CHAPTER 61: CHAPTER 60

The earth trembled.

High above the forest canopy, golden eagle scouts circled in tense silence, their sharp eyes tracking a moving tide of fur and muscle. Below, the trees shuddered and parted as massive forms lumbered through—the bears had arrived.

They weren’t just big.

They were colossal.

Each one stood as tall as a war elephant, fur rippling like waves of dark moss over muscle-packed frames. With every step, the ground moaned beneath their weight. Branches cracked. Roots snapped. The forest yielded to their presence.

Then came the threshold.

As the first of the monstrous bears crossed into the goblin territory, all hell broke loose.

From the dense underbrush, Lumberling, Skarn, Aren, Takkar, and Vakk exploded forward like shadows from a nightmare. Their weapons gleamed in the morning light, and they struck with precision honed by survival.

Boom.

Smoke bombs hissed and erupted around the beasts, choking the air with clouds of sulfur and ash. Firecrackers and concussive blasts thundered through the trees, bouncing off rocks and shattering birds from the canopy. The air filled with the scent of burning leaves, the tang of steel, and panic.

It worked.

For a heartbeat—chaos reigned.

The bears stumbled, blinking against the fog, their roars confused and clumsy. One tripped over a root and rolled with an earthshaking thud. Blood splashed as minor wounds opened across their legs and snouts.

And then—

It came.

A deep, guttural roar—not like the others—ripped through the haze like the scream of a god.

BOOOOOOM.

Not a sound. A shockwave. It silenced the forest.

All movement ceased. Even the smoke seemed to pause, held in reverence or fear.

The smaller bears turned as one, their disorder melting into grim unity. From the smoke, two colossal shadows emerged. Titans.

Mated alpha bears. Their fur glistened like wet stone, mottled with scars, their eyes burning like embers in a cave. One of them—the largest by far—bore a jagged scar that ran from shoulder to chest, like a canyon carved by war.

Lumberling stiffened, his hand tightening on his spear until the leather grip groaned.

"Two alphas. Quasi-Knight level."

"This just got worse."

Before orders could be given, Skitz was gone—a blur of motion and bloodlust.

"Let’s see if they hit harder than trolls," he whispered to no one, and then appeared in front of the alpha bear like a reaper from mist.

CRACK!

His fist collided with the beast’s snout, sending shockwaves through its skull and snapping its head to the side with a bellow of surprise. The titan reeled, stunned. But Skitz was already dancing back—grinning—just as the second alpha lunged to defend its mate.

A massive paw sliced through the air like a guillotine, narrowly missing Skitz’s chest.

They were about to strike again—

When the forest roared back.

"GRAOAAAAAAARR!!!"

Not bear. Not man. Not beast.

Something worse. Something deeper.

It came from the trees—an otherworldly war cry amplified by warhorns carved like wolves, their echoes bouncing off stone, wood, and fear itself.

The bears froze.

Even the alphas faltered.

Their ears twitched. Eyes narrowed. Heads tilted. And for the first time—they hesitated.

.....

Elsewhere in the Forest.

A mist hung low over the treetops, thick and motionless, as if the woods themselves were holding their breath.

And then—

ROOOOOAAAAARGGHHHHHHHHH!

The sound blasted through the trees, rolling like thunder over hills and ravines. It didn’t come from a beast—but it sounded like one. Worse than one. It sounded like a forest gone mad.

In a hidden clearing, Gobo1 and Gobo2 stood on makeshift wooden platforms, legs braced, cheeks puffed red as they poured every drop of air from their lungs into two enormous war horns, shaped like snarling wolves. Each note was amplified, distorted—primal.

The horns wailed and roared in unison, sending out waves of sound that bounced between the trees like echoes of a slumbering god awakening.

Nearby, Gorakk raised his hammer high and slammed it down onto boulders and old logs, each impact rippling through the horn strapped to his back. Every smash sounded like the footsteps of a colossal predator, stomping and rampaging just beyond the fog.

CRASH!

BOOOM!

RUMBLE...

Gobo1 took a wheezing breath. "You hear that? I’m louder. I’m the Beastcaller."

Gobo2, red-faced, shrieked between gasps, "What?! You sound like a dying squirrel!"

"I sound like a dire squirrel! That’s ten times scarier!"

Gorakk growled, slamming another log into splinters. "Enough! Roar now, fight later!"

He raised his hammer again and smashed it down. The forest shook.

Somewhere far off, a flock of birds took flight in a chaotic spiral, and more than one bear—already shaken—turned in place, nose twitching, ears swiveling toward the haunting sounds.

The illusion worked.

The woods echoed with fabricated monsters—giants that never existed, predators hidden just beyond the veil. The bears couldn’t see what was roaring.

And that was what made it terrifying.

Back in the clearing, Gobo1 and Gobo2 sucked in another breath, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"One more time?" Gobo1 asked, winded but grinning.

"Only if I get to be the death howl."

"Fine. But no squirrel this time."

Gorakk rolled his eyes.

"Idiots or not," he muttered, watching the trees tremble from their efforts, "you’re doing your part."

He raised his hammer again—and the forest roared with them.

.....

Back at the Village

The goblin walls stood quiet. Taut. The air itself felt like it was holding its breath.

On the highest rampart, Grakk paced in tight circles, arms folded, jaw clenched. His eyes never left the distant treeline where the horizon swallowed the last trace of their Lord and his vanguard.

