The Regression Of A Grand Mercenary

In an unexpected turn of events….the winds suddenly picked up and with it, came a storm that covered the entire forest. It was only midday and already, I could tell that this storm was going to be a game changer. Because it was winter, it wasn’t rain that fell from the sky but hail…

As usual, I was over the skies, looking over all of the boys who were slowly making their way to the goblin camp. Despite the rough ice that came crashing down on the floor, the ice that came at me didn’t struck me. Under my elemental affinity with the winds, I made a barrier of wind to block every hail that fell on my body.

As for the boys…each of them carried a shield over their heads to protect themselves from the icy rocks. It was a rough sight, but looking at them, I can tell that they were enduring both the fear and pain of walking the path.

I’ve already laid out a plan for them to follow…and if they do it right, this entire operation can be another stepping stone for their growth.

The emphasis for this operation was all about trapping.

Preparations were now done. With the six hours we spent in preparing, our attack was now being pushed forward.

Traps were being carried, groups were making their way to their own positions and expectations were high.

But despite all this, I lied to them…

There was something more to the goblin camp than what meets the eye. It wasn’t just the shamans…no, something was inside the camp that none of them can ever take on. Even if they all go at it all at once…

It may seem like the mission is going to be a success, but not everything will always go according to plan. Missions are never truly as one sided as it seems.

***

In the rough terrain, Astin was with his group. They counted to about ten boys…and with them, was a large cart covered with a tarp. With no horses to aid them in their missions, they were the ones pushing the cart across the thick forest.

It was hard…but still, they persevered.

‘…Fuck, I didn’t think that a hail storm would come around all of a sudden. Thankfully, it won’t last long. Hailstorms don’t usually last long.’ he thought.

But unexpectedly, the hail lasted the entire walk…And it continued on even still.

“Khk….fucking storm!” he shouted out of anger. Bruises were found on their arms and chest from all the hail that was falling from the sky…so even when the mission had barely started, they were already injured.

Yet through it all, they finally arrived at their designated position.

Placing the cart on its spot, they began to prepare.

Although it was hard to prepare with the continuous drop of rock hard ice, they didn’t waver to back away. There was no order of any plans being changed…so that meant that things were moving forward.

Everything was ready…

And with it, they waited for the signal.

***

Mario led a group of 20 boys with him…and their role in this plan was to act as the frontal bait.

It was a hard position to stand on, but it needed to be done. Out of every position there was in the plan, they were put in the most precarious role.

With ten boys leading upfront with their shields, and the other ten boys with their spears pointing far on forward from behind the shields, it was a typical defensive tactic used in wars that was called the Phalanx formation. Although in their case, it was a weaker and more smaller version that didn’t count to over a hundred men in line.

This was a form that was taught to be the most effective because of the fact that it played a role on where they were currently standing on.

A tight valley that stood between two vertical mountain walls that made their escape impossible from both sides except the rear. And in front of them stood the main entrance of the Goblin camp.

They were placing themselves in a very difficult position.

Yet still, Mario trusted his Captain’s plans…so in his position, he grabbed his flare and he fired it against the storm, up to the skies.

Like a star in an endless void, the flare shined against the strong winds and caught the attention of everyone who was ready to take action.

War was about to take place.

***

As Mario raised the red flare into the air, the signal was made. A bright streak shot into the sky and exploded into a vivid flare. That was the sign the other three mountain groups had been waiting for.

And just as his flare was fired, barrels of explosives rolled down from where they were standing and it stopped by the very front of the entrance. One second later, it exploded and destroyed the gate…causing it to fall.

This caught the attention of every goblin who was near in the vicinity.

It didn’t take long before goblins started rushing in. With over a number of thirty goblins carrying crooked weapons coated in their own filth, they ran at the boys with no hesitation at all. Despite the hail falling on their faces, they ran at the boys with pure rage for intruding in their home.

The boys, with nothing to fear…slowly marched forward with their spears ahead.

Slowly but surely, they were making way…and soon, they came face to face with a wave of goblins.

In their Phalanx position, Goblins leaped at them with their drooling madness. But once they came close, spears were lunged at their bodies and they were skewered instantly.

