Clem Carter finally understood why people called the archer unit terrifying.
"How did he even do that…?" he muttered quietly to himself.
As he led his unit along the valley ridge, carefully positioning them to surround the goblins below, his thoughts kept drifting back to the same moment. One second, there had been nothing. The next, the boy—Arin—was standing right in front of them.
No footsteps. No warning. No sound.
It was as if he had appeared out of thin air.
Clem frowned as he tightened his grip on his spear.
"And those instructions…"
They had been vague—frustratingly so. When Arin gave his report to the officers, it didn't feel like a proper briefing. It felt rushed, almost careless, as if he were simply going through the motions. There was no structure, no emphasis—just short statements, delivered like he didn't want to be there.
Worse than that was his attitude.
Clem had seen confident soldiers before. He had served in the U.S. Army, after all. But this wasn't confidence.
It was impatience.
As the officers spent nearly half an hour discussing strategy and responsibilities, the teenager had visibly grown more irritated. Clem could even swear he had heard him muttering under his breath.
"…What a waste of time…"
"…They should hurry up…"
"…Next time I'll just hunt them down myself…"
Clem exhaled slowly.
"Yeah, right," he thought.
There were thousands of goblins down there. No matter how skilled the kid was, there was no way he could handle that alone. Not with the number of arrows he carried.
Clem shook his head.
"…Just don't mess this up."
By the time they reached their position, the encirclement was nearly complete.
Clem looked down into the valley and spotted the goblins immediately.
"…Still disgusting."
No matter how many times he saw them, he could never get used to it. Back on Earth, goblins had always been fictional. In anime and games, they were often made to look presentable—sometimes even cute.
These were nothing like that.
Their green skin hung loosely over their bodies, wrinkled and uneven. Their limbs were thin and twisted, their fingers long and claw-like. Yellow teeth stuck out at odd angles, and even from this distance, Clem could swear he could smell them.
"They don't get to win," he muttered quietly.
"There's no way something like that is ruling over us."
The signal to attack came.
Clem moved instantly.
"Forward!"
His unit charged into the valley alongside the others. Steel clashed against flesh, and magic lit up the battlefield as the fight began.
Clem thrust his spear forward, piercing the chest of the first goblin that rushed him. It collapsed immediately.
But something felt… off.
The next goblin didn't try to flank him. It didn't coordinate with the others. It just rushed straight at him, wildly swinging its arms.
Clem stepped aside and struck again.
"…What?"
Another goblin charged.
Then another.
No formation. No tactics. No teamwork.
"They're acting strange…"
Clem frowned as he continued fighting.
Goblins weren't supposed to be like this. They were usually cunning, working together to overwhelm their enemies. He had seen them use their own kind as shields, throw bodies over defensive lines, and exploit openings with disturbing intelligence.
But now?
"They're like rabid dogs…"
It was more intense in a way, but also simpler. There were no tricks, no coordinated attacks—just raw aggression.
Clem drove his spear through another goblin and pulled it free.
"…I'll take this over the usual."
Then he saw it.
A flash in the corner of his eye.
A goblin dropped instantly, an arrow embedded deep in its skull.
"…There."
Another one fell.
Then another.
Each arrow struck perfectly—either the head or the heart. There were no wasted shots, no hesitation.
Clem's eyes narrowed.
"…So that's what's going on."
As more goblins fell, the rest became even more chaotic. Whatever little coordination they had left completely disappeared.
It wasn't just panic.
Something had been removed.
Something important.
The battle ended far faster than expected. Within minutes, the entire horde had been wiped out.
Thousands of goblins—
Dead.
And not a single casualty on their side.
Clem lowered his spear, staring at the battlefield.
"…What just happened?"
"Hey."
Clem turned toward the voice.
An officer approached, wearing the insignia of Legion 23.
"You're from Legion 23, right?" Clem asked.
"Yes," the man replied calmly.
He was walking among the corpses, counting.
"Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty…"
"…What are you doing?" Clem asked.
"Making a bet," the officer said. "Though it's not looking good for me."
Clem blinked.
"…Right."
He shook his head.
"Then tell me this—what happened here? Why were the goblins so easy to fight? It's like they suddenly lost their minds."
The officer glanced at him.
"You don't know?"
Clem frowned.
"Know what?"
"The scout," the man said. "He took out the evolved goblins."
"…Evolved?"
"The ones giving orders," he explained. "Without them, the rest are just animals."
Clem looked back at the battlefield.
"…I see."
"That's why we target them first," the officer continued. "But they're hard to find. They hide well, so most legions ignore them."
He shrugged.
"But once they're gone, this is what you get."
There was a brief silence.
"…Anyway," the officer said, stretching. "It was good working with you. But we're moving on."
He smiled faintly.
"I quite like this new salary."
With that, he signaled his unit to move.
Clem watched them leave.
"…New salary, huh…"
He looked around at the battlefield again.
Thousands of kills.
No losses.
"…Yeah. I get it."
Still, something bothered him.
"If this keeps up…"
He frowned slightly.
"…the currency's going to collapse."
If everyone suddenly became rich, then money would lose its value.
And that never ended well.
Meanwhile, Arin had already disappeared.
The moment the battle was clearly decided, he had left.
"…No way I'm staying for that."
He moved quickly through the forest, putting distance between himself and the others.
Because he knew what would happen next.
Questions.
Too many questions.
Why did you do that?
How did you know?
Explain everything.
"…Not happening."
He sighed.
It didn't help that communication was a mess. There was no unified language. Even after a hundred years, people still couldn't agree on one. English was the most common, but many refused to adopt it fully.
The result was chaos.
Broken conversations.
Hand signals.
Misunderstandings.
And no interpreters.
"…Central command really messed that up."
Arin shook his head.
"Whatever."
Not his problem.
He slowed slightly, scanning the forest.
"…Now then."
He stretched his arms.
"Let's find somewhere to sleep."
He was used to sleeping in strange places. Trees, in particular, were reliable.
"…An oak tree would be perfect."
Strong branches. Good cover.
Safe.
Much safer than staying near a large, disorganized group.
"…I wonder how many will die tonight because they didn't set up proper guards…"
He shrugged.
"…Not my problem."
Still, as he moved deeper into the forest, his thoughts shifted.
"What we saw today…"
The difference in efficiency.
The lack of understanding.
"…Yeah."
That confirmed it.
After the first trial, factions would emerge.
Strong ones.
Weak ones.
And those who actually understood how to survive.
Arin's expression hardened slightly.
"…I'll need to talk to my family."
Because whatever came next—
They would be ready.