Tom woke up to the faint rustling of leaves, his body still sprawled awkwardly across a thick tree branch. For a moment, he didn't move, letting the quiet of the forest settle around him as sunlight filtered through the canopy above. Then he shifted slightly, feeling the rough bark under his back, and let out a small sigh.
"…Still better than the ground," he muttered.
Sleeping in a tree wasn't comfortable, but it beat waking up on uneven earth littered with tiny stones that somehow always found the worst possible places to dig into your body. No matter how much you cleared the ground, there was always something. At least up here, it was just the branch and gravity to worry about.
He pushed himself into a sitting position and reached into his cloak, pulling out a small tin container. Opening it carefully, he took out a lemon drop and tossed it into his mouth. The sharp, sweet taste spread quickly, washing away the lingering aftertaste of the gray ration slab he had eaten the night before.
"…Yeah, that helps," he said under his breath.
Calling that thing food still felt like a joke. It had the texture of compressed dust and the flavor that was hard to describe, leaving behind a chalky residue that clung stubbornly to his tongue. Without something like this to counter it, the taste would stick around for hours.
Tom stretched his arms and glanced out from his high perch, his expression gradually shifting as he took in the view. The forest stretched endlessly in all directions, but ahead of him, the terrain opened into a wide valley. It wasn't just a clearing—it felt like a natural focal point, a place where movement would inevitably converge.
"…That's not good."
At first, it was just motion at the edges of his vision. Then more shapes appeared. And more.
Goblins.
A lot of them.
They poured out from the far side of the valley, their numbers growing steadily as more emerged from the tree line. It didn't take long for Tom to realize what he was looking at.
"…So that's when they're moving," he said quietly.
He clicked his tongue, already shifting his weight as he prepared to move. This wasn't something he could handle alone, and more importantly, it wasn't something he wanted to waste time on by dying stupidly.
"Well… I guess I found out when they're attacking us."
Without hesitation, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a smoke grenade. This one was special—a bright yellow signal flare. He pulled the pin and threw it out into the open valley, watching as it landed before immediately releasing a thick plume of colored smoke that rose high above the treetops.
He didn't stick around to admire it.
The moment it deployed, Tom dropped from the branch, landing lightly before breaking into a full sprint back through the forest.
"Yeah, no way I'm fighting that alone," he muttered.
There was also no way he was missing the main fight. Not after putting in all that effort to get ahead. If anything, this was exactly the kind of opportunity he had been looking for.
High above the forest, observers positioned in the tallest trees quickly spotted the yellow signal. It stood out clearly against the sky, impossible to miss. Within minutes, the response came.
Blue smoke.
One pillar after another rose through the forest, forming a wide ring that began to encircle the inner region. The message was clear—regroup, form a line, prepare for engagement.
Those who were ahead of the blue markers didn't hesitate. They turned and ran, pushing themselves to reach the forming perimeter. No one wanted to be caught outside the defensive line when the goblins arrived. Out there, alone, survival wasn't guaranteed.
Inside the ring, however, there was a chance.
Arin saw the smoke the moment he opened his eyes.
For a brief second, his mind was still calm from meditation, his body relaxed and restored. Then the meaning of what he was seeing registered.
Yellow.
Blue.
"…Damn it."
He was moving before the thought even finished forming. Dropping from his tree, he landed smoothly and immediately broke into a run. There was no time to eat, no time to think beyond the essentials. Even though his body felt refreshed, the emptiness in his stomach reminded him that recovery wasn't the same as nourishment.
"…I'll deal with that later."
He focused on speed, weaving through the forest with practiced ease. Branches, roots, uneven ground—none of it slowed him down. Ten kilometers passed quickly under his feet, his pace steady and efficient.
When he finally reached the perimeter, he slowed slightly, taking in the sight before him.
The defensive line was already formed.
It stretched across the top of a hill, organized and structured in a way that made it clear this wasn't a rushed effort. Rows of soldiers stood in formation, their positions carefully arranged. Supply carts had even been dragged all the way through the forest, lined up behind the front.
"…That's not small," Arin murmured.
If he had to estimate, there were at least a hundred thousand troops present. Maybe more.
This wasn't just a response.
It was preparation.
Arin made his way up the hill, heading straight for the supply wagons. His focus was simple—arrows. After the previous day's hunting, he was nearly out.
"…There."
He spotted them quickly and grabbed what he needed without hesitation, pulling five sleeves of arrows and securing them in place. That would last him for a while.
As he turned, he immediately felt the attention on him.
Eyes.
Whispers.
Judgment.
He ignored it, but it still registered.
"…Not my unit."
These people didn't know him. They didn't understand how his unit operated. Which meant this was going to be annoying.
"Hey."
The voice came exactly as expected.
Arin turned, already knowing what he would see.
An officer.
Annoyed.
Demanding.
"…Of course."
"Yes?" Arin replied calmly, finishing securing his arrows.
The officer's expression tightened at his tone. "Who are you? What happened to your unit? And why are you taking supplies without permission?"
Arin blinked once, clearly unimpressed.
"I'm Arin Sonneberg," he said flatly. "Special unit Moonhawks, Legion 23. We have permission to operate independently."
He gestured slightly toward the arrows.
"And I'm out of ammunition. That's why I'm here."
The officer's expression darkened further, clearly dissatisfied with the lack of deference.
"…Is there anything else?" Arin added. "If not, I'm going to find a position."
That was the breaking point.
The officer stepped forward, reaching for him.
A mistake.
In the next instant, a blade was pressed against his neck.
Cold.
Precise.
Unavoidable.
Arin's expression hadn't changed, but something about him had. The air itself felt heavier, sharper, as a faint killing intent seeped out.
"…Don't," he said quietly.
The officer froze.
"We're both adults," Arin continued, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge. "Let's not make this worse than it needs to be."
There was a pause.
Then Arin stepped back, the blade disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.
"Next time you try something like that," he added, "I will kill you."
No anger.
Just certainty.
Without waiting for a response, Arin turned and walked away. Within seconds, he was already climbing a tree, disappearing into the cover of the branches as if he had never been there at all.
Below, the officer remained still for a moment, clearly shaken. Around him, soldiers exchanged looks—some amused, some impressed, and some simply satisfied at seeing him put in his place.
Up in the tree, Arin finally let out a small sigh as he sat down and pulled out his food.
"…That ruined the mood."
He had actually been looking forward to the fight. Now, instead, he had to deal with unnecessary complications.
He took a bite and looked out toward the forest, where the threat was slowly approaching.
"…I just hope the captain knows about our unit."
Because if not, things could get troublesome quickly.
From what he had seen and heard, some of these groups took hierarchy very seriously. Strict rules. Clear authority. Absolute obedience.
"…That won't work for us."
Not for his family.
Not for how they lived.
He leaned back slightly against the trunk, his thoughts drifting as he continued eating.
"…We wouldn't last in that kind of system."
And if pushed—
Well.
He already knew how that would end.
Arin closed his eyes briefly, recalling fragments of what he had read in the family archives after turning eighteen. The stories, the rules, the consequences.
"…Yeah."
Those weren't just stories.
They were warnings.
He opened his eyes again, his gaze steady as he looked toward the horizon.
"…This is going to get complicated."