A full week had passed since the group began preparing for the strike.
They had done nothing but watch, hide, and take notes—piecing together the lives of the creatures that now loomed as threats on the horizon. Every day, Vanthelis and the others left mutilated murloc bodies scattered across the borders of the gnoll territory. At first, the gnolls reacted with confusion, then suspicion. But soon, as routine settled in, they began accepting the presence of meat on the ground without second thought.
That was the beginning of their advantage. Routine was both the gnolls' strength—and their fatal weakness.
The sun began to dip below the trees, casting long shadows across the encampment. This was the time they had waited for.
But before they moved, Vanthelis gathered the others around one last time. Whether or not they trusted him didn't matter. Whether or not they believed in him didn't matter. What mattered now was that they were ready.
"They always wake up when the sun first touches the horizon," Vanthelis began, crouching low over the dirt map he had etched with a stick. The flickering campfire behind him painted his face in shifting shades of orange and black.
The others leaned in—Kristine, Haben, and Jayson. They were the few he had come to rely on during these long, dreadful weeks.
"For the first fifteen minutes," Vanthelis continued, "they don't hunt. They groom each other. Not just stretch or snarl, but rub each other's backs and necks. Like wolves."
Kristine wrinkled her nose. "That's… kinda weird."
"They act more like beasts than a real civilization," Haben muttered, arms crossed over his chest. "But there's structure. A system."
Vanthelis nodded. "After grooming, they check on their cubs. Yes, they have cubs. Then they grab their weapons—sticks, bones, carved spears. Crude, but deadly in a pack. The larger ones... the bulkier ones... they don't travel in groups. They hunt alone."
Jayson scoffed. "And you're sure they haven't figured out we've been watching?"
"Not yet," Vanthelis replied, voice calm. "But they will. That's why we move tonight."
The others fell quiet. The fire popped. Shadows danced around the clearing.
"After they hunt, they come back in about three hours," Vanthelis continued. "The successful ones bring back meat. The others carry herbs and roots. They eat in silence. No talking. No fighting. Just chewing and resting. Then they sleep. For two hours. And then? Another hunt."
"They hunt three times a day?" Haben asked, frowning.
"Yes. But they never store food," Vanthelis said. "They don't seem to understand the concept. That's why their range keeps expanding. And if it keeps expanding..."
"They'll find us," Kristine said, finishing his thought.
Vanthelis gave her a grim nod. "Exactly. So we strike before they do."
A heavy silence settled over the group. The fire's light wavered as the wind whispered through the trees.
"There's something else," Vanthelis added after a moment. "After their second meal—midday—they rest. Even the patrolling guards eat at that time. They drop their weapons. They stretch out under the sun. It's the most relaxed they ever get."
Kristine tilted her head, curious. "So... that's our best chance?"
"No," he said flatly. "Because after that comes the breeding."
Jayson gagged. "What—?"
Vanthelis didn't bother sugarcoating it. "It's not ceremonial. Not organized. Just chaos. The males take turns with the females. Openly. Sometimes more than one at once. It lasts for about an hour. Then they eat again. And finally, one last hunt before night falls."
Kristine looked away, clearly disturbed.
"And then?" Haben asked, his tone sharp.
"Then they gather around the mine. That's when their leader appears."
"The hooded one," Haben said, already suspecting the answer.
Vanthelis gave a single nod. "He doesn't hunt. Doesn't eat with the rest. They bring food to him. He worships the gold in the mine like it's sacred."
"Gold?" Kristine echoed.
"Yes," Vanthelis confirmed. "Gold ore. Lots of it. They treat it like a god. But that's not the shocking part."
He paused, letting his next words land heavy.
"He used magic."
Jayson blinked. "Magic?"
"Controlled fire," Vanthelis said. "A small flame from his hand. He used it to light an offering. Not strong. But deliberate. He's dangerous. More dangerous than any other gnoll there."
"Great," Haben muttered. "So they have a mage."
"And discipline," Vanthelis added. "There are always ten patrolling the area. They rotate every three hours. They're organized, in their own wild way. We can't just walk in and expect to win."
Kristine glanced at the sky. The sun had nearly vanished. "So... we move tonight?"
"Yes," Vanthelis said softly. "Tonight."
No one spoke. The quiet was heavy. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Vanthelis looked around at their faces. Young, tired, scarred by grief—but no longer just survivors.
"It won't be easy," he told them. "But we've watched them. Studied them. We know how they live, how they move, how they eat and breed. Tonight, we turn that knowledge into power."
He stood up, brushing dust from his knees.
"We're not survivors anymore. We're hunters. And this is our first hunt."
The others stood with him—grim, determined. There was no cheering, no smile. Just understanding. And readiness.
As the last light faded from the horizon and the stars began to appear, they moved into the shadows.
The trap was ready.
And the gnolls had no idea what was coming.