The integration of the shipwreck survivors into the village was progressing better than Robert had hoped. The newcomers were split into groups of five and assigned to one of the eight houses scattered throughout the village. Families were prioritized first—there was no need to add strangers into the mix when the stability of these displaced people was at stake. Eugene, ever the efficient administrator, had taken it upon himself to catalog every group and family, ensuring they were placed in suitable homes. There were sixteen adult men between the ages of 20 and 40, twelve women between the ages of 18 and 30, and the rest were young children, aged 8 to 16.
The first home, an older, sturdy structure made of weathered stone, was occupied by the Robinsons, a family of five. James Robinson, the head of the household, was a seasoned carpenter whose hands bore the marks of years spent working with wood. His wife, Martha, and their three sons had survived the shipwreck and were eager to rebuild their lives. For Robert, their presence was a blessing. The surrounding forest was a treasure trove of resources, and with James's skills, they could finally begin to tap into it. Robert had already started planning—tools would need to be acquired from the marketplace, or perhaps forged locally if they could attract a blacksmith to their growing community.
The remaining survivors were mixed to create makeshift families, especially for the children. Robert knew that fostering connections among the villagers was vital—families were the strongest foundation of any kingdom, and he intended to see this settlement flourish.
As Robert oversaw the integration efforts, his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Thabis, who strode into the village with a sense of urgency. The seasoned scout's face was etched with concern as he scanned the bustling village, taking note of the new faces that had joined their ranks. Without wasting any time, Thabis made his way to the village hall, where Robert was deep in conversation with an older man, discussing the day's developments.
"My lord," Thabis interrupted, his voice cutting through the discussion, "sorry to be rude, but this is important."
Robert, sensing the gravity of the situation, turned to Thabis, his expression serious. "Please, do tell. What have you found?"
Thabis's voice held a note of despair. "They have doubled in size from what I can see. There are at least a hundred of them now."
Robert's eyes widened in shock. "How are they reproducing so quickly?" he demanded.
"We've discovered that they've been kidnapping tribal women and raiding a small settlement about eight kilometers northeast," Thabis continued, his tone grim.
Eugene, who had been listening quietly, couldn't hide the fear that crept into his voice. "Goblins—hundreds of them? I guess my luck has really run out."
Robert clenched his fists, trying to keep his emotions in check. He couldn't allow fear to spread among his people—decisive action was needed. "Don't worry," Robert said firmly, "as long as you're within this village, nothing will happen to you."
Turning to one of the nearby soldiers, Robert gave a sharp command. "Call Sabas over here. There's no time to waste."
As they waited for Sabas, Robert's mind raced. The arrival of the new villagers meant the goblins would be even more eager to strike. They were likely already planning their next move, salivating at the thought of capturing more women. The thought of it made Robert's blood boil.
Sabas arrived, his stride purposeful and his expression focused. "My lord, the situation is grim, but there is something we could do: a night raid. We wait until they're asleep and slaughter them en masse."
Robert considered the suggestion, but another idea came to mind. "Wouldn't it be better to just burn them alive? Destroy their base completely?"
"It's a possibility," Sabas replied, his voice calm and measured, "but we wouldn't be able to loot them or save any of the women being abused by those monsters."
Robert's thoughts lingered on the women held captive by the goblins. He didn't care much for the loot, but the idea of those poor girls being burned alive gnawed at his conscience. "We move now," he decided, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "Sabas, gather the troops. Eugene, you're in charge here—make sure nobody does anything reckless."
As Robert headed to his quarters, he couldn't shake the sense of urgency that had gripped him. Inside his room, he retrieved the leather sacks he had prepared earlier, stuffing them with goblin meat. He had a plan—one that could tip the scales in their favor.
Outside, the villagers watched in confusion as the troops began to assemble, readying themselves for the sudden departure. Whispers spread like wildfire—what could possibly warrant such a large force of men? Robert could see the worry on their faces as he approached the assembled soldiers.
"Let's go," Robert commanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "There's no time to waste."
The journey to the goblin base was fraught with tension. The soldiers marched in silence, each man fully aware of the danger that awaited them. The forest seemed darker than usual, the trees towering over them like silent sentinels. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the only sounds were the rustle of foliage and the distant cries of nocturnal creatures.
