“Alright. We’ve arrived.”

  Arin’s voice was calm, but there was a weight behind his words that no one could miss.

  Before them stretched a wide, roaring river. Its waters were dark and violent, crashing against jagged rocks with enough force to drown out conversation if one raised their voice even slightly. Mist hung in the air like a thin veil, dampening cloaks and clinging to skin. The river cut through the land like a scar—one that refused to heal.

  “This is where Herman suspected the goblins came from,” Arin continued, his gaze fixed on the rushing water. “And now it’s our job to find out how.”

  The group stood still, forty figures hardened by exhaustion and fear. Five days. Five relentless days of running, hiding, and tracking. Five days of following signs that should not have existed.

  “I think we all know where this leads,” Arin said quietly. “Every trail we’ve followed has pointed back here. A single source.”

  No one argued.

  They had been moving nonstop for nearly a week, pushing their bodies far past what should have been possible. The goblins had grown scarcer the farther they moved from what could once be called the front line. But scarcity did not mean absence.

  On the contrary.

  Signs of goblins were everywhere—too many, in fact. Footprints pressed deep into the soil. Broken trees. Drag marks. And then… there were the places where people had died.

  The worst of them lay behind them now, but the image refused to leave Arin’s mind.

  A plain that should have been green.

  Fertile land, perfect for farming. Perfect for cities. Perfect for life.

  Instead, it had been soaked red.

  Blood pooled in shallow depressions, thick enough that one could have drowned in it. The smell still lingered, metallic and sweet, clinging to the air even days later. No bodies remained—only bones scattered across the field like discarded tools.

  The goblins had eaten everything.

  Human flesh was a tonic to them. A catalyst. It gave them strength, energy, and—most disturbingly—the ability to reproduce at horrifying speed.

  Arin clenched his fists.

  “I suspect we’re about thirty kilometers from the point where the goblins first crossed our defensive line,” he said. “If there’s a passage here, it should be guarded.”

  The sun crept higher, its light glinting off the river’s surface. The water looked utterly impassable. Fast. Deep. Merciless.

  Bertho exhaled slowly. “I’m curious,” he admitted. “Navigation out here is terrible, yes, and the scouts had limited time… but for something this large to be missed?” He shook his head. “That’s hard to swallow.”

  “So am I,” Arin replied. “Which is exactly why we’re here.”

  Tom stepped forward, eyes scanning the distant plain beyond the river. “If there is a passage,” he said grimly, “it won’t be peaceful. Goblins won’t leave something this important unguarded.”

  Tom was right.

  “And that’s why we were sent,” Arin said. “Before the courts decide whether to court-martial the scouts—or prove they weren’t at fault at all.”

  His eyes hardened.

  “This mission decides that.”

  He activated Archer’s Eye.

  The world sharpened.

  The horizon stretched farther than it should have, details snapping into clarity. Arin’s breath caught as he took it all in. A vast, open plain extended for nearly ten kilometers—flat, barren, and offering no cover whatsoever. Beyond it, the river raged like an unbroken wall.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “This is bad,” Arin muttered. “Either the goblins fooled us… or something is very wrong.”

  They had followed the tracks for five days. Even with attempts to conceal them, the sheer number of goblins—billions, if estimates were correct—made it impossible to erase all signs. Anyone could have followed them.

  Anyone.

  “No,” Lilian said softly. “Even if it’s a trap, we can’t ignore this. We have to check.”

  Bertho grimaced. “And if it is a trap, walking in there now is suicide.”

  “Agreed,” Arin said without hesitation. “So we don’t.”

  The group turned toward him.

  “We wait for night,” Arin continued. “We rest now. Make extra arrows. I spotted a cave about two kilometers back—we’ll leave our supplies there. Once it’s dark, we move fast across the plain.”

  He looked around. “Does anyone have a better plan?”

  Silence.

  “No,” forty voices answered in unison.

  “Good,” Arin said. “Then let’s move.”

  They retreated to the cave as the sun climbed higher, tension coiling tighter with every passing hour.

  As evening approached, the cave grew restless.

  People checked their gear for the tenth time. Fingers tapped nervously against bowstrings. The air was thick with anticipation—and dread.

  “We didn’t have much time to make arrows,” Arin said at last. “How many per person?”

  “Ten,” Lilian replied. “The trees around here are stripped bare. No leaves. No proper shafts.”

  Arin frowned. “Goblins.”

  They ate everything.

  “It increases my confidence that there’s a trap,” Arin said slowly. “Trees this far from the end of the tracks shouldn’t be this barren otherwise.”

  The sun dipped below the horizon.

  “Time to go,” Arin said.

  He pulled his hood over his head, careful to dull the moonlight reflecting off his skin. One by one, the others followed suit.

  If someone had been watching—if a camera had captured the moment—it would have been unforgettable.

  Forty figures emerged from the cave, silhouettes framed by the dying sun. Cloaks dyed in earthen colors flowed around leather boots and hidden armor. Bows rested easily in gloved hands, quivers heavy on their backs. Short swords and daggers hung at their sides.

  They looked less like soldiers.

  And more like something out of legend.

  All that was missing was a pack of wolves padding silently at their heels.

  They moved as one, vanishing into the night.

  The plain swallowed them.

  Step by step, they crossed the open terrain, shadows clinging to shadows, hearts pounding in unison. The river loomed closer—louder, angrier.

  And then—

  Something changed.

  The roar softened.

  The raging current slowed, as if obeying an unseen command. Waves flattened. Mist parted.

  Before their eyes, stone began to rise from beneath the water.

  A bridge.

  Ancient. Massive. Hidden.

  As if the river itself had been pretending all along.

  Arin stopped.

  “There it is,” he whispered.

  The goblins’ path.

  The passage they had used to flood the world with death.

  And whatever guarded it… was waiting.