The area encompassing the entire territory of the hobgoblin village that the trio had razed was now under their control. Dylan had even used the terrain to his advantage to trap the first enemy scouts who had carelessly ventured onto their land.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say Dylan now knew the area like the back of his hand. Even though he hadn't been there long, he had made it a point to memorize every corner, every slope, to improve his chances of survival.
Perched on a branch, he stared ahead, silent as a shadow. He watched the group of hobgoblins pass right underneath him. There were about fifteen of them, tense, hyper-vigilant, moving in a well-drilled tactical formation.
The biggest one brought up the rear, the loot carriers protected in the center, and their main force led the way.
Dylan had been observing them for nearly half an hour. He had even witnessed their hunting method, which allowed him to grasp the broad strokes of their combat strategy.
He blended into the foliage like a shadow among the branches. Every step the hobgoblins took, every whisper, every clink of a weapon was etched into his mind.
He knew their pace, their level of fatigue, their behavior in unfamiliar terrain. And more importantly: he had spotted their Achilles' heel. Two of them lagged slightly behind, breathing heavily, one of them injured — probably from a clash with another group.
Dylan slowly repositioned on the branch, his hand tightening around the handle of his axe. He wished he had a sniper rifle. From where he was, taking out those fifteen hobgoblins would've been child's play.
Too bad — he hadn't even brought his assault rifle because of the noise. Besides, if the others had known what he was planning, they probably would've stopped him. Or at least, that's what he told himself.
He had no choice but to make do with what he had.
Their rigid advance and obsessive focus on the ground betrayed their habit of only watching what lay below. They knew the terrain, after all. So did Dylan. And that one detail… would make all the difference.
He smiled inwardly.
"Just a few more steps… come on…"
Beneath their feet, the ground looked perfectly normal. But Dylan knew that just two meters ahead was a pitfall — hastily dug before their arrival and lined with spikes he had carved himself with a machete and axe.
It hadn't taken him long. Now that he had absorbed a solid dozen anima gems, his strength had doubled. He had used their hunting time to prepare his own ambush.
All he had to do now was wait for the right moment.
---
When they reached the trapped zone, one of them stepped onto the layer of leaves Dylan had carefully laid out. The ground gave way without warning, revealing the hidden pit beneath — but it was already too late.
Two hobgoblins didn't even have time to react. Their legs buckled, and they fell straight into the jaws of the trap. The dull sound of their bodies impaled on the sharpened stakes made the others shudder. A third one followed, but his fall was suddenly halted — caught by the hair by the largest hobgoblin at the rear.
Meanwhile, chaos erupted.
The others panicked, eyes wide, trying to grasp what had just hit them. They stepped back, scattered, spun around nervously, as if the danger could spring from anywhere.
The big one stepped forward slowly to the edge of the pit. He stared down, expressionless. Two of his brothers-in-arms, skewered like game, their eyes still open in a final spasm of terror. He said nothing. His gaze swept the foliage and trees, searching for the slightest tremor, the tiniest breath. Any hint of movement in the shadows.
But no. Nothing. Silence. As if the forest itself was holding its breath.
But that wouldn't stop him. He wasn't some grunt. He was the hunting chief of this squad, and if a trap had struck his men, it was his duty to find its source… and crush it.
He growled a guttural command. Immediately, the hobgoblins scattered. Those carrying the loot dropped their sacks on the ground, forced to abandon their burden as the search began. Their eyes scanned the treetops, the underbrush, the shadows — weapons already at the ready.
And all of this… played perfectly into Dylan's plan.
---
Still perched above, Dylan observed. His breathing was slow, controlled. He hadn't moved an inch. Even the slightest creak could betray him.
But right now, they were the ones making all the noise.
The hunting chief barked out orders, the hobgoblins dispersed, but they had lost their cohesion.
The incident had planted the seed of fear, and that seed was sprouting fast.
Dylan knew. He didn't need to rush to take them out. All he had to do was break their rhythm, make them doubt, scatter them, and finally... destabilize them.
He waited a little longer.
His eyes landed on one who was searching off to the side, a bit too far from the group. The hobgoblin was unknowingly drifting farther and farther away.
"Perfect, come to papa–"
With a slow, calculated motion, Dylan slid the axe from his belt. Without a sound. He descended slightly on the branch, positioned himself, and waited for the hobgoblin to pass just beneath him…
And jumped.
The drop was swift, silent. He landed with barely a sound, right in the blind spot of his target, and the axe swept in a clean, precise arc.
The blade sank into the hobgoblin's neck, silencing any cry in a spray of blood.
Dylan caught him before the body hit the ground, pressing his neck to stifle even the death gurgle. He dragged him behind a tree, hiding the corpse in the bushes.
Not a sound. Not even an alert.
He stood up slowly, eyes once again scanning the rest of the group. His gaze moved calmly across them until it locked on the chief… the hobgoblin's cold stare remained motionless, and Dylan felt a chill as their eyes met.
The chief stared at him for a moment and then a sinister grin twisted his already ugly face, making it even more terrifying.
At that moment, he roared loudly, barking out orders to his companions.
And Dylan started running.
---
He darted behind a tree, every muscle tense, every heartbeat measured. Branches whipped at his face as he fled the murder site. No time to savor the success.
He had been spotted.
The guttural scream of the chief still echoed through the forest. The sounds of rushed footsteps, drawn weapons, and guttural barks told him he was now the prey.
But he smiled. Just a bit.
Because in all this, things were going his way.
Well… not everything. He hadn't planned on being discovered so early. He had precisely timed the moment he would reveal himself. But fate had other plans.
Fortunately, he had already mapped out this section of forest in his head. Every tree, every fallen trunk, every thick bush. And most importantly, every trap.
He ducked under a low branch, slid along a mossy trunk, and veered sharply toward a zone where he had tied a cord made of intertwined vines. Just before passing it, he yanked the hidden mechanism. A suspended log detached, roaring through the air.
A gruesome thud sounded behind him. He didn't even bother to look back. He knew it had hit.
He kept running. Swerved, jumped over a ditch, rolled down a slope, and landed behind a boulder. When a whistle passed near his head — it was an arrow.
"These guys…" thought Dylan, eyes fixed on the crude arrow planted in the ground. "They're shooting blindly."
Panic. Haste. They were afraid to dive into his trail. Too many traps. Too many unknowns.
"Perfect. Keep chasing me..." he whispered, catching his breath.
He inhaled slowly, slipping like a shadow into the foliage. The sound of his pursuers drew closer... but their approach was clumsy. Too fast. Too loud. They weren't hunting anymore — they were charging.
And in this forest, this trap-laden theater... they were no longer the predators.
He stood up, circled around a stump, and waited. A hobgoblin burst through, weapon raised — too hasty. Dylan greeted him with an axe strike across the collarbone. The scream was short, strangled. He grabbed him and pulled him back, letting the body slide silently to the ground.
"Another one down."
But he could feel the chief's gaze, somewhere behind all the chaos. That one wasn't moving aimlessly. He advanced more slowly. He was drawing a line. He was tracking Dylan — not blindly, but methodically.
And as Dylan caught his breath, he thought to himself that this one... wouldn't be so easy to erase.