Margaret swung her sword with a fluid grace, cutting through the last goblin with a swift, decisive blow. The creature let out a final, guttural shriek before collapsing into a heap. She wiped the sweat from her brow, breathing heavily as she surveyed the battlefield. The remnants of the goblin horde lay scattered across the clearing, their crude weapons clutched in lifeless hands.
"Is that the last of them?" one of her knights called out, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
"For now," Margaret replied, sheathing her sword. "We'll need to sweep the area again tomorrow to be sure."
As her men began the grim task of cleaning up, Margaret's thoughts drifted back to Alaric. She couldn't shake the memory of Lord Damian dragging his brother back to County Vargas. The scene played out vividly in her mind.
---
It had been a chaotic day. The main force had just returned from a successful skirmish against the goblins, and spirits were high. Alaric, however, seemed distracted. He was more withdrawn than usual, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon as if searching for something unseen.
Lord Damian's arrival had been unexpected and dramatic. He stormed into the camp with an air of authority, his presence commanding immediate attention. Without wasting a moment, he confronted Alaric, his voice dripping with disdain.
"What are you doing here, Alaric?" Damian had snarled. "Father's patience is wearing thin with your reckless behavior."
Alaric had stood his ground, unflinching. "I'm doing what needs to be done, Damian. The goblins—"
"The goblins are being handled by the appropriate forces," Damian interrupted, his tone icy. "You have no place here."
Despite his calm demeanor, Margaret had seen the flash of anger in Alaric's eyes. He had always been difficult to read, but in that moment, his frustration was palpable.
"You don't understand," Alaric had insisted. "There's something more at play here."
"And you think you're the one to solve it?" Damian scoffed. "You're out of your depth, little brother. Father has sent me to bring you back, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."
Before Alaric could protest further, Damian had seized him by the arm, dragging him away from the camp. Margaret had watched, feeling a pang of sympathy for Alaric. She knew he was stubborn, but she also sensed that there was more to his actions than mere defiance.
---
Now, standing in the aftermath of another battle, Margaret couldn't help but wonder what Alaric was up to. She didn't know the full extent of his plans or the fact that he had taken 1% of the aid money from Baroness Cleste. All she knew was that he had a knack for finding himself in the thick of things, often to the chagrin of his family.
"Captain, what do we do with the bodies?" one of her knights asked, snapping her out of her reverie.
"Burn them," she replied. "We can't risk any diseases spreading."
The knight nodded and set to work, organizing the men to gather the goblin corpses. Margaret took a moment to catch her breath, leaning against a tree and allowing herself a brief respite.
Her mind wandered back to the battles they had fought, the lives lost, and the endless waves of goblins that had seemed to come from nowhere. The situation had been dire, and it had taken every ounce of their strength and resolve to push back the green tide.
She remembered the long nights spent planning and strategizing with her mother, Baroness Celeste. They had worked tirelessly to fortify their defenses, rally their troops, and coordinate with the reinforcements that had arrived from County Vargas. The arrival of the 9000 soldiers, led by Damian, had been a turning point in the war.
Despite their initial differences, Margaret had to admit that Damian was a capable leader. He had taken charge with a no-nonsense attitude, his presence instilling a sense of discipline and order among the troops. Together, they had managed to repel the goblins, driving them back into the depths of the forest.
Yet, even with the immediate threat diminished, Margaret couldn't shake the feeling that something was still amiss. Alaric's cryptic warnings echoed in her mind, and she found herself questioning the nature of the goblin invasion. How had they become so organized? What had driven them to attack in such numbers?
"Captain, the perimeter is secure," another knight reported, breaking into her thoughts.
"Good," Margaret replied, pushing herself away from the tree. "We need to stay vigilant. This isn't over yet."
The knights nodded, their expressions grim. They knew as well as she did that the forest still held many dangers. Margaret couldn't afford to let her guard down, not even for a moment.
As they made their way back to the camp, Margaret's thoughts returned to Alaric. She wondered what he was doing now, how he was handling the aftermath of his actions. She didn't know the full extent of the secrets he kept, but she couldn't deny that his unconventional methods had yielded results.
"Stay focused, Margaret," she muttered to herself. "You have a job to do."
She resolved to continue her efforts, to protect her people and uncover the truth behind the goblin invasion. Whatever Alaric was up to, she hoped that it would eventually lead them to the answers they sought.
For now, she had to trust that he knew what he was doing. And if fate brought their paths together once more, she would be ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The battle was far from over, and Margaret was determined to see it through to the end.
Margaret continued her tireless work, leading her knights in the hunt for the last remnants of the goblin horde. Each day was a grueling mix of strategy, combat, and the ever-present tension that came with being on constant alert. But she remained steadfast, driven by a sense of duty and the lingering questions that haunted her thoughts.
As she and her men pushed deeper into the forest, they encountered more goblin bands. These encounters were smaller and less organized than the initial waves, but they were no less deadly. Each skirmish was a reminder of the war that had ravaged their land and the lives that had been lost.
During the long nights, as her men set up camp and prepared for the next day's march, Margaret would sit by the fire, her thoughts inevitably drifting back to Alaric. Despite her initial skepticism, she couldn't deny that his presence had made a difference. His unorthodox methods, while frustrating, had proven effective.
One evening, as the fire crackled and the stars twinkled overhead, she found herself speaking with one of her senior knights, Sir Roland. He had been with her since the beginning, a loyal and trusted confidant.
"Sir Roland," she began, her voice low to avoid waking the sleeping men around them, "do you think we'll ever truly understand what happened with the goblins?"
The older knight looked up from his whittling, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "I'm not sure, Captain. There are forces at play here that we don't fully understand. But I believe we did what we had to do to protect our people."
Margaret nodded, her gaze distant. "I just can't shake the feeling that there's more to this. Alaric…he seemed to know something we didn't."
Sir Roland chuckled softly. "Young lord Alaric certainly has a way of finding trouble. But he's also got a sharp mind. Who knows maybe he can uncover the truth."
They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds being the crackling fire and the occasional rustle of leaves. Margaret found some comfort in Sir Roland's words, but the uncertainty still gnawed at her.
Margaret and her knights continued their relentless campaign against the goblin remanents. Each victory brought a small measure of relief, but the questions remained.