Beside him, Krivex leaned casually against the wooden battlement, watching the same horizon. He didn’t say anything at first.

"...Nervous for your master?" he finally asked, not unkindly.

Grakk grunted. "I’ve seen what’s out there. Bears. Not like the ones in storybooks. These things are monsters—walking mountains with teeth."

He stopped pacing and stared forward.

"One bear is bad enough. A whole group? That’s suicide."

Krivex nodded slowly, folding his arms. "You’re not wrong."

He glanced toward the cloudy skies, where a single golden eagle soared wide circles in the distance.

"But I’ve also seen our Lord walk straight into death and come back with a bigger army. Seen him bleed, then smile. Seen him raise monsters... and turn them into family."

Grakk grunted again. "Doesn’t make him invincible."

"No," Krivex said with a faint smile. "Just too stubborn to die."

A quiet pause stretched between them. Below, villagers whispered and gathered near the central square. No one was laughing. Everyone waited.

Grakk finally sighed and leaned on the railing beside Krivex.

"I hope you’re right."

Krivex’s gaze didn’t waver.

"I usually am."

.....

The forest trembled.

The alpha bears had halted.

Shadows loomed in the mist—moving shapes that shouldn’t have been there. War horns echoed with unnatural force, mimicking the fury of giants. Trees shook from the sound, their leaves rippling as if in fear.

Then came the boar cavalry.

Massive armored boars burst through the haze, tusks shining, riders shouting in unison. Their formation was tight—blades drawn, shields up, their clamor a storm of steel and thunder. Behind them, the infantry emerged, goblins and kobolds alike, marching in sync, shields raised and clashing in rhythm, the sheer volume vibrating through the underbrush.

They were a wall of noise, metal, and intent.

Even the bravest bear flinched.

The alpha—scarred, hulking, eyes narrowed—lifted his head and released a thunderous roar to rally his kin.

But it was drowned out.

Another war horn blasted. Its cry cut through the air like a beast from legend—deeper, older, hungrier.

Silence fell.

Then came a new sound: Skitz’s laughter, ragged and sharp. He grinned through bloodied fangs, his broken arm hanging limply, his eyes wild with battle hunger.

The alpha bear met his gaze.

Then turned to Lumberling, who stood surrounded by captains. Calm. Steady. Unyielding.

The second war horn echoed through the valley, deeper this time—angrier. It didn’t sound like goblins. It didn’t sound like anything natural.

The younger bears near the front faltered. One let out a confused, high-pitched growl and turned slightly, as if ready to flee.

A guttural snarl from the alpha snapped them back into line. But even it couldn’t hide the twitch in its ear, the way its massive paw paused mid-step.

One of the mid-ranked bears sniffed the air, then paced in a slow arc—looking for an enemy it couldn’t see.

Behind them, the forest roared again. And this time, even the bravest among them took a step back.

The scarred beast hesitated.

Then, with a rumbling growl, he made the call.

Retreat.

One by one, the bears began to back away—slow, deliberate. Their growls echoed with frustration, but their leader had spoken. And the goblins responded—not with weapons, but with shouts, cheers, and the steady clanging of shields, letting the forest itself know they were not prey today.

An eagle landed on Lumberling’s shoulder.

He gave a soft whistle, and it soared back into the sky, vanishing into the clouds to watch the enemy’s retreat.

"Did they really leave?" Skitz muttered, breath shallow. He winced, cradling his arm.

"We’ll know soon," Lumberling said. "But no one lowers their guard until I say so."

He turned back to the misty woods.

This was how you scared predators: confuse them, overwhelm them, and make them believe they weren’t the hunters anymore.

"They’re strong," Skitz murmured. "That alpha... I thought he’d be like the Vine Serpent, but that thing—he hits like a mountain."

"I agree," Vakk added grimly. "Even our strongest captains could barely hold ground."

Aren stood silent, pale, gripping his sword until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The fear was plain.

They all knew it now: a real battle would’ve been a massacre.

Lumberling glanced at them—his battered, brave captains—and offered only this:

"If this hadn’t worked, we’d have found another way. We always do."

Then, gently: "Let me see your arm, Skitz."

.....

Hours passed.

The eagle returned, circling once before landing with a quiet flutter. Lumberling read its report.

The bears were moving east. Away from their territory.

Lumberling exhaled slowly, feeling the weight drain from his shoulders.

Cheers rang out behind him. Weapons clashed in triumph. Skitz let out a sharp, relieved laugh—though he still cradled his arm.

But Lumberling didn’t cheer.

He stared at the empty treeline the bears had vanished into, expression unreadable.

’One threat down,’ he thought.’ How many more until this forest eats us alive?’

His fingers tightened on his spear—not in fear, but in preparation.

But for time being they’d done it.

Not with brute strength—but with fear. With illusion. With unity.

"Yahoo!! They’re gone!!" a goblin shouted from the rear ranks.

The relief was instant.

Laughter broke out. Cheers followed. Some fell to their knees, some hugged their comrades, others simply dropped their weapons and wept.

And the captains—the hardened ones who stood against Knight-level beasts—let their masks fall. They smiled. Takkar shouted with triumph. Even Skarn exhaled with a crooked grin.

But they all knew the truth.

If the bears had pressed forward... they wouldn’t be laughing now.

Lumberling stood among them and said, simply:

"For now... we live another day."

He turned to the captains, his voice steady again.

"Gather the troops. Someone find Gobo1’s group. We’re heading home."