Satou moved quickly, his mind already working through the plan step by step. The group of goblins followed behind him—some limping, others being supported by their comrades. The sounds of battle echoed through the cave, growing closer with each passing second.
"How many fighters do we have?" Satou asked without looking back
A gruff voice answered. It was the scarred goblin with the chipped tusk. "About thirty-five who can still fight properly. The rest are wounded or too weak."
Satou’s eyes scanned the group as they moved. He could see different classes among them—warriors with crude axes and swords, scouts with bows, shamans clutching gnarled staffs, and even a few larger goblins that looked like they could serve as tanks. Most showed signs of injury, but they could still move.
Thirty-five fighters. Fifty total. Against trained human soldiers and mages.
The odds were still terrible, but at least they had numbers.
"What’s your name?" Satou asked the scarred goblin.
"Gob," the goblin grunted.
Satou blinked, then let out a short, humorless laugh. "Gob. As in... goblin. Wow. So original."
Gob’s eye twitched. "You got a problem with my name, whelp?"
"No, no. It’s perfect," Satou said, waving a hand dismissively. "Very on-brand. Anyway, Gob, gather the fighters. All of them. We need to talk strategy before we split up."
Gob raised an eyebrow. "Strategy? You?"
"Yes, me," Satou said firmly. "Unless you want to keep throwing bodies at trained soldiers and hoping for the best."
Gob stared at him for a moment, then grunted. "Fine. But this better be good."
He turned and barked orders. "All fighters, over here! The whelp’s got something to say!"
The thirty-five combat-capable goblins gathered around Satou, their expressions ranging from skeptical to hostile. Some muttered under their breath. Others simply glared.
Satou took a deep breath and raised his voice. "Listen up! I know most of you don’t trust me. Hell, I wouldn’t trust me either. But right now, we’re all dead if we don’t work together."
"Get to the point, whelp," one goblin growled.
"The point," Satou said, his voice sharpening, "is that humans expect us to be stupid. They think goblins are mindless savages who charge in screaming and die. So that’s exactly what we’re not going to do."
Several goblins exchanged glances.
"We’re going to use tactics," Satou continued. "Ambushes. Hit-and-run. Divide and conquer. We make them fight on our terms, not theirs."
A lean goblin scout spoke up. "Tactics? You think we’re some kind of army?"
"No," Satou said bluntly. "We’re desperate survivors trying not to die. But that means we’ve got nothing to lose—and that makes us dangerous." He pointed at Gob. "Gob, you’ll lead the first ambush squad. Take ten warriors—mix of heavy hitters and fast strikers."
Gob crossed his arms. "And what’s this ’ambush’ supposed to look like?"
Satou crouched and began drawing in the dirt with a sharp stone. "The main tunnel has a junction up ahead—three paths converge there. You’ll hide your squad in the two side tunnels. When the humans enter the junction, let them get to the center. Then attack from both sides simultaneously."
"Both sides?" Gob repeated.
"Yes. Split your force—five on the left, five on the right. The humans will be caught in a crossfire. Their shields are designed for frontal attacks, not flanking. Target their mages first—they’re squishy and dangerous. Once the mages are down, focus on isolating and overwhelming individual soldiers."
A bulky goblin warrior frowned. "What if they don’t fall for it?"
"They will," Satou said. "Because they’re overconfident. They think we’re running scared—which we are—but they won’t expect organized resistance. Use that against them."
He stood and pointed at a group of scouts. "You three—take positions on high ground if you can find any. Ledges, cracks, anything. Your job is to provide covering fire. Aim for exposed areas—necks, joints, anything not covered by armor."
The scouts nodded slowly.
Satou turned to the shamans. "You’ll stay behind the warriors. Don’t waste mana on flashy spells. Focus on support—slowing enemies, disrupting their formations, healing critical injuries if you can."
One shaman, an old goblin with a twisted staff, spoke up. "And what will you be doing, young one?"
"I’ll be with Gob’s squad," Satou said. "I’ve got ranged attacks that can interrupt enemy spells. I’ll focus on taking out their mages before they can rain hell on us."
Gob grunted. "And if this plan falls apart?"
"Then we improvise," Satou said. "But at least we’ll have a plan to start with."
There was a long silence. Then, grudgingly, several goblins nodded.
"Alright," Gob said. "Let’s do this. But if we die, I’m haunting your ass, whelp."
Satou smirked. "Get in line."
Gob’s squad moved into position. Five goblins crouched in the left side tunnel—Gob himself, two warriors with axes, a scout with a bow, and a lean goblin with twin daggers. Five more hid in the right tunnel—a bulky goblin with a club, two spear-wielders, another scout, and a shaman clutching his staff.
Satou positioned himself on a small ledge overlooking the junction, his Stone Spit skill ready.
They waited.
Minutes passed like hours. The only sounds were their breathing and the distant echoes of chaos.
Then—footsteps.
Heavy. Armored. Multiple sets.
Satou’s enhanced hearing picked up voices.
"Command says they’re fleeing deeper into the cave," one human said, his voice muffled by his helmet. "Typical goblin behavior.
Cowards."
"Makes our job easier," another replied. "Just follow the tracks and clean them out."
"Stay sharp though," a third warned. "These tunnels are tight. Good place for an ambush."
"Ambush? From goblins?" The first soldier laughed. "They’re barely smarter than rats. They’ll just run until we corner them."
Satou gritted his teeth. Keep talking. Keep underestimating us.
Eight soldiers entered the junction—steel armor gleaming in the torchlight, swords drawn. Two mages walked behind them, staffs glowing faintly.
"Clear ahead," the lead soldier called out.
"Clear left and right," another confirmed.
They moved to the center of the junction.
Satou raised his hand, waiting. Waiting.
The last soldier crossed the threshold.
Now.
Satou didn’t shout. Instead, he clicked his tongue twice—a signal they’d agreed on.
NOW!
Gob burst from the left tunnel, his axe swinging in a brutal arc. The blade caught the lead soldier in the side of the neck—right in the gap between helmet and chest plate. Blood sprayed as the man gurgled and collapsed.