Chapter 5: Those that think like us

It was a peaceful morning.

I was the first to wake, and I sat by the lake, watching the sun rise in the east—just above the mountains. The sky was painted in soft golds and oranges, the air crisp and still.

Sköll and Hati sat beside me, their fur gently brushing against my sides as we watched the lake together. Every so often, fish launched themselves out of the water, arcing into the air before splashing back down.

I could tell the wolves weren’t watching for entertainment like I was.

No… they were watching with hunger.

Their eyes followed each splash with sharp, eager focus. But neither of them moved from my side—not until I finally chuckled and said, “Go on. Get ’em.”

They both looked at me, then at the lake, then back at me again.

And then they were off—bounding forward and diving straight into the water. With a pair of loud splashes, they vanished beneath the surface.

A few moments later, they resurfaced, each with a massive fish clamped tightly in their jaws. They paddled back to shore proudly, tails wagging, water spraying in all directions.

Just as they reached the shoreline, I heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind me. I turned around.

Stewart was approaching, a relaxed grin on his face. “Well, what do we have here?”

He plopped down next to me, stretching his arms.

“Looks to me like the wolves caught themselves some monster fish,” he said, chuckling.

I raised an eyebrow. “Monster as in huge, or monster as in… actual monsters?”

Still grinning, he nodded. “Oh, they’re monsters all right. Those are called mimic fish. They look just like regular ones—jump around, act harmless—but don’t be fooled.”

He leaned back on his elbows, watching the wolves shake water from their fur.

“Their real trick is waiting until someone’s fishing along the shore. Then they strike. They’re stronger than they look. If one latches onto your line—or your hand—they’ll drag you straight into the lake and drown you. Not a pleasant way to go.”

I blinked, glancing at the two massive, still-flopping fish now lying on the sand.

“They eat people?”

“Bones and all,” Stewart said with a grim nod. “And they’re smart, too. Learned to mimic harmless fish just to lure in prey.”

I turned back to the lake.

What else did this world have waiting in plain sight?

I frowned slightly, eyeing the twitching fish at their paws. “Should I be worried about Sköll and Hati, then?”

Stewart followed my gaze, then shook his head. “Nah—”

Before he could finish, both wolves bit down hard. Bones cracked. Scales crunched. In a matter of seconds, the fish were gone—devoured whole, not even a fin left behind.

I blinked.

Stewart turned to me with a wide grin.

“I was just messing with you,” he said, laughing. “Mimic fish do exist, sure—but they’re way bigger than those, and I’ve only ever heard of them showing up in the ocean.”

I shot him a flat look.

He only laughed harder.

“Don’t worry,” he said, smacking me on the shoulder. “If there really were mimic fish in that lake, you wouldn’t be sitting here enjoying the sunrise.”

I glanced at Sköll, who was now licking his chops contentedly.

“Yeah… I’m starting to believe that.”

By midmorning, camp was packed up, and we were back on the move.

The wheels of the cart creaked over a trail that wound gently through the open plains. Sunlight shimmered on the tall grass as a breeze rolled across the hills, carrying the scent of pine—and something sweeter. Wildflowers, maybe.

But what stood out most wasn’t the beauty of the road ahead.

It was the silence.

Not the tense, heavy silence of fear or unease—no, this was the kind of quiet born from rhythm. From familiarity. Everyone knew their role now. When to move. When to stop. Who took lead. Who brought up the rear.

No words were needed.

Rias rode near the front with Lily. The wind played through her long silver hair as Freki and Geri padded beside the cart like silent guardians. Bardock walked ahead, axe slung over his shoulder, whistling a slow, off-key tune. Sasha lounged atop a stack of gear, idly tossing bits of dried fruit to one of the wolves while Stewart joked with her from the opposite side of the cart.

Even the golem’s heavy, methodical steps had become familiar—like a heartbeat echoing just behind us.

For the first time since leaving home… I didn’t feel like I was just tagging along.

I felt like I belonged.

Sköll trotted beside me, his ears twitching to every distant rustle. Hati kept a steady pace behind us, scanning the horizon with the calm focus of a sentry.

The pack had grown.

The trail had changed.

But the feeling in my chest was the same—something was coming.

And I could feel it getting closer.

The time passed quickly, and before long, the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting long golden shadows across the plains.

