Rookies

The third nest was buried beneath the twisted roots of the Nokigiri Woods, known for its disorienting fog and winding paths that led travelers in circles. But Red never got lost.

He rode through the dense woods in silence, the Kokoroko's claws crunching leaves and twigs underfoot. The trees here leaned like crooked fingers, and the air smelled of wet bark, fungus, and something faintly… wrong.

Red halted at a clearing just before the rise of an old hill. He dismounted, crouched low, and surveyed the forest basin.

There.

Movement in the shadows.

Not small, twitchy goblins, but one larger. Broader. Breathing slower. Smarter.

A hobgoblin.

Grunt-class.

Taller than its kin, nearly as tall as a man. Pale scars across its chest. Steel-studded club. Its tusks curled upward in crude mockery of a smile as it barked orders in guttural growls.

Red watched from a crouch atop a low branch, unseen.

He counted.

Twenty-seven goblins in total. Crude weapons. Leather armor. A few slings. Mostly clubs. They moved like a unit, but loosely. Goblins weren't disciplined. Just aggressive and hungry.

This many in one place meant only one thing.

They had a hostage. Or several.

Red narrowed his eyes, scanning the nest entrance: a collapsed shrine now reduced to rubble and roots, half-covered by moss. Crude skull totems lined the entrance. A strong odor of rot wafted out.

He exhaled silently.

Narrow terrain around the front.

Trees could give high ground, but no escape route.

Hobgoblin leads from the center, not the back. Cocky.

Their formation is loose. No alarm system. No sentries on overwatch.

Standard goblins panic if isolated. Hob will stand and fight.

Estimate: full extermination in under three minutes, if no mistakes.

Kill the hob first. Break morale. Don't let them scatter. Kill every last one.

He moved.

Silent as smoke, Red slid down the slope, boots absorbing each step. In one fluid motion, he launched from the final branch, blade out, cloak flaring.

The hob turned, just in time to catch a dagger in its eye.

The beast screamed.

Goblins scattered.

Red was already among them.

His sword carved a crimson arc through two throats before the first body hit the ground.

Red: "One. Two."

A club swung wide, he sidestepped, grabbed the goblin's wrist, and drove his blade up through its ribs.

Red: "Three."

Another tried to flank him. He spun low, hamstrung it, then finished it with a reverse stab.

Red: "Four. Five."

They howled, now in full panic. The hob, bleeding from its ruined eye, lunged with a roar.

Red didn't slow.

He met the charge, ducked under the swing of its club, and jammed his sword into the hob's gut with both hands, twisting hard. The monster grunted, foamed blood from its mouth.

Red ripped the blade free, flipped it, and severed its spine from behind.

Red: "Six."

The rest were children flailing in the dark.

He didn't stop moving. Every step, every strike, was efficient, throat, heart, base of skull.

No cruelty.

No pause.

Just removal.

By the time the last goblin gurgled its death rattle, Red stood in a ring of stillness.

Red: "Twenty-seven."

Not one left breathing.

He wiped his blade on a goblin's tunic and moved into the shrine.

The smell hit first, sour blood, rotted wood, old urine, death and something fouler still.

Inside, the chamber was dim, lit by the flicker of a stolen lantern. Scattered bones and tattered clothing filled the corners. Chains were nailed into the stone. Red's boots crunched over broken goblin teeth and claw marks gouged into the walls.

And then… a sound.

A sob.

A woman.

She lay slumped against the far wall, legs bent unnaturally, eyes vacant. Her belly was swollen, far too swollen, and her skin pale. Her wrists were chained, though the goblins were all dead.

Red approached slowly, kneeling.

Her eyes focused on him.

"P… please," she rasped. "You're… you're not one of them…"

"I'm not," he said softly.

"I'm already dead," she whispered. "Just… not yet."

She reached out weakly, fingers trembling. "They…every week. They did it. Again and again. It never stops. I gave birth to five. Last week. Again the week before. I stopped counting…"

Her voice broke.

"It hurts. Even now. They're still inside me. I can feel them."

She looked at him, no longer pleading. Just ready.

"Please… save me."

Red's expression didn't change. His eyes, however, seemed colder. More still.

"Do you know how long until more are born?" he asked.

She nodded. "Soon. Maybe tomorrow. Or tonight. They grow too fast. Too fast…"

He drew his dagger. Clean. Sharp.

Red: "Do you want it quick?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she nodded. "Yes… please…"

He stepped forward, steady hand guiding the blade.

One clean stab, through the womb, then the heart.

Her body went still.

No more suffering. No more pain.

Just peace.

Red stayed for a moment. Eyes closed. Not in mourning, but in respect.

Then he moved.

He searched the chamber again, every corner, every crevice. No other survivors. No other victims.

Only her.

He stayed there for a moment, kneeling beside her. Not praying. Just still.

Then he lifted her body carefully and carried her out of the den.

Outside, he dug a grave beneath an old tree, where the wind hummed gently and sunlight kissed the moss. He wrapped her in a spare cloak from his pack and laid her in the earth. No marker. No name.

Only silence.

He covered her gently.

Only then did he return to the den.

He lit it with oil, using a firestone from his pouch. The blaze roared quickly, eating through wood and hay. The goblins would not rise again, not here.

The entire nest went up in thick, choking smoke.

Goblins burned. Ashes turned black.

Red turned away without watching it finish.

He mounted the Kokoroko again, dusted with ash. His expression was unreadable. But his hand gripped the reins a little tighter.

Only one more nest remained.

And he would finish what he started.