One after another, Goblins rushed at them with no hesitation placed. Because this was a surprised attack, the Goblins did not have any sort of preparation to follow. No plan other than to defend their home in their own savage way.

Slowly, Mario and the boys were making their way into the camp. As they slowly did, their pace was getting slower because of the number of goblins piling up their way.

At that moment, when they couldn’t push ahead anymore…the second phase of the trap was now moving forward.

At the counted time…where fifteen minutes passed, Astin gritted his teeth, crouched behind a large boulder overlooking the goblin camp. Beside him were five large jars filled to the brim with high-grade black powder and metal shrapnel. The fuse cords were already lit.

“One…” he whispered. “Two… Three!”

With one pull of a lever, a miniature catapult the size of a person fired the jars up into the air and into the goblin’s camp.

The moment it crashed down to a tent, an explosive fire came the next moment.

BOOM!

A violent explosion ripped through one of the goblin barracks. Flames shot high into the sky as goblins screamed in pain and confusion.

More jars followed.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

From three different angles, fire and destruction rained down upon the camp. Barracks collapsed. Goblins fled in panic. Their shrieks echoed through the mountains, loud enough to shake the bones of the earth.

Some tried to organize. Shamans began chanting. Warriors reached for crude weapons made of bone, rusted iron, and wood. But they had no targets—no clear enemy to fight…except for the twenty boys who were at the front of the entrance.

It didn’t take long for the fire to spread all over the camp. Goblins died one after the other in a gruesome fiery death.

And then the walls blew up.

Three massive explosions tore open the eastern, northern, and southern walls of the goblin camp. Wooden barricades splintered into debris. A few of the goblins were crushed by the blast alone.

Out from the smoke came the boys. Clad in full protective armor, their steel swords gleamed under the flickering light of the flames. These were not half-starved children with sticks. These were trained fighters, armed and armored for war.

The massacre began.

Steel met flesh. Swords sliced through goblin necks and torsos like paper. The first wave of goblins fell without landing a single blow. They didn’t stand a chance.

Astin’s group came charging down the mountainside, covered in soot and blood, their blades drawn. They hit the goblins from the side with a vengeance.

Another goblin screamed—a shriek that ended as a sword plunged through its chest.

“Don’t give them room to breathe!” Astin yelled.

His men complied. They pressed forward with practiced coordination. Shields up, swords swinging. Goblins that fought back were cut down in seconds. The boys were faster, stronger, more equipped.

They were killers.

Soon, another group of boys came to assist Mario’s position. The goblins who were tasked with killing Mario’s group were then caught off guard by ten boys who came and attacked them from behind. It didn’t take long before Mario and his team were relieved of the bait position..

And from then on, Mario’s unit had abandoned the phalanx and charged in from the front entrance. Goblins scrambled to retaliate, but the sight of armored boys cutting through their kind created panic. Warriors dropped their weapons, but the Shamans tried to create order in the chaos.

Each Shaman had a control of five goblins…but even with that, they were surrounded by fully armored boys who were out for the kill.

In instinct, the shamans casted a spell that enhanced the killing instincts of the ten goblins. And in retaliation, they ordered them to attack. Each goblin went to deal with the boys, but the boys knew this would happen, so they paired themselves with another nearby member. Two against one enhanced goblin was the safest way to deal with such a crude spell.

The goblins could not overpower the boys even with the help of the spells casted by the shamans.

One by one, the goblins died and what was left were the shamans.

The boys knew that Shamans were different compared to normal goblins. They were the mages that could always turn the tides. And with the order given that none should be left alive by their captain, they couldn’t take the risk of letting these shamans escape.

The fires still raged across the goblin camp. Smoke rolled into the sky like black thunderclouds, and beneath it all, the battlefield echoed with metal clashing, bones snapping, and goblins screaming. And yet, the real threat had only just begun.

The Shamans stood at the center of the camp, surrounded by the burning remnants of their kin. They were taller than the others—gaunt, twisted figures with long, crooked staffs and cracked bones hanging from their belts. Their eyes glowed faintly with corrupted mana, and their mouths moved in whispers no one could understand.

Two remained.

Two of the strongest magic wielders in the goblin tribe.

And they weren’t going to die like the rest.