That’s when Bardock, who had taken point, suddenly stopped and turned toward us.

“Ah… guys,” he called back, his voice flat but tense. “You may want to see this.”

Stewart and I exchanged a glance, then jumped off the cart, leaving Lily, Sasha, and Rias behind. Sköll and Hati followed without needing a word—they’d been alert for the last hour, ears pricked, bodies coiled like springs. They knew something was ahead before we did.

We moved up the slope, the grass brushing against our boots. Halfway up the hill, I gagged.

The stench hit me hard—putrid, thick, rotting. I staggered, bile rising up my throat before I fell to my knees and vomited. The taste of sour bread and dried meat stung my tongue.

After a moment, I wiped my mouth and forced myself to keep moving.

At the top of the hill, I froze.

Two wooden carts lay overturned and shattered below, torn apart as if by wild beasts. Blood soaked the grass, splattered across broken wheels and cracked crates. But no bodies. No animals. Just the trail of crimson, and arrows—crude, jagged, and filthy—littering the ground.

I didn’t need Stewart to say it.

But he did.

“Goblins. Most likely.”

His voice was steady, but there was something tight in it. Familiarity. Disgust.

I remembered what he told me about them before—about why goblins weren’t given a single rank like most monsters.

They were different.

Goblins were monsters that mimicked men. They lived in tribes and grew smarter the longer they survived. They could steal, organize, trap, and kill with precision.

Some groups formed hierarchies—goblin kings, goblin champions, and the worst of them all… shamans.

While every creature had mana, only a few monsters ever learned to use it like humans. Goblin shamans were the result of those that did—born from observation and cruelty. They learned from watching humans cast spells. Mimicked what they saw. And used it to destroy.

That was why goblins didn’t have fixed ranks. Their danger wasn’t just about strength.

It was about intelligence. Numbers. Leadership.

“You never leave a goblin alive,” Stewart said beside me. “If one makes it out, it’ll return smarter… stronger. Maybe even rise to lead others. That’s when the real nightmares start.”

From the amount of blood below, and the chaos that remained…

This tribe wasn’t small.

Stewart turned to Bardock. “We should head back. Tell the others. And stay sharp.”

Bardock nodded grimly. “I’ll take first watch tonight. Just in case.”

I hesitated. “Won’t the golem scare them off?”

“Maybe,” Stewart replied, “but goblins aren’t ruled by fear. They plan. If they think they can win, they’ll try.”

And that was what scared me most.

We made our way back down the hill, our pace faster than before. Even the wolves stayed close, ears twitching at every sound. When we reached the cart, we didn’t waste time.

Stewart and I explained everything to the others—what we saw, the blood, the shattered carts, the arrows. We didn’t have to say the word “goblins” out loud.

The look on Lily and Sasha’s faces said it all.

Their expressions tightened, jaws clenched, eyes dark. Sasha stared into the fire, unmoving. Lily gripped her staff harder than she needed to. Neither of them said a word.

Whatever they had faced before… it left a scar.

We kept moving, putting as much distance as we could between us and that blood-soaked field. No one spoke. The sun dipped low, and the sky bled into twilight. The warmth of the plains faded into the chill of dusk, and by the time we made camp, even the wolves were restless—pacing the edge of the clearing.

As promised, Bardock took the first watch, sitting near the cart with his axe laid across his knees. One by one, the others drifted off to their tents.

Everyone except me.

I sat near the dying fire, its glow flickering across the blades of grass and the edge of Bardock’s boots.

I wanted to ask. I needed to.

But before I could say a word, Bardock spoke without looking at me.

“You wanna know what happened, don’t you?”

His voice wasn’t accusatory—just tired. Like he already knew the question had been coming.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I do.”

He leaned back against the cart wheel, staring up at the stars like they held the memory.

“Well… it was before me and Stewart joined them. Nine years ago.”

His tone changed—lower, slower.

“Back then, Sasha and Lily were still new to adventuring. They were part of a four-person team. Took a quest to find a missing herbalist who hadn’t returned from the Wolfhiem trails. Simple job. Routine. No reason to think it was dangerous.”

He let out a short breath through his nose.

“Back then, Lily was still learning. Could barely cast spells. Sasha had a few years of experience on her, and she’d tamed a dog—Spike. Good tracker, loyal as they come.”

