However, Magister Seraph showed no interest in such spoils, leaving them entirely untouched. He had granted the tower sentries full permission to scavenge the remains as they saw fit.
The sheer value of over two hundred goblins was enough to commission missions from Sanctus two or three times over. This was the primary reason Maldrin was so intent on securing Seraph's aid for the future.
"Tell me, have you expedited the survey of the burrows? I must move to exterminate the entire brood," Seraph pressed, his tone sharpening.
"Oh! This region is our home; we know these lands intimately," Maldrin declared with burgeoning excitement. "Though the goblins carved out three distinct tunnels, we've already unearthed them and charted exactly where they emerge!"
Seraph refused to let the matter of the goblins rest. If it were within his power, he intended to purge them until not a single one remained. Consequently, the young man was far from satisfied with the tally of nearly two hundred goblins recorded upon his Sanctus Scroll.
He had previously tasked Maldrin and the reinforcing sentry units to conduct a clandestine sweep of the burrows. The reason the goblin horde had successfully breached the Vespass Sentry Tower was due to these three subterranean arteries snaking into the heart of the outpost.
Though the Vespass tower sentries had detected anomalies, their response to the crisis had been sluggish and woefully inept. In the end, it was this very failure that had precipitated the fall of the Vespass Sentry Tower.
However, after the scouts conducted their investigation, they discovered the three goblin burrows delving deep into the compound. Each egress was concealed within huts that the sentries had failed to monitor—the original inhabitants of those dwellings having been slaughtered long before.
Goblins, regardless of their sub-species, remained the weakest demons within the Demon Legion. Yet, despite their frailty, their carcasses and severed parts fetched a high price in the human markets, rendering them a primary target for the hunt.
Most demons are adept at veiling their dens with masterful deceit. Low-tier minions, such as goblins, are especially guarded, never revealing their hidden sanctums. They strike in silence and vanish like mist; when the hunt begins, they go to ground so thoroughly that unearthing a demonic hive is a monumental feat.
"Can I infiltrate these burrows?" Seraph asked.
"Er... you could, though I'd hardly recommend it," Maldrin replied, his brow furrowed.
"And why is that? Do I require a permit, or some such nonsense?" Seraph countered, his gaze narrowing.
"Goblins are considerably shorter than men; they prefer to skitter on all fours like warthogs. Consequently, they dig their tunnels incredibly low and narrow. If you wish to crawl on your hands and knees, you might pass, but you'd find it impossible to wage combat in such a space..." Maldrin explained.
"Then can you estimate where the terminus of these burrows lies?" Seraph pressed.
"On that matter, you're asking the right man! We've patrolled these sectors incessantly. We know every fold of this terrain, and it's led us to a startling revelation..." Maldrin said, his voice laced with intrigue.
"What is it? Out with it, man!" Seraph urged, his patience fraying.
"Ha! Very well! I was merely going to say that they've been nesting right under our bloody noses!" Maldrin declared, his mood buoyed by newfound cheer.
The commander was in high spirits, knowing he'd reap the coin from the carcasses the magis had so indifferently cast aside. Since the young man had expressed a desire to purge the horde without demanding an additional scroll, Maldrin's humour was at its peak.
"Continue! Tell me everything," Seraph commanded.
"The subterranean veins lead directly to a dead-end canyon—a sunless abyss where even the light cannot reach," Maldrin whispered, as if reciting a dark legend.
"Is the canyon truly so labyrinthine? That you failed to detect an entire brood until now?" Seraph asked, his brow knitted in disbelief.
"To call it labyrinthine would be a gross understatement!" Maldrin replied, his eyes distant. "That sequestered vale doesn't even have a name. Its entrance is nothing more than a narrow fissure in the stone. Not far from the tower, there's a cramped cavern hugging the cliffside—a passage so slender that men must traverse it in single file. You can't even walk abreast."
Maldrin leaned in, his voice dropping. "Once you emerge from that tunnel's maw, you're in a dead-end canyon. Above, only minuscule apertures allow a stray beam of light to bleed through. The entire basin has but a single egress—that very cavern mouth. The air is stifling, stagnant; a man forced to linger there would surely suffocate! There's nothing of value there, and because the trek is so arduous, we never bothered with a full survey. I never imagined a goblin horde would go to ground in such a godforsaken place!"
"Are you suggesting the hive has been nesting there all this time? Are you certain?" Seraph could scarcely credit what he was hearing.
"If not there, then they've no other sanctuary left," Maldrin affirmed.
"Excellent. Tonight, I'll survey the site. Marshal your unit and follow me, but you're to remain outside. I'll deal with the vermin myself!" Seraph commanded with absolute finality.
"Er... Magister, that canyon is a sealed vault," Maldrin cautioned, his face pale with dread. "If you unleash that same hellish flamus mageia, you might well bring the entire mountain down upon our heads!"
After the various units had witnessed the aftermath of the 'Night of the Verdant Pyre', even those who hadn't been present began to weave tall tales. They carried the accounts back to their own strongholds, recounting the struggle with such vividity it was as if they'd witnessed every strike of the mageia themselves.
Some sentries recounted a mageia war; some claimed Magister Seraph had unleashed the very fires of hell to incinerate the horde. Others whispered that Seraph was a half-demon, swearing they'd witnessed him rending goblin flesh and devouring it whole while the creatures still drew breath.
In certain towers, Seraph's reputation had twisted into something monstrous—a demon who fed upon his own kind. Yet, the young man remained blissfully unaware of these distorted legends.
"I'm no half-demon! I possess no demonic fel, nor can I command the fires of the abyss! What occurred was merely the culmination of a calculated strategy. I executed my plan, and it bore fruit. That is all," Seraph explained, his voice heavy with weary resignation.
Over the past two days, Seraph had attempted to clarify the events of that night to numerous Arkflame units. Yet, the sentries remained unconvinced by his denials. When they beheld the blackened expanse of the meadow—charred so thoroughly it had nearly ignited a forest fire—and heard the testimonies of the townsfolk, they trusted only what their own eyes and nostrils confirmed.
The villagers spoke with a single voice: Seraph had wielded demonic flamus mageia, or perhaps a hellish storm spell. Many went so far as to swear before the divine that they'd seen pillars of true evil flame.
This was no idle jest. Half-demons were a grim reality, often sired when demons took humans to breed. Though these crossbreeds could harness a portion of demonic fel, they could never fully purge their innate, bestial ferocity; ultimately, the fate of most half-demons was a tragic one.