As the boys closed in from all directions, the air around the Shamans warped. The heat from the fire was suddenly drawn into their staffs. Cold winds blew as mana pulsed around them in thick waves.

“Formation!” Astin barked. “Don’t let them cast freely!”

A hail of magic suddenly erupted from the Shamans. Bolts of green lightning cracked through the smoke, striking one of the boys clean in the chest. His armor absorbed the brunt of it—but he was sent flying into a shattered barricade. He groaned, but he was alive.

“Flash bombs! Now!” shouted Astin.

From his side pouch, one of the boys pulled out a fist-sized iron orb etched with silver runes. He yanked the cap and tossed it into the center of the Shamans.

The orb pulsed once…twice…

BOOM!

A shockwave of silence blasted outward. For five whole seconds, the area around the Shamans fell quiet. Their chanting stopped. Their magic fizzled into nothing. They were blinded and put into a state of noiseless-death.

And that was all the time the boys needed.

They surged forward with terrifying precision—trained blades moving as one unit.

Four boys went for the nearest Shaman. Their swords struck fast, coordinated in rhythm. The Shaman raised a staff to block the incoming strikes, and successfully, it deflected the swords away. But the barrier alone wasn’t enough to crush their spirits.

They continued hacking at the barrier with all their strengths and the Shaman cowered in fear of their blades.

Another Shaman retaliated by swinging his staff low and wide, causing a wall of thorns to erupt from the ground. One boy was caught, his leg pierced—but the other jumped above the wall and came down with a blade right between the goblin’s shoulders. Their swords pierced through, but it wasn’t enough to kill.

In its efforts, the shaman pushed the boy away who struck it’s shoulder. Once he was free from their blades, he quickly casted a healing spell on himself. Immediately the wound was fixed but his enemies were still near.

Irritated, Mario shouted an order.

“This isn’t going to be enough! We need to act in formation! Twister form! Twister form now!!” he said.

And to his order, the boys quickly followed suit.

They all began to move in unison. And instead of going to attack the shamans, they instead began running around the shamans at their highest speed. Even with the armor, they were running without any difficulties.

Like a forming twister, the boys were both creating confusion for the Shamans with their formations.

About twelve boys were in the formation…circling the shamans like a prey cornered. Surrounded, the Shamans were ready for anything to come their way, but…soon, the formation took effect.

As they were circling the shamans, soon, their formation got tighter and more faster…and once this happened, they pulled out their swords and started slashing the shamans.

It was a twister of swords that the shamans were trapped in.

Slowly but surely blades wer cuttting through their flesh. Dozen at a time.

And the shamans couldn’t take the time to heal their bodies as is. When they tried to cast a spell, the boys would simply evade and join in to the formation again. The shamans could not destroy the formation.

The twister formation both caused injury and confusion from how the boys were creating the illusion of being more than what they seemed.

This illusion caused the Shaman’s to hesitate to act.

And once Mario noticed this…it was time to act on the final attack of the formation.

Mario didn’t flinch.

With one call, he ordered everyone to follow suit.

“Eye of the storm!”

And just like that, he lunged forward.

Everyone did.

Twelve boys jumped at the shamans all at the same time.

And to its effectiveness, the shamans were stabbed with six swords each to their chest and back.

But it wasn’t enough.

In revolt, the Shamans screamed in unison and blasted a wave of force. Mario raised his shield just in time, skidding back a few steps but holding the line. Another boy came from the side, slicing at the Shaman’s leg. It stumbled—and Mario bashed it with his shield, knocking it flat.

“No mercy!” Mario shouted. His sword plunged down, cutting the creature’s head from its body. One shaman was down…

But the battle only escalated from there as only one shaman was left.

The Shaman fought like a cornered beast—throwing curses, fireballs, frost spikes—whatever magic they had left.

The camp became a hellscape of war and magic.

It summoned a swarm of shadow-wasps—tiny creatures that flew like needles, piercing through air toward the nearest boy. He ducked, rolled, and tossed a firebomb from his belt into the Shaman’s chest. It ignited on impact—engulfing the Shaman in a searing blast of flame.

Its screams were short-lived.

In that chance, Astin cut through . He was fast—light on his feet, deadly with his blade. His eyes locked onto the Shaman, who was burning in place—, yet even as it burned, its hands were emitting a magical residue that Astin couldn’t help but notice.

