[Leav POV]
The aftermath of the battle left a strange silence over the camp. The scent of blood still lingered, mixing with the damp earth and smoke from the crude torches that lined the perimeter. Goblins moved about, tending to the wounded, gathering weapons, and reinforcing the makeshift barricades.
Leav sat at the center, watching it all unfold. His body ached, a reminder of the toll each battle took, but his mind was sharper than ever. He had won, but victory meant nothing if he did not build upon it.
Trek, the shaman, sat across from him, his aged fingers tracing strange patterns into the dirt. His presence had been a quiet but steady force in the tribe—a source of knowledge that Leav had barely begun to tap into.
"You think," Trek muttered, not looking up, "but you do not yet understand."
Leav frowned. "Understand what?"
Trek gestured at the battlefield beyond them. "Strength is power. But power comes in many forms. You fight with steel, with tactics. The Bonefangs do the same. But there are others, Leav. Others who wield something… different."
Leav narrowed his eyes. "Magic."
Trek nodded slowly. "The arcane. The old forces that most of our kind fear." His voice lowered. "The Bonefangs fear your rise, but they have allies beyond just warriors."
Leav leaned forward. "Who?"
Trek's fingers stilled on the ground. "There is a tribe deep in the marshlands. The Ashen Fangs. They do not fight with crude blades. They wield fire, summon spirits, bend shadows. The Bonefangs will call upon them."
The idea intrigued Leav more than it frightened him. He had never seen magic firsthand, but he had heard the stories. Goblins who could shape flames, whisper to the dead, move faster than the eye could follow.
If he was to build something greater, he could not ignore this power.
He exhaled. "Then we must learn. We must understand what they wield, or we will always be at a disadvantage."
Trek's lips curled into a knowing smile. "There is one among us who has already started down that path."
Leav's gaze snapped to him. "Who?"
Trek stood and motioned for him to follow.
[Weal POV]
The damp, cool air of the cave was comforting. It smelled of moss, damp stone, and something more subtle—something acrid, sharp. Weal sat with his tools scattered around him, tiny vials filled with strange powders and liquids.
He had always been fascinated by the things that could not be seen—the poisons, the toxins, the subtle changes in a person's body when exposed to the right mixture. But lately, he had discovered something different.
Something powerful.
His fingers traced the patterns he had found in an old ruin, deep in the territory they had recently taken. The carvings were ancient, depicting symbols that glowed faintly in the darkness when the right mixture was placed upon them.
He had tested it on a rat first. A simple mixture of crushed emberroot and dried whispervine. When placed on the symbol, the air around it had shimmered, and for a moment, the rat had moved unnaturally fast, as if time had quickened around it.
He was close. He could feel it.
The sound of footsteps made him tense, but he did not look up. "I know that walk," he muttered. "You move quieter than most, but not enough to escape me, Leav."
Leav stepped forward, his eyes scanning the strange setup Weal had created. "What is all this?"
Weal smirked, picking up a vial and shaking it slightly. The liquid inside was dark, almost black. "Experiments."
Leav crouched beside him. "Trek says you've discovered something new."
Weal's fingers brushed against the glowing symbols. "Perhaps. Or maybe I'm just playing with fire."
Leav watched him for a moment. "Can it be used in battle?"
Weal chuckled. "That's always your first question." He lifted a small, sharpened bone needle, dipping it into the black liquid. "This? No. But the knowledge I'm gaining? Maybe."
Leav studied the symbols, his mind already working through the possibilities. "If the Bonefangs bring in magic, we'll need to counter it."
Weal leaned back against the cool stone wall. "Then it's a good thing I enjoy learning."
Leav smirked. "Keep at it. When the time comes, I'll need you to be more than just our poison master."
Weal's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Oh, I intend to be."
[Frot POV]
Frot watched from the shadows as Leav and Weal spoke. His mind worked in a different way than theirs. He was not a warrior like Leav, nor was he an alchemist like Weal. His strength was in seeing the threads of influence, in knowing who could be pulled, who could be broken, and who needed to be eliminated.
And right now, there were whispers he didn't like.
The goblins were changing. The battles had forced them to evolve, to grow stronger. But strength brought division. Some still clung to the old ways, whispering doubts about Leav's leadership. Others saw opportunity and sought to claim a place in the growing power structure.
He would have to deal with both.
A familiar figure approached—a wiry goblin named Skarr, one of his informants.
Skarr bowed slightly. "There's movement among the others. Some don't like the way things are going. They say Leav is leading us to ruin."
Frot tilted his head. "And what do you say?"
Skarr hesitated. "I say they are fools. But fools can be dangerous if they gather in numbers."
Frot smirked. "Then we make sure they don't gather."
Skarr nodded, understanding the implication. Dissent was best dealt with before it became a problem.
As Skarr vanished into the darkness, Frot's gaze turned back to Leav.
Leav was strong, intelligent. He had the makings of a great leader. But even the strongest leaders fell if they did not keep their own house in order.
Frot would make sure that did not happen.
And if it did… well, he always had contingency plans.
[Leav POV]
The pieces were shifting. Magic, politics, war—it was all beginning to take shape in his mind.
The old way of goblin survival was simple: fight, kill, take. But that was not enough.
He had seen what lay beyond their small world. Other tribes, greater forces, humans, elves. They did not fight like goblins. They built, they conquered, they ruled.
Leav did not just want to survive.
He wanted to rule.
Not as a mere chieftain. Not as a warlord.
But as something greater.
An emperor.
He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of the ambition forming within him. It was a distant goal, perhaps beyond what any goblin had ever dreamed.
But dreams could become reality with enough blood, strategy, and will.
For now, he would continue growing. Continue evolving.
And when the time was right…
The world would know his name.