The goblins dispersed, the echoes of the Trial of Blood still lingering in the crisp morning air. Leav exhaled slowly, staring at Drak's unconscious form. The fight had been brutal, but necessary. He had survived—no, he had won. Yet, as he stood in the arena, he knew the real battle had only begun.
He turned to his team, scanning their faces. Yorl, still tense from the fight, cracked his knuckles absentmindedly. Weal practically buzzed with excitement, his small frame barely containing his energy. Frot, ever the schemer, was watching him with an appraising look. And Bout… Where was Bout?
Leav frowned but pushed the thought aside for now. He had more immediate concerns. First, he needed to consolidate his power before someone else decided to challenge him.
Leav motioned for his group to follow him. They gathered near the communal fire pit, where the flickering flames cast long shadows on their faces.
"We won today," Leav began, his voice low but firm. "But strength alone won't keep us alive. We need to be more than fighters. We need to be smart. We need to be prepared."
Frot smirked. "And what, oh mighty leader, do you suggest?"
Leav ignored the sarcasm. "We play to our strengths. We work as a unit." He turned to Yorl first. "Your strength is unmatched, but your anger makes you reckless. If we're going to survive, you need to control it."
Yorl scowled. "I fight better when I'm angry."
"And Drak fought better because he was stronger. Didn't help him, did it?" Leav countered. He let the words sink in before continuing. "Tear is a warrior. He knows how to use his rage without letting it control him. I want you to train under him."
Yorl grumbled but didn't refuse. That was enough for now.
Next, Leav turned to Weal. "You're fast and observant. But that's not enough. I need you to start studying the plants around here—poisons, medicines, anything useful."
Weal blinked. "Poison?"
Leav nodded. "Imagine if Drak had been weak before he even stepped into the arena. If a single cut was enough to bring him to his knees. Knowledge is as much a weapon as a blade."
Weal swallowed hard, but there was intrigue in his eyes. He was scared—but also eager.
Then, Leav faced Frot. "You're cunning. I need you to be my advisor. To tell me what I don't see."
Frot's eyes gleamed. "So you do need me, after all."
"I need honesty," Leav corrected. "If you try to manipulate me, I'll know."
Frot grinned, a flicker of respect in his gaze. "Fair enough."
Leav finally glanced at Bout's empty spot, unease creeping in. Why did he leave? He made a mental note to find out.
With his group set, Leav went to find Trek and Tear. He found them near the edge of the settlement, where the forest loomed like a dark wall.
"Trek, Tear," Leav greeted, his tone measured. "I need your help."
Trek's painted face twisted into a grin. "Help? From us?"
"I want Yorl to train with Tear," Leav said simply. "He needs to learn discipline."
Tear snorted. "He's a wild beast."
"He's a weapon," Leav corrected. "One that needs a steady hand to wield."
Tear eyed him for a moment before shrugging. "Fine. But if he turns on me, I will break him."
Leav nodded. "I also need to understand the tribe's politics. I don't intend to be another brute swinging a club."
Trek's grin widened. "Clever little goblin. Come, then. Let's talk."
The next few hours were spent unraveling the web of tribal politics. Trek explained the factions—the warriors, the scouts, the gatherers, and the outcasts. He spoke of old rivalries, of past betrayals, of the balance between the chieftain and the shaman.
Leav listened, absorbing every word.
"So," he said finally, "if I want to keep my position, I need more than just strength. I need alliances."
Trek chuckled. "Indeed. Strength wins battles, but influence wins wars."
Leav stood, his mind racing. He had proven himself in the arena. Now, he needed to secure his place in the tribe's future.
As he left Trek's hut, his thoughts turned back to Bout. He needed to find him. He had a feeling that whatever Bout was hiding… it was important.
The real trial was just beginning.