“Not happening,” Astin growled.

He hurled his sword like a javelin. The blade flew straight and true—piercing the Shaman through the throat before it could finish the chant. The magic vanished before it fully took shape.

And from there…the battle ended.

Or so they thought.

As Astin stared at the dying body of the shaman…he noticed that in its eye, there was still a spark of determination left.

And like an explosive bomb, the shaman suddenly surprised the boys with a pressure of magic so heavy, they couldn’t help but raise their shields.

“!!?”

A screech followed its efforts…but after that, silence came.

“…I thought it was going to do one last attack.” said Astin.

But looking at the Shaman, it was clearly dead.

“I guess it was just one of those final struggles…” said Mario.

Exhausted, the boys looked relieved at the sight of its dead corpse.

The mission was a success..and to it, they all couldn’t help but feel proud of themselves.

They started chanting…screaming in victory.

They were just about to celebrate.

The boys stood amidst the ruined goblin camp, the fires finally beginning to die down, their bodies soaked in sweat, blood, and the sting of battle. Laughter began to bubble from a few of them—relieved, triumphant. Swords were raised, shields clanged together in victory, and for a brief moment, it felt like it was over.

They had won.

But then… they heard it.

A roar.

Not a goblin’s screech. Not the howl of a beast or the thunder of another shaman’s magic.

This was something else.

It was primal. Deep. It rumbled through the earth and echoed across the cold winter skies like a curse spat out by the underworld itself. It hit them in their chests, in their bones, and in their souls.

Every laugh died.

Every hand lowered.

Even the wind held its breath.

Then it happened.

BOOM!

An explosion rocked the battlefield, shaking the ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t from the walls or the surrounding forest. No—this one came from within. From the very heart of the goblin stronghold.

From the cave.

All eyes turned toward it. Smoke curled upward in thick, black coils. Debris scattered from the entrance, and stones rolled down the side of the cliffs. The air grew heavy. Thick. Tainted with something dark and foul.

And then it walked out.

A massive figure—taller than any man, even larger than bulls. Its skin was a sickly green, but not the kind that pulsed with life like other orcs. This was dried and cracked, parts of it rotted and eaten away. Its chest was broad and heaving, yet it showed no signs of breathing. Instead, it moved with eerie purpose, like it wasn’t driven by instinct or rage—but by command.

Tattoos glowed faintly all across its skin—blood-red ink burned into its flesh in twisted patterns. From its arms to its neck, down its sides, coiling like serpents of magic. Ancient symbols. Forbidden ones. Symbols not meant for the living.

And its eyes…

They glowed.

A dull, poisonous green. Hollow, lifeless—and yet watching.

“It’s… it’s an orc,” someone whispered.

“No,” said Astin, voice grim, stepping forward. “It’s something worse.”

An undead orc.

The monster lifted its head—and roared again, louder this time, enough to make the fires flicker and the boys flinch.

The undead orc wasn’t idle.

It stepped forward—and the very earth groaned beneath it. In one hand, it held a weapon unlike anything they’d seen before. A club—or a hammer—crafted not of metal, but of bone. Enormous, jagged, and inscribed with the same glowing red tattoos.

It let out a final roar—and charged.

Straight toward the boys…

And before they knew what happened, something fell from the skies.

It wasn’t a bomb…nor was it a large hail. Instead, when the dust cleared, they all saw that before the very undead orc was a large sword embedded deep in the ground and beside it was Thill…

“Good job with dealing with the shamans…I guess you guys did listen to my lectures after all. Now, before things escalate any further, I should deal with the rotting corpse in front of me.”

“…” the orc was silent…

And in its eerie stare, Thill couldn’t help but reminisce at the sight of this creature.

‘Hahaha, despite being an undead…an orc is still an orc. And looking at his tattoos, I can see that his rank is quite tall.’

The orc scoffed at Thill…looking down at him because of his size. But Thill wasn’t bothered. Instead…he smiled.

“Hehehe…an orc is still an orc.” he said as all of a sudden, a smile appeared before his very expression that would give anyone nightmares.

It was here that he would remind the orc why he was once called the Wind-Crazed Orc slayer…