. They cleared it.
Michael observed in silence as anything remotely threatening in their path was cut down without hesitation. Beasts lurking in the underbrush were skewered before they had the chance to flee. Packs of wolves tracking them were eliminated with chilling precision. Even creatures that posed no immediate threat—anything deemed 'unnatural'—met the same fate.
It was a massacre.
Michael had heard the Grandmasters discuss the monsters lurking in these lands. He had assumed their caution was due to the occasional powerful beast. But watching the army in action, he realized it wasn't caution—it was control. A methodical purge of anything that, in their opinion, didn't belong in their territory.
The forest, once eerily silent, was now filled with the lingering echoes of dying creatures. Blood stained the roots of ancient trees. The air, thick with iron, mixed with the damp earth and decaying leaves, creating an atmosphere that felt almost suffocating.
He kept walking, his boots pressing into the soil, past the cooling corpses of slain monsters. Some were unrecognizable—twisted, unnatural things with too many limbs, eyes that still seemed to gleam with an unnatural hunger even in death. Others were more familiar—wolves, bears, creatures he would have considered mundane, had they not been culled like vermin.
Crimson Forest of Sombra. Now more than ever was it deserving of its name.
As they continued the march, Michael felt a presence approaching from his side. A glance confirmed his suspicion—Roman, clad in his usual armor, walked beside him with an ease that suggested he had been there for a while.
"Not what you expected, is it?" Roman's voice was oddly casual, almost conversational.
Michael eyed him cautiously. He hadn't spoken much with Roman lately. At first, he had seen Roman as a seasoned soldier looking out for the younger recruits—someone competent, someone he could respect. But that respect had dulled ever since he had seen how the man clashed with Sarah.
Still, he didn't dislike him. Not entirely.
"What do you mean?" Michael asked.
Roman gestured toward the carnage around them. "The hunt. The purge. Call it whatever you want. You thought we'd be marching to war, didn't you?"
Michael didn't answer immediately. He had expected something more… structured. A battle, not this quiet and merciless extermination. His silence must have been enough of a response because Roman chuckled.
"You hesitate. Think too much" Roman noted.
Michael's brow furrowed. "And you don't?"
Roman smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Not anymore. Used to. But this? This is just how things are. No sense making it complicated"
Michael scoffed. "Sounds like an excuse"
"Maybe" Roman swept his gaze over the blood-soaked earth. "Or maybe I just accept reality"
Michael let the silence stretch before speaking again. "And if one day, you're on the receiving end of this?"
Roman chuckled, his expression unreadable. "Then I die. Simple as that"
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of boots on dirt and distant howls of beast meeting their end. Then, without another word, Roman moved ahead, falling into step with the rest of the soldiers.
Michael lingered, his thoughts heavier than before.
***
The mine came into view just as the sun reached its peak.
Michael expected resistance. A battle, an ambush—some sign that the goblins had detected their approach. But there was nothing.
No movement.
No sound.
The entrance to the mine loomed ahead, dark and gaping. Jagged wooden supports framed the mouth, long abandoned by whatever workers had once labored there. The air smelled stale, tinged with something rotten.
Michael scanned the area, his fingers twitching near the hilt of his sword. Where were the goblins? They were supposed to be here. Scouts had confirmed their presence. But the ground before them was undisturbed, no sign of sentries, no tracks leading in or out. The wind carried only the rustling of leaves, but no signs of life.
His unease deepened. He wasn't the only one who noticed the issue.
Elijah stood motionless, staring at the mine. His gaze was sharp, calculating, as if he were piecing together a puzzle only he could see. Then, after a long pause, he turned to the soldiers.
"Prepare a bonfire. Make it large"
The order was abrupt, unexpected. Some of the soldiers hesitated, exchanging glances before following the command. Michael frowned, glancing at Elijah. The man's expression remained unreadable, but there was something in the way he observed the entrance of the mine.
A quiet certainty.
As if he already knew what was to come.