Gorn sat in the temporarily erected tent, his brow furrowed. A map of the capital was spread across the low table in front of him, marked with charcoal to show the ruined areas, collapsed mine shafts, and zones confirmed to be safe.
Gorn stared at the map, which he hadn't unfolded in a very long time.
The curtain was lifted, and the old soldier walked in. His right arm was wrapped in bandages, a fresh scratch that had yet to scab over ran down his left cheek, and his footsteps were much heavier than usual.
“Chief.”
Gorn did not look up. “...Are the casualty counts out?”
“A rough estimate.” The old soldier walked over to the table and placed a paper covered in numbers on top of the map. “Six hundred and thirty-seven are confirmed dead, the missing cannot be counted yet, and over three hundred and twenty are severely injured...”
“And the Fourth Elder?”
“He's been detained. He didn't run; the Second Elder's men dragged him out of his own cellar.” The old soldier paused. “According to him, he knew Minnie was an an—”
“I see.” Gorn cut him off, clearly not wanting to discuss the matter for now.
“We still have two thousand men outside the city, and our provisions can last for half a month. I've already ordered men to clear the ruins in the West District, at least to clear a path for passage.” The old soldier's voice was steady.
“Good. Pass down the order for the Third Regiment to take over the capital's defense, and dispatch all available healers to the casualty camps.” Gorn circled several coordinates on the map.
“What about Bratak?” the old soldier asked. “If the Greystone Alliance attacks now...”
“The capital is already an empty city. Even if they deploy troops, it would be pointless.” Gorn rubbed the space between his brows. “We will retreat and defend the tribe's other cities first...”
Silence fell over the tent for a long time, broken only by the faint, distant sounds of debris being cleared—a continuous, unavoidable hum.
“We failed...” Gorn sighed deeply, turning his back. “Our race has lost its only chance to rise again.”
“...Chief,” the old soldier said, lowering his head.
“Let Lord Leopold and the others return to the surface. First, we can no longer bear such blows, and second, the underground world is no longer safe...”
“Chief...” the old soldier finally spoke, “are you sure you want to terminate the contract early?”
Gorn did not turn around. “We can no longer keep them here. Even if we wanted to, we couldn't protect them. Minnie's... no, Ophelia's appearance proves that the angels have already penetrated the underground. The next batch that comes might not be angels who 'don't want to kill them.'
“The longer they stay underground, the more dangerous it becomes. And us... we can't even protect our own capital.”
The old soldier opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again. He looked down at his bandaged right arm and fell silent.
“...When the old chief signed the contract with them back then, he probably never expected a day like this would come.”
“The contract between the goblins and the dragon clan.” Gorn turned around to face the old soldier. “Contracts are meant to protect both parties, not to bind them. They have helped us for over a decade. It is enough.”
Gorn lowered his eyes, staring at the unfolded map.
“Go and inform Leopold and the others of their departure. Once Lord Leopold wakes up, let them choose freely.”
“Yes.” The old soldier nodded and turned to leave, but paused at the tent entrance. Without turning back, he added, “...Chief, please get some rest yourself. You haven't slept in two days.”
Gorn did not answer. The old soldier did not wait for a response and lifted the curtain to leave. Silence returned to the tent. Gorn sat behind the low table, his back slightly hunched, looking as if he had aged years in an instant.
Leopold woke up. When he opened his eyes, he was the only one in the cave. He looked down for a few seconds, trying to clench his fist. He could still move.
“You're awake?” Isabella walked in from the entrance of the cave, holding a bowl of steaming soup. She sat down by the bed. “Have something to drink.”
“Thank you... Bella.” Leopold took the bowl, taking a sip. A slow warmth spread through his stomach.
“...Where is Blake?”
“Outside. Oliver's poison has been cured too, and he's helping clear the ruins.”
“...How long was I asleep?”
“Three days.” Isabella sat on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on her knees. “Augustine said it would take you at least five days to regain your mobility, but you woke up in three.”
“Augustine...” Leopold repeated the name. The final image flashed in his mind—six wings, and a man pulling Ophelia into his arms.
“...Did he leave?”
