Arin raised his hand.

  The signal was simple, sharp, and final.

  At once, the entire group shifted forward, bodies low, steps silent. Forty figures slipped through the tall grass like shadows dragged along the ground, eyes fixed ahead. Their destination was clear—a narrow gap in the goblin lines that encircled the bridge like a tightening noose.

  The gap wasn’t intentional.

  It existed because the land itself rejected occupation.

  A swamp stretched across that section of the perimeter, dark water pooling between broken stones and collapsed timber. The remains of an old fort—once tasked with guarding the bridge’s entrance—had been unceremoniously dumped there. Rotting beams, shattered walls, rusted metal… all of it formed an unstable mire that no goblin liked standing in for long.

  Which made it perfect.

  Arin’s gaze swept across the scene as they advanced.

  From above, the goblin encampment looked like a belt of green bodies wrapped around the bridge—three lines deep, tight and disciplined by goblin standards. Between them and the bridge lay a strip of exposed stone and mud, grey and brown under moonlight.

  Green and brown moving across grey would stand out painfully.

  Stealth would only carry them so far.

  They all knew it.

  There was no longer any illusion of negotiation or retreat. Their backpacks were already gone—discarded along the way when speed had become more valuable than supplies. There had been little worth saving anyway.

  The food was gone.

  The water was gone.

  Only essentials remained.

  Arrowheads and feathers were strapped tight against their bodies. Handcrafted medicine—too precious to abandon, its mana signature clinging faithfully to its makers—was secured beneath cloaks and armor. Short blades rested at their sides, bows in hand, quivers pressed flat against their backs and hips.

  This was it.

  They reached a low ridge that curved subtly around the bridge’s approach.

  And then they saw it.

  A solid wall of goblins.

  “Damn it,” Bertho muttered, teeth clenched. “I knew it was too easy.”

  Until now, they’d met no resistance—no scouts, no patrols, nothing to slow them. It had almost felt like a gift.

  But gifts never came without a price.

  “The lines aren’t that deep,” Tom whispered urgently, eyes darting. “Three rows at most. We shoot five arrows each, punch a hole, then run like hell.”

  His voice tightened. “We still have to cross almost a kilometer before we even reach the bridge. If they close the gap from the sides, we’re finished.”

  Arin didn’t look away from the goblin lines.

  “I agree,” he said calmly. “We don’t have another option.”

  He inhaled slowly, mind racing.

  “After the first volley, grab another handful of arrows immediately. Shoot while moving. If the gap starts closing, we thin it out.” His eyes hardened. “The goblins will panic. Their overseers won’t be able to force them forward fast enough.”

  He paused, then added quietly, “At least… that’s the hope.”

  No one argued.

  Arin reached back and drew five arrows, sliding them smoothly between his fingers. He rose just enough to take a proper stance, bow coming up in a single practiced motion.

  They were less than a hundred meters away.

  Missing was not an option.

  “On my mark,” Arin murmured.

  The world seemed to hold its breath.

  Then—

  “Now.”

  Arin exhaled.

  His bow sang.

  The first arrow flew, slicing cleanly through the moonlit air. A second followed almost instantly, his movements fluid, mechanical. Around him, thirty-nine others mirrored him perfectly.

  Twelve seconds.

  That was all it took.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Two hundred arrows screamed forward in a single devastating wave.

  The goblin line shattered.

  Shrill cries erupted as bodies fell, green forms collapsing into the mud before they even understood what was happening. The attack came from the goblins’ blind side, arrows punching through armor, skulls, throats.

  Panic spread like fire.

  Before the goblins could react, the second volley landed.

  And then—

  “Move!” Arin shouted.

  They ran.

  The humans surged forward as one, sprinting straight through the smoking gap. The hole torn through the goblin line was nearly fifty meters wide, bodies scattered like broken dolls.

  Behind them, chaos exploded.

  Goblins shrieked, turning in confusion. Overseers screamed orders, cracking whips viciously across hunched backs, forcing movement through pain and fear.

  They could not allow the humans to pass.

  Failure meant death.

  At first, the goblins tried to close the gap straight on.

  It wouldn’t work.

  A sharp-eyed goblin commander on the right realized it almost instantly.

  Instead of charging directly, it barked orders and redirected its troops diagonally toward the bridge—cutting across the humans’ path.

  And then the left side followed.

  The gap began to close.

  “No—!” Tom snarled. “Why do they have brains now?!”

  They were still five hundred meters from the bridge.

  The goblins needed only two hundred meters more to seal them in.

  Arin’s eyes locked onto the left flank.

  There.

  An evolved goblin.

  Taller. Straighter. Its eyes burned with intelligence as it shouted commands, movements sharp and deliberate.

  “There,” Arin said, voice tight with focus. “That’s the one.”

  A plan formed instantly.

  “We shift left,” Arin ordered. “It gives us a chance.”

  He adjusted his trajectory, boots pounding against stone and mud, lungs burning. The others followed without hesitation.

  “If I drop their commander, the line collapses,” Arin continued. “When I fire, shoot two arrows immediately, then run harder than you ever have.”

  Distance ticked down in his mind.

  Four hundred meters.

  Three hundred.

  Two hundred.

  The goblin commander raised its arm again—

  “One-fifty,” Arin whispered.

  Now.

  Arin skidded slightly as he planted his foot, drawing his bow in one smooth motion despite the strain screaming through his arms.

  He fired.

  The arrow punched straight through the goblin’s chest.

  Arin didn’t stop.

  He fired again.

  The second arrow struck the creature’s skull, snapping its head back violently.

  The evolved goblin fell.

  For a heartbeat, everything froze.

  Then—

  The line broke.

  Without their commander, with over sixty goblins already dead and terrifying humans charging through the night, fear won.

  Goblins turned and ran.

  The diagonal push collapsed into chaos as bodies collided, tripped, and scattered. The once-solid line dissolved into screaming panic.

  The corridor reopened.

  “GO!” Arin roared.

  They burst through the gap, boots slamming onto the ancient stone of the bridge. Arrows flew behind them as they ran, cutting down any goblin foolish enough to give chase.

  Arin laughed—a wild, breathless sound torn from his chest.

  They’d done it.

  They were across.

  Behind them, goblins shrieked in rage and confusion, but not following for a reason.

  As they reached safer ground, Arin finally slowed, chest heaving, sweat plastering hair to his face.

  He turned back, watching the moonlight glint off stone and water.

  They had crossed.

  And for the first time since the mission began—

  Arin smiled.