Morning came like a lie.
Streaks of light slipped through the canopy, painting the damp earth in broken gold. Birds chirped somewhere far off, insects buzzed like tiny gears, and for a moment, the Misleading Woods looked almost gentle, like any other forest. Almost.
They crawled out of the hollow trunk, stiff and sore. Victor stretched, groaning like an old hinge. "Well… we didn't die. That's good, right?"
Arin smirked. "Set the bar higher, Victor."
Victor shot him a look. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Lord. Some of us don't have those fancy titles."
"Ugh, it's just a useless title for now. Shut up, will you?" Arin cut in.
Raul cut in, voice dry. "Keep talking. The monsters here likes talking prey."
Victor froze. "....."
Raul said nothing and turned away. He just started walking.
They moved in single file, Raul leading, Arin behind him, Victor trailing like a reluctant shadow. Raul marked trees as they went, thin scratches with his dagger, angled so he'd know the way back.
For a while, it worked. Then it didn't.
Victor was the first to notice. "Uh… guys? Didn't we pass this tree already?"
Raul stopped. Looked. The mark was there, his mark. Fresh. He frowned, slow and hard. "We're running in circles."
They stood in silence, thinking. The woods breathed around them, patient and smug.
Then something moved.
A small shape shuffled out from behind a root, a hunched figure, barely waist-high, with oxblood skin stretched tight over wiry limbs. Its head was too big for its body, its teeth too sharp for its grin.
Victor's voice cracked. "Is that a f—freaking goblin?"
Arin's eyes narrowed. "Not a goblin. A Fellhide Goblin. I've read about them. They're brutal, blood hungry, and ten times more aggressive than the regular kind."
Both Raul and Victor turned to stare at him. "You can read???"
Arin blinked. "Seriously? That surprises you more than the goblin?"
Victor threw up his hands. "Yes! Absolutely!"
Arin rolled his eyes. "Fuck off."
The goblin sniffed the air, scratched its neck, then waddled off into the undergrowth.
Victor whispered, "So… do we kill it?"
Raul shook his head. "No. We follow. If there's one, there's more. We need more information."
Victor groaned. "Information sounds like a great way to die."
Arin grinned faintly. "Then stay quiet."
They trailed the goblin through roots and shadows, careful to keep distance. It moved fast for something so crooked, darting between trunks like it knew every lie the forest told.
After half an hour, the trees thinned, and the world opened.
Victor's breath hitched. "Oh… oh no."
It wasn't a camp. It was a village.
Dozens of crude huts squatted in a clearing, stitched from bark and bone. Fires burned low, smoke curling like black fingers. And goblins, hundreds of them, moved through the space. Small ones, big ones, some with jagged armor, some with nothing but teeth and rage. All oxblood red.
Arin counted fast. "Two hundred. Maybe more."
Victor whispered, "That's… that's bad, right?"
Raul's jaw tightened. "That's worse than bad."
Victor swallowed. "So we avoid them. Right? We just… turn around and leave."
Raul's eyes stayed on the clearing. "If they find us first, we're dead meat. Especially when we're running in circles."
Arin nodded slowly. "We need a plan."
Victor stared at him. "Plan? You mean… fight them?"
Raul's voice was flat. "If it comes to that."
Victor laughed, sharp and hollow. "With what? You've got daggers. Arin's got a butter knife and a dinner plate. And I've got—" He held up his forging hammer. "This."
Arin smirked. "Better than nothing."
Victor groaned. "Better than nothing is still nothing."
Raul turned away from the clearing. "We go back for now."
They slipped away, slow and careful, until the village was a memory behind the trees.
When they reached the hollow trunk, Raul shoved the plank back in place and sat hard against the wall. His eyes were sharp, calculating.
Arin crouched, tracing lines in the dirt. "Two hundred goblins. Fellhide, aggressive, organized."
Victor flopped down, pale and sweating. "And we're supposed to fight that?"
Raul didn't look at him. "Yes."
Victor stared. "Oh god, I'm but a mere blacksmith."
Raul's voice was quiet. "We need to survive no matter what."
They plotted in whispers, heads close, the forest pressing in like a listening ear. No fire. No light. Just breath and fear and the scrape of Arin's blade carving shapes in the dirt.
Outside, something moved. Not goblins. Something heavier. The woods didn't sleep.
___________________________
Meanwhile…
Far from the forest, in a dim room of Ashenvill Barony, an assassin knelt on cold stone. His head was bowed, his voice low.
"Forgive me, young master. We couldn't kill them. They ran into the Misleading Woods."
The man at the window didn't turn. He sat in a high-backed chair, red hair spilling like molten metal down his shoulders. His eyes were half-lidded, watching a garden where winter roses bloomed in defiance of frost. A porcelain cup rested in his hand, steam curling from the tea like ghosts.
"It's fine," he said, voice smooth as silk over steel. "Those ants won't pose an issue. I only wanted to be sure, no loose ends."
He sipped, slow and calm. "The woods will eat them alive. No need to dirty our hands."
The assassin swallowed. "Should we keep observing?"
The young master's lips curved faintly. "No. Tell Jackson to stop wasting time. We have more important work than waiting for ants to die."
The assassin bowed lower. "Yes, young master."
The man turned his head slightly, just enough for the light to catch his eyes, deep crimson, sharp as a blade. Outside, the roses trembled in the wind.