“He did.” Isabella nodded. “He healed you before he left, left behind a bag of magic crystals, and said a few things.”
“What did he say?”
Isabella did not answer immediately. She lowered her eyes, as if weighing what to say and what to keep to herself for now.
“...He said Thranduil's people would soon return to the underground. He also told us to undergo our second slumber on the surface.”
Leopold fell silent for a moment, looking down at the half-empty bowl of soup. “...He's right. The underground is no longer safe.”
“Is Blake outside?”
“Yes. He's helping clear the ruins.” Isabella paused. “He's been out there the past few days and hasn't slept much. He said that since you collapsed, he couldn't afford to fall too.”
A set of footsteps approached from outside, and Blake lifted the curtain to enter. His face was still smudged with soot, and the bandages on his left shoulder peeked out from his collar. Seeing Leopold sitting up in bed, his steps faltered slightly.
“...You're awake?” Blake's voice was intentionally casual.
“I am.” Leopold nodded. “Where is Oliver?”
“Outside, helping some goblins move things.” Blake pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing his legs. “You slept for an incredibly long time. If you hadn't woken up soon, I was seriously considering poking you with an icicle.”
“Hahaha,” Leopold couldn't help but laugh. His laughter echoed softly in the cave, carrying a sense of relief from surviving a disaster. “You did a great job, Blake. Thank you for your hard work these past few days.”
“O-Of course!” Blake lifted his chin and turned his face away. “I always do a good job. I-I didn't need you to tell me that!”
“...How are things outside?” Leopold asked.
Blake turned back. “The cleanup is still underway. Chief Gorn sent out every healer he could mobilize, but there are just too many wounded, and medicine is running short.”
Leopold fell silent for a moment. He placed the soup bowl on the nightstand and pushed himself up, bracing against the edge of the bed to stand.
Another set of footsteps approached. The curtain was pulled aside, and Oliver poked half his head in, his grayish-green eyes quickly scanning the dim cave.
“Sir, you're awake?”
“Yes.” Leopold nodded. “I heard you've been helping move things?”
“Ah, yes...” Oliver scratched the back of his head, looking a bit embarrassed. “I didn't really do much. There were just so many wounded goblins, so I... I just lent a hand.”
Blake crossed his legs and eyed him sideways. “With a fragile frame like yours, aren't you afraid of crushing yourself?”
“I'm actually... quite strong,” Oliver muttered in defense.
Leopold steadied himself against the edge of the bed and tried rotating his shoulder. His right shoulder still throbbed with a dull ache, but it didn't hinder his movement. Once he confirmed he could move, he looked up.
“Blake, Oliver,” Leopold said. “We need to discuss what to do next.”
Blake uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter. “Why? Do you already have a plan?”
“Not a complete plan,” Leopold said, “but a few things are certain. First, we can't stay underground anymore.
“We can't keep hiding forever. The angels will find us, and Thranduil will find us too. Whether we like it or not, we'll have to go to the surface sooner or later.
“Second, once we return to the surface, we have to find a place to stay. Right now, angels are hunting down the dragon clan all across the continent. Not every angel is going to be like Augustine.”
Blake leaned back against his chair and crossed his arms. “There are plenty of remote places. The Northern Realm has its snowy plains, the south has deserts, and the east has vast primeval forests—”
“Not the Northern Realm,” Isabella suddenly interjected, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Blake glanced at her but didn't press for a reason. He had likely guessed it—Thranduil was in the Northern Realm. That white dragon prince had already purged the southern branch once. If Isabella willingly stepped into his territory, it would be no different from seeking death.
“...Then the south or the east,” Blake corrected himself. “Though the southern desert is barren, it's well-hidden. As for the primeval forest, there are plenty of trees to hide in, lots of prey, and we won't have to worry about food.”
Leopold didn't reply immediately. He stood by the bed, looking down in thought for a moment.
“...Most of the goblin capital has been destroyed, and Gorn and the others have their hands full.” He raised his eyes. “We already owe them too much. We can't cause them any more trouble.
“So, how about we terminate the contract early?”
Rate on N.U.
