It was a mistake to remain in these woods. I was intending on leaving, but after burying her...I just couldn't. I suppose it was my way of mourning, simply remaining near her for a few more days.

Of course, the butchering of a village this far from the border wouldn't go unnoticed. What were one or two guards quickly became entire patrols of five to ten horsemen, like ants; they scour the woodland in search of me, and for the most part, I have managed to evade them.

But like the fight with the champions, now and then I was forced to fight, and now I see even the use of dogs and dangerous-looking champions I have no intention of risking combat with.

To reach the border from where I am I need to cross two cities and several towns, at least I can sneak past guards and hunters in the forests, but now I see a higher amount of guards on the roads, and while I could run past them, it would alert the humans of my position inside their lands, and I need to avoid that.

Under the cover of the night, I come down from my tree and look at the city in the distance; unlike any other place the humans have settled on the border; these inner cities are a beauty to look at. Carefully I make my way into the city, glancing at the distant road with the hope that I will find an empty spot to sneak past.

But all I see are the torches of the patrols, caravans, and common people going from one place to another.

The city is surrounded by a large wall, several meters tall and made out of carefully carved stone, and using my war picks I go up the wall as fast as I can, managing to sneak past a guard too busy with some sort of toy in his hands to look at me.

Once inside the situation is not much better, are they looking for me this hard? Every corner has a guard dressed in long cloaks and chainmail helmets that cover everything but their eyes and compared to the other guards on the walls they are diligent in their patrols.

I make my way through it, slowly, finding myself each time closer to getting caught, either by the guards or a stray dog that barks at my presence. Until I am forced to open a window and jump inside the nearest home when two patrols are quickly approaching from each side.

Listening to their armored steps as they search in the street I was just in makes my heart race. I closed the window behind me. But if they decide to enter this home, I will be forced to fight my way out. Luckily they left, the orange of their torches passing through the window vanishes, and I let out a sigh of relief.

My stomach hungers as I pick on the scent of leftovers from a nearby kitchen, the constant running and hiding leaving me little time to hunt anything more than the occasional squirrel.

I make my way to the source of the smell and find a few bowls with drying soup on their surface, and I lick them clean. Soon I threw away my caution and opened a few cabinets, finding cooking utensils and finally, delicious sacks of vegetables and dry meat.

Wasting no time I have a feast, my hurry to eat gradually stops as my mind draws parallels between what I'm doing right now and the night I was kidnapped by Makur's orcs.

And Fogosh.

I can feel my fist clenching as I bare my teeth like a rabid dog. I know he is too smart to die, so he must be alive out there on the border, with his group of goblins. I want to kill him.

But he is unlikely to settle for the goblins he had, I do not doubt that if I were to face him alone it would be suicide. So before I found him, I needed allies.

I would need them either way, if I wanted a kingdom, the only way to achieve it in this world would be by the end of my war picks. The face of the young champion flashes through my eyes.

Enough, I'm full.

Leaving the half-eaten carrot on the table I consider grabbing a sack to carry some food but I prefer keeping my hands free, they rest on the handles of my war picks for a moment, a form of comfort, of security.

Looking around I see the stairs leading to the second floor, and not sure of what force compels me to, but I go up. Carefully, slowly, I reach the small corridor with two doors at opposing sides, and looking through the keyhole of the closest one, I see a couple.

They slept together, the man lovingly hugging the woman from behind as they blissfully slept. I then look at the other door, it is ajar, and I open it a little bit more so that I may enter. The room itself is nothing interesting, and a child is sleeping in a bed.

He is young, very young. I can't help but come closer to him and stare at his sleeping face as my heart grows heavy.

How many orphans have I made? How many husbands have I torn away from their families? How many women have I deprived of the joy of motherhood?

And how many more will I create?

My objective is set, but I still have trouble grappling with the reality of what that objective entails. I murdered an entire village, many men and women, young and old, for no other reason than revenge. But I don't feel better.

I feel emptier.

I reach for the boy, my hand resting atop his brown hair. I don't know why; maybe it is my way of saying, that I'm sorry. Even if I can feel the consequences of my ambition long before achieving anything, I won't stop.

It is a duality that torments me.

The desire to carve a home, to steal it from the humans; to claim the land as my own so that I may live in a new house; one that I will build with my own hands. And self-loathing, knowing children like these won't be able to sleep as peacefully if I ever achieve it.

A home built above the black remains of others.

I left the room. I must pursue this goal, after all, while the couple has each other and the boy has his parents.

I only have that ambition.

Exiting the home carefully, I see if any guards are nearby, and when none seem close, I move on. Eventually reaching the other end of the city walls and climbing them, standing on the edge of the wall as I look at the distant woods.

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I look behind me once more, and while the image in front of me is that of a sleeping city, with tall strong walls, and many guards ensuring the safety of their people. The image I truly see is that of fire engulfing its buildings; the wall demolished, and the fields littered with the corpses of the guards.

What I see is the future that I promise.

But I can't waste more time, I'm too exposed. I use my weapons to take me down to the ground, outside the city and I rush to the forest, as I see more guards patrolling the nearby roads, I have to go through a large set of fields, the wheat growing tall and painting the plains surrounding the city with a golden sea.

I use the fields as cover and walk to the other side, emerging from it like a dark omen, standing between the nearby woods, and the encroaching savagery of nature. Bordering the beauty and symmetry of civilization. And one day I may turn these fields into ash.

