The horn sounded.

  It was not the long, steady call that signaled a shift in formation, nor the sharp warning of an incoming charge. This horn was different—urgent, frantic, cutting through the battlefield like a knife through flesh.

  An emergency retreat.

  For a single heartbeat, the front lines froze.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Soldiers who had been locked in brutal melee with goblins hesitated, minds struggling to process the impossible order. Retreat—now? With the enemy still pressing them? Confusion rippled down the line faster than any shouted command ever could.

  Panic followed close behind.

  Men began to pull back instinctively, shields raised, weapons flailing as goblins surged forward, sensing weakness. Cries of alarm mixed with screams of pain as formations buckled under the sudden disorder.

  Before a full rout could take hold, another command thundered down the line, carried by officers and veterans alike.

  “Orderly retreat! Fall back by units! Anyone who breaks formation will answer to Commander Eloi personally!”

  That name worked like a spell.

  Fear of goblins was one thing.

  Fear of Eloi, when truly angry, was another.

  The lines stabilized—barely. Soldiers gritted their teeth and forced themselves to move as trained, step by step, covering one another as they withdrew toward the fortified encampment. The retreat was ugly, messy, and blood-soaked, but it was not a collapse.

  And that alone was a miracle.

  After all, no one wanted to stand in front of an enraged Eloi once this was over. His temper was legendary throughout Legion 23. Why else did the legion have so many gamblers? There were plenty of things worth betting on—but how long Eloi would hold back his fury after a disaster was always the most popular wager.

  “Tom… this is seriously not good.”

  Arin’s voice was tight as the horn echoed again, reinforcing the order. He lowered his bow, eyes scanning the battlefield as goblins pressed harder, emboldened by the retreat.

  Tom swallowed, knuckles white around his weapon. “Yeah. I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

  Arin turned to him and Bertho. “We follow the retreat. Help where we can. Don’t get separated.”

  Bertho nodded immediately. “Agreed.”

  They stepped off the elevated rock formation—Arin’s post for the last three weeks—and plunged straight into chaos.

  The difference was immediate and terrifying.

  At the front lines, even now, there was a grim order. Shields overlapped. Commands were shouted. Soldiers moved with purpose.

  But barely twenty-five meters behind that?

  Pandemonium.

  “Jesus—!” Tom shouted as a surge of retreating soldiers nearly knocked him off his feet. Bodies pressed in from all sides, weapons jabbing unintentionally, shields slamming into ribs, boots trampling fallen packs and dropped spears.

  “Calm down!” Arin shouted, grabbing Tom by the collar and slamming him back against a boulder before he could be swept away. “This is how people die! Not to goblins—but to panic!”

  Tom sucked in a breath, eyes wide. “I—I see it now.”

  Bertho pointed sharply. “There! A gap—small, but we can push through!”

  “Grab on!” Arin ordered.

  Bertho went first, plunging headlong into the human tide. Arin followed, dragging Tom with him as they forced their way through bodies and steel. Every step felt like a battle. Elbows struck ribs. A shield clipped Arin’s shoulder. A spearhead scraped his leg.

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  It felt like being dragged through every weapon humanity had ever invented.

  Somehow, they stayed upright.

  Somehow, they survived.

  Commander Eloi was already shouting orders when he reached the wounded cavalry.

  Doctors and nurses rushed in at his command, stretchers appearing almost instantly. Most of the cavalrymen were unconscious—or worse. Blood soaked their armor. Their horses stood trembling, eyes dull with exhaustion and fear.

  Only one officer remained awake.

  Barely.

  Eloi strode up as the man was lifted onto a stretcher. “You. Explain. Now.”

  “Yes—sir,” the officer rasped, trying to salute.

  A nurse smacked his helmet lightly. “Don’t move.”

  The officer winced, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Eloi crossed his arms, jaw tight.

  The man swallowed and began.

  “It started yesterday evening. Patrol finished. No signs of caravans. We set camp, posted lookouts.”

  He shuddered. “Lookouts don’t mean much when you’re surrounded.”

  Eloi’s eyes narrowed.

  “In the middle of the night, alarms sounded. Goblins—everywhere. Captain Sofie ordered us to abandon camp immediately. Essentials only. Break through toward Legion 23.”

  “That should’ve been easy,” Eloi muttered.

  “It should have been,” the officer agreed hollowly. “But these goblins were different.”

  He raised his arm, showing a deep cut. “When we identified them, the system read: Goblin — Stage 0.1.”

  Eloi stiffened.

  “They used our weapons,” the man continued. “Knives. Short swords. Not perfect for their size—but deadly enough.”

  Silence fell.

  “By the time we broke through,” the officer whispered, voice cracking, “we were down to two hundred.”

  Tears slipped free despite his efforts.

  “We rode all night. Sir… you have until early evening. That’s when they’ll arrive.”

  Eloi’s fist slammed into a nearby crate.

  “How,” he roared, “do you tell me there are millions of goblins behind our lines?! Where did they come from?!”

  The officer flinched.

  “Eloi!” Selvijs snapped, stepping between them. “Enough!”

  Eloi froze.

  “This man did his duty,” Selvijs continued firmly. “He brought us the warning. The clerks are already writing messages. Messengers are mounted.”

  He waved the officer away gently. “You’re dismissed. You’ll be rewarded.”

  The nurse rolled the stretcher away.

  Eloi turned his back, breathing hard.

  “…Evacuations?” he asked finally.

  “Almost complete,” Selvijs replied. “Minimal casualties from the panic—thankfully.”

  Eloi stared at the encampment, where soldiers scrambled into defensive positions.

  “…Something went very wrong,” Selvijs said quietly. “This doesn’t happen by accident.”

  “I know,” Eloi replied, anger simmering beneath forced calm.

  He looked toward the darkening horizon.

  “But first,” he said, voice hard as steel, “we survive the night.”

  A grim smile touched his lips.

  “And we take as many goblins with us as we can.”

  Because deep down—

  Eloi already knew.

  Legion 23 was not meant to survive this battle. And the rest of the defensive line and assault force would soon follow if this was any indication.