Max woke with a start, the faint snap of a twig cutting through the fog of half-sleep. His body moved before his mind caught up.

  He snatched up his sword, surged to his feet, and blinked forward in a single burst of movement — closing the gap to the shadow just beyond his brush barricade. The blade came down in a hard, two-handed arc, splitting the shape cleanly in two.

  Warm blood splattered across his boots.

  Max stood over the twitching remains of… a squirrel. Or what was left of one. The tiny creature’s bisected body lay in the dirt, glassy eyes staring into nothing. Its acorn rolled away and bumped against a root.

  He exhaled sharply, lowering his sword. “Well… damn.”

  The tightness in his chest didn’t ease. His heart still pounded like he’d just fought for his life, and his hands trembled despite his best efforts to steady them.

  “That’s not good,” he muttered, wiping the blade clean on a patch of moss.

  The image of the Hobgoblin’s stare from last night replayed in his head, and the feeling came back — that heavy, suffocating certainty that the creature knew him now. Knew his face. Knew he was a threat.

  He glanced into the treeline. The shadows seemed deeper than they should be in the early morning light. Every swaying branch and shifting leaf drew his attention like a potential attack.

  “You’re jumpy,” he told himself, forcing the words out in a low growl. “Get it together.”

  But he didn’t believe it. Not entirely.

  He packed quickly, keeping his sword within arm’s reach the entire time. Every rustle in the underbrush had his eyes darting in that direction. Every bird call sounded just a little too sharp. By the time he stepped away from the overhang, he was already scanning ahead for vantage points, escape routes, and anything that could give him an edge if the Hobgoblin really had followed.

  And in the back of his mind, one thought wouldn’t let go.

  If that thing comes for me… I have to be ready to kill it.

  Max slung the last of his gear into his storage ring and took one last glance around the overhang. That’s when he saw them.

  Far to the east, a jagged cliff face cut through the treeline, and along its narrow edge, a column of goblins moved single file. Even at this distance, he could see the glint of weapons in the morning sun. Seven of them.

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  Half a mile away. Heading north.

  Max’s pulse quickened. “Not letting you get away,” he murmured.

  He moved fast but low, weaving through underbrush and using every scrap of cover the terrain offered. The cliff path wasn’t wide — the goblins were forced to travel in a line, the perfect formation for him to pick them apart.

  When the trail dipped briefly into a shaded stretch of forest, Max closed the distance. He blinked forward, appearing just behind the rear goblin, and drove his sword clean through its back before it could make a sound. He dragged the body off the trail and into the brush, letting the others move on without noticing.

  The second kill came just as easy. A quick sprint, a slash across the neck, and the goblin dropped soundlessly into the undergrowth.

  The third… not so much.

  This one turned just as Max lunged, catching a glimpse of movement out of the corner of its eye. It managed a choked grunt before his blade cut deep, but the noise was enough — the front of the column stopped, heads swiveling, hands reaching for weapons.

  Max didn’t give them time to form up. He surged forward, closing the distance before they could spread out. His sword tore through the first goblin’s guard in a flash of steel, the blade biting deep into its chest. The second raised a club, but Max ducked under the swing and carved a brutal slash across its abdomen, spilling it onto the trail.

  The last goblin — a spear carrier — backed away, eyes wide, but it didn’t get far. Max blinked into its path and thrust upward, the point of his blade driving through the underside of its jaw. It fell without a sound.

  The path was silent again, littered with bodies.

  Max wiped his sword clean and glanced in the direction the patrol had been traveling. The trail wound steadily upward into the mountains, the trees thinning as the ground grew rockier.

  “Where were you going?” he wondered aloud.

  He followed the path, curiosity pushing him onward. The higher he climbed, the more the air seemed to hum with faint energy. Then he saw it — a wall of shimmering blue light stretching from the mountainside into the sky, the same kind of barrier he’d seen before.

  Max crouched low in the brush, watching.

  Minutes passed before movement caught his eye — another goblin patrol approaching from the opposite direction. This group was different. Better armored. Larger. Stronger. And when they reached the barrier, the leader didn’t hesitate.

  It walked straight through.

  Max’s eyes widened. The goblin didn’t vanish or get repelled; it passed through the barrier as if it wasn’t even there. The others followed… but not all of them. The smaller, weaker-looking goblins stopped short, turning back down the trail. Only the biggest and highest-level warriors crossed over.

  Max’s jaw tightened. “So that’s it. A final camp. Stronger than the rest. And I can’t touch it until I’m through that barrier.”

  The thought sat heavy in his mind, but it didn’t change his next move. If he wanted to reach that final camp, he needed to clear the remaining ones on this side first. And that meant going back to the Hobgoblin.

  He slid away from the trail, circling wide to avoid detection. The forest swallowed him again, the sound of his boots muffled against the moss.

  By the time the mountain path was behind him, his mind was already fixed on the coming fight.

  “That camp is going down,” Max muttered. “And when I get through that barrier… I’ll find your last stronghold and burn it to the ground.”