For a few weeks leaving the inner parts of the kingdom becomes much easier, the further away I get from the capital and its towns, the fewer patrols I find, meaning so long as I keep a low profile, there won't be any patrols looking for me. Until I reach the second city, it's larger than the one prior, but the walls are smaller, only four meters tall, and there are fewer guards. I sneak in easily.

The moonless night shrouds everything that doesn't have a nearby light source into complete darkness. A perfect moment to go through the streets.

It is more alive at night than other places further away from the border, with fewer guards in the city but an overwhelming amount on the roads. Carts carrying goods, and people on foot carrying objects in bags on their backs. The city itself is quite different from the others, houses made primarily with wood, I never noticed, always sneaking through the woods.

I can see several vagabonds laying on the streets, and a few whores glancing at hungry passersby. The houses are not as clean, and most two or three-floor homes concentrate at the center of the city; gone are the intimidating-looking guards that diligently patrol the streets.

And I see open windows, people still awake, even this late in the night. I hear shouting, but also laughter, and I hear crying. I had not noticed the contrasting difference the further away I got from the border.

However, I have finally managed to reach it; once I leave this city I will only have to go through a few more towns before I reach the borders of the kingdom. So I make my way through its busy streets fast and use whatever opportunity I have until I'm out.

As I enter deep inside the woodlands surrounding the city, the night is already cold. Autumn will soon come, as leaves fall and begin to turn orange. I see the light of a campfire, likely a group of brigands, only they would make camp so close to a road and this far from the inner territory.

It is until I heard the orcish that I decided to get closer. And I see I was wrong; they are not a group of brigands; they are slavers.

With better armor than the usual ragged clothes and salvaged plates, these men are ready to take on stronger foes than the occasional farmer brigands target. Six of them sleeping and two are awake sitting near a campfire, a bucket of water nearby, and no tents to be seen; they seem to be speaking to each other. And I see they have gathered a few orcs chained up on a tree.

No, those are not orcs. I walk closer, being careful to not alert the two men and get a proper look at them; They are similar to humans. But their skin is a deep shade of green, with an appearance that almost reminds me of my kind except that they have eyebrows, smaller ears and some have a beard, then something seems to click in my brain, information I surely carried over from the life I once had.

Hobgoblins.

There are five of them and they seem quite beaten; some still have open wounds. Just like the guards, there were two of them awake, speaking with each other with hushed words only I, with my enhanced hearing, could have picked up from afar.

It's the first time I have seen monsters being taken as captives, and I have passed nearby several villages and towns where I see slaves used in labor, but only humans...where are they taking them? They could be a special order from a noble or someone influential...but it doesn't matter, those are questions I will seek answers to later.

Now, this is an opportunity.

If I want my kingdom, and to kill Fogosh, my war band must begin here.

They have a numeric advantage, and even if most of them are sleeping, I could take on three quickly enough at max before the rest are up and ready to fight. So I won't fight them with pure strength. I close one of my eyes and walk as near to them as I can until I deem it sufficient.

I jump from the shadows and dig my war picks in the heads of the two sitting men. the loud noise of the crunching skull and their sudden gasps awakens the rest of them, and I throw the bucket of water on the campfire with my weapon.

And when everything is swallowed by the dark, I open my eye.

The sudden change from bright to complete darkness, aided by the lack of moon in the cloudy sky, would turn anyone blind for a few moments until their eyes adjusted to the change. I haven't been wasting my time these many weeks just by running away. While I still have difficulties accepting the bloody path that awaits me, I won't run away, and I will learn every trick I can to have the edge I need to survive.

And make my kingdom.

The humans shout and try to look around, but I'm much faster, and I see everything. With speed, I rush from human to human, using my war picks as the deadly weapons they are to stick their points deep inside their legs, forcing them to lower their bodies or fall to the ground so I can then end their lives by penetrating their necks.

They scream, they curse, and they swing their blades wildly, even striking each other, but there is nothing they can do to stop what's coming. In a few seconds, they all lay on the ground, dead, or dying.

My size is a great advantage; fighting larger enemies is tiresome, but catching them off-guard with my speed and proficiency gives me the biggest of edges. A deadly foe where they don't expect one.

"Is that a fucking goblin?" One of the captives asks, in disbelief as I stare at them and notice that they are squinting their eyes; they can't see in the dark as well as I can.

"By Komur, it is" another replies.

"I've had enough goblins for a lifetime"

I walk up to them, and once I am closer they seem to get a good look at me, for a moment they seem filled with anger, as if they mistook me for someone else, only to grunt in apparent disappointment when they see me better.

"You, what's your name?" the bigger one among them asks, his body bulkier, and less injured; He has black wavy hair that reaches his jaw, and a few scars on his body, a warrior.

"Rokan"

"Good, I am Jorr. I suppose you killed our captors to free us, am I right?" I simply nod, walking up to them and preparing to use my war picks to break the lock keeping them chained to the tree "Yes, free us and we will repay your kindness"

As soon as the chains fall I jump away, and the closer of them crash with each other as they attempt to grab me with the very chains that once held them. I knew, by the way they looked at me, that this wouldn't be so easy.

"I am genuinely thankful, goblin Rokan, but it is because of one of your kind that we were taken to begin with, and we need to let this anger out," Jorr says as he grabs the chains in both hands and I allow the other four surround me, too far from the corpses to grab their weapons.

I twirl my war picks, making the blunt end face in the right direction. I will finish this fight with them alive.

And they will help me achieve my goal, if not by choice, then by force.