He paused a beat.

“The guild didn’t require a higher rank for the quest. The area was considered safe. No recent reports of monsters. They figured the guy had fallen or broken a leg somewhere along the trail.”

Bardock’s jaw tightened.

“But that wasn’t it.”

“Me and Stewart were still with our families then,” he continued. “We were off on our own mission—a big goblin extermination in the mountains. Last job with the family before forming our own team. We all left around the same time.”

He shifted his weight.

“Lily and Sasha found the cart. Still packed with herbs, but no horses. No signs of the man either. They used Spike to track him. The scent led them deep into the mountains… too deep.”

His voice dropped.

“They were ambushed.”

The flames crackled, but Bardock’s voice felt colder than the night air.

“Arrows came from the cliffs. Sasha and Lily were wounded. Their teammates were killed on the spot—one took a shot through the heart, the other through the neck.”

He stared into the fire, eyes distant.

“Then the goblins came down. Dozens. They dragged the corpses off like they were meat sacks. But Spike—Sasha’s dog—fought back. Killed one. Bit through its neck.”

He went quiet for a second, then continued.

“They swarmed him. Speared him. Tore him apart. All while Sasha watched.”

I swallowed hard.

“They didn’t kill the girls,” Bardock said darkly. “Goblins don’t work like that. They tied them up. Dragged them to a cave. Goblins like to keep prisoners. For torture. For fun.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

“They watched them cook their teammates. Watched them eat them. Even Spike. Day after day.”

Bardock’s fists clenched around the handle of his axe.

“Took us and our families three days to clear out four strongholds in that region. Three were empty. The fourth…”

He sighed.

“That’s where we found them. Lily and Sasha. Half-starved. Silent. Barely breathing. Their eyes were hollow. They didn’t speak for days. It’s a miracle they even recovered.”

He looked over at me, finally meeting my eyes.

“That’s why we don’t take goblin extermination quests anymore. Not unless we have no other choice.”

I didn’t know what to say.

I could only manage a quiet, “I see.”

He nodded and looked back at the stars. “Get some sleep, Arthur. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

He smiled faintly.

“You’ll finally see Wolfhiem.”

After Bardock’s words faded into the night, I didn’t respond.

I couldn’t.

The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the grass. Sköll and Hati were curled beside my tent, heads resting on their paws, ears twitching at the faintest sounds beyond the camp.

I stood quietly, nodded to Bardock, and slipped inside.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

His story lingered in my thoughts like smoke—bitter and heavy. I lay there for a while, staring at the canvas ceiling above, listening to the soft rustle of the wind and the distant crackle of the dying fire.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed me.

And the nightmares didn’t come.

—

The morning was bright and calm.

Birdsong drifted through the air, and the sky was a clean, uninterrupted blue. The wolves were already moving about the camp when I stepped outside, stretching sore limbs. Everyone else was packing up, chatting in low tones that felt warmer than usual—maybe because we were almost there.

Today was the day.

The final leg of our journey.

The trail we followed was wide now, carved deeper into the plains by years of trade and travel. More carts passed us on the road—farmers, merchants, and travelers—all heading in the same direction.

To Wolfhiem.

We crested a low hill just before midday, and that’s when I saw it.

My breath caught.

Massive stone walls loomed in the distance, reaching high into the sky like cliffs forged by giants. Flags flapped in the wind from the battlements, and I could make out watchtowers dotting the perimeter, each manned and ready. Beyond the walls, faint shapes of rooftops, towers, and spires rose against the horizon—stretching farther than I ever imagined a city could.

It was bigger than anything I had ever seen.

Bigger than anything I ever dreamed of.

“Whoa…” I whispered.

Even Sköll paused beside me, his ears perked forward as if he, too, understood the size and weight of what lay ahead.

Stewart whistled behind me. “Impressive, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “It really is.”

We drew closer, the road leading us straight to the main gates—large iron doors flanked by armored guards, banners flying, voices calling out orders.

And just before we reached them—

One of the wolves stopped.

Growled.

A warning.

I turned quickly.

Something wasn’t right.

Sköll lowered his head.

And I felt it too—like pressure in the air. Heavy. Watching.

Waiting.

Then, from beyond the gates… came the sound of horns.

Not celebration.

Alarm.

And just like that—

The calm shattered.