When they reached a stream, Robert signaled for a brief halt. The men took the opportunity to refill their water satchels, the cool liquid offering a momentary respite from their anxiety. Robert knew this was the moment to rally them.
"I know you're scared," Robert began, his voice steady and reassuring. "I know there's a chance you won't come back. But you are soldiers of Ocerius—we bathe in the blood of our enemies!"
The men straightened at his words, a newfound resolve in their eyes. They felt invincible, as if they could take on the world. The mood lifted, and they resumed their march with renewed determination. But the journey through the dense forest was not without its challenges. The undergrowth was thick, and the ground was treacherously muddy. Insects swarmed around them, biting at exposed skin, and the trees groaned ominously in the wind.
Finally, after what felt like hours, they reached the outskirts of the goblin base. The sight that greeted them was unsettling. Two green-skinned creatures stood guard, their forms resembling goblins but larger, more menacing.
Robert activated the lord system, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the creatures. "They're hobgoblins," he murmured to himself, his heart sinking. "They're evolving. We cannot fail today."
The group quickly took cover behind the thick trunks of trees and the dense underbrush, waiting for nightfall. As the hours passed, the goblins changed guard, leaving the weaker members of their horde on lookout. This was their chance.
"Thabis," Robert whispered, his tone commanding, "I need them dead in a single strike. No noise."
The scouts moved with the precision of shadows, their steps silent as they approached the unsuspecting goblins. Thabis, his hand steady, drew his dagger and struck swiftly, the blade slicing through the goblin's throat. Blood spurted from the wound as he covered its mouth to stifle any sound. The other scout followed suit, and within moments, the bodies were hidden in the bushes.
Robert then retrieved the goblin meat from his inventory, the pungent odor wafting through the air. "Spread this around your bodies," he instructed. "We need to mask our scent."
The men grimaced as they smeared the blood and meat over their armor and clothing, the stench nearly unbearable. They now smelled like something that had been dead for days, but it was necessary. The goblins had keen senses, and they couldn't afford to be detected.
With their scent masked, the group cautiously entered the cave. The entrance was narrow, forcing them to move in single file. As they ventured deeper, the space widened, revealing a horrifying sight. The cave was littered with bones, the remains of previous victims, and the air was thick with the smell of excrement and decay.
Robert's heart pounded in his chest as he heard faint cries echoing through the cavern. The sound spurred him on, and he quickened his pace, the others following closely behind. They soon reached a smaller chamber off the main tunnel, where the cries grew louder. Seven girls were huddled together, their bodies bruised and their clothes torn. They looked up in fear as the men entered, but their expressions quickly turned to relief as Robert approached.
Struggling to contain his anger, Robert cut their ropes with a swift motion. "Don't make any noise," he whispered. "Wait for us outside the cave."
The girls, their eyes filled with gratitude, nodded and slipped out of the chamber, making their way towards the cave's entrance.
Once the girls were safe, Robert turned his attention to the sleeping goblins. The time for mercy had passed. "Let's finish this," he muttered to himself.
The group moved through the cavern, their footsteps as silent as death. One by one, they descended upon the sleeping goblins, their blades flashing in the dim light as they struck. The goblins died too quickly to even cry out, their blood pooling on the cold stone floor.
As the men worked their way through the cave, the sounds of goblins choking on their own blood filled the air—a macabre symphony that brought a grim satisfaction to Robert. But as more goblins fell, a nagging sense of unease began to grow within him. They had yet to encounter the shaman, the leader of this foul brood.
"Stay sharp," Robert whispered, his eyes scanning the dark recesses of the cavern. "The shaman must be close."
As if in answer to his words, a faint chanting echoed through the cave. Robert's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the voice—it was the goblin shaman. The chanting grew louder, more intense, as if the creature was summoning something far worse.
"We need to find him, now!" Robert urged, his voice tight with urgency.
The group pressed on, following the sound of the chanting. It led them deeper into the cave, where the air grew colder, and the walls closed in around them. Finally, they reached another chamber, and there, standing at the far end, was the shaman. The creature's eyes glowed with a malevolent light as it chanted in a guttural language, its hands raised towards a crude altar made of bone and stone.
Robert wasted no time. "Attack!" he shouted, charging forward with his sword drawn.