CHAPTER 130: THE BAIT

Steve grunted softly as his eyes swept across the scorched horizon of the town of Mirrors.

The wind carried with it the scent of ash, the bitter tang of dried blood, and the sour stench of rot. Once a thriving town, Meru now lay in pieces—reduced to shattered beams, burnt stone, and charred memories.

The cliffs that boxed the settlement in bled dark stains where creatures had fallen—or been dragged screaming to their deaths.

Yet Steve stood in silence, half-crouched in the cover of a thorny bush. His gaze cut across the ruined landscape, searching for something—.

Strings.

He was looking for them again.

’Just one... just one string would’ve been enough. That’s all I need to know they’re close.’

But there was nothing. The breeze shifted, ruffling the dying grass, but no strings stirred.

Steve narrowed his eyes.

’Damn it. If there are no strings, then they’re not here.’

It was a relief. And a disappointment.

He let out a breath and slowly stood up, letting the leaves fall away from his shoulders. The earth crunched faintly beneath his boots, and he moved forward—silent and careful, like a shadow threading its way between bones.

His eyes flicked left, then right. Every step was placed with the care of a man used to being hunted. The silence pressed in from all sides—too complete, too watchful.

He wasn’t just looking. He was hunting.

Or at least... trying to.

As he crossed into the broken heart of Mirrors, the buildings loomed like gravestones. Blackened walls still stood in jagged rows, some nothing more than hollow teeth against the dying sky.

Then he saw it—the remains of the old marketplace.

Steve stopped.

’This is where it all started.’

A flicker of memory danced in the back of his mind.

’My first harem encounter.’ he thought bitterly.

’Gods, I didn’t think it would all go to shit this fast.’

He shook his head, as if trying to physically dislodge the memory.

"No." he muttered to himself.

"Keep your head in the game."

’You’re not here to reminisce. You’re here to slay the goblins.’

He pressed on, picking his way through the rubble. Every corner he turned held the same result—nothing. No strings. No goblins.

Just silence.

Time crawled. Minutes? Hours? It was hard to tell. The sun had sunk low behind the cliffs, bleeding red into the world. Shadows lengthened and stretched, until even the air felt heavier. The entire town had become a graveyard—and Steve had searched every inch of it.

When he finally stopped, it was near a half-collapsed building. He let out a sharp exhale and rubbed a hand down his face.

"Nothing," he muttered.

With a grunt, he dropped down onto one of the cracked stone slabs littering the street. It wobbled under his weight but held. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, gaze distant.

’Dammit. Not even a trace of blood to follow.’

He looked out across the town again.

’I can’t even find a single goblin. This place should’ve been crawling with them. What the hell happened?’

He sat in silence for a moment, then ran a hand through his dust-ridden hair.

’I don’t have time to chase shadows. Sarah’s still out there—maybe. If she’s still alive, every second I waste here is another second too long.’

His jaw tightened.

’I can’t afford to wait anymore. If they won’t come to me, then I’ll draw them in.’

The idea sparked in his mind, crude but desperate.

’I light a fire. Make it big enough, bright enough. If just a few of them see it and come to investigate, I can ambush them. Take them down quietly. Then I move before the whole damn clan wakes up.’

He stood.

’It’s reckless... but I don’t have much of a choice.’

With renewed purpose, Steve began scavenging. He moved from ruin to ruin, pulling loose wooden beams, torn bits of leather, dried cloth—anything flammable—from the wreckage.

Some of the timber was damp with old blood. He didn’t care.

When he’d gathered enough, he returned to the center of the marketplace. There, he stacked it all into a crude pyre, then knelt beside it. He pulled a pair of stone strikers from his pouch and began to strike.

Spark.

Spark.

Nothing.

More sparks.

Then—finally—a flicker of orange danced to life. It caught on the cloth and spread quickly. Within moments, the fire had taken hold.

Steve stepped back, sweat beading on his brow despite the cool night air.

’Thank the Queen Witcher for those survival classes. Never thought I’d need them this soon.’

The flames licked upward, crackling hungrily. Smoke rose in spirals, dark against the dimming sky.

Steve exhaled.

"Alright." he murmured.

"It’s done."

He turned and moved swiftly away from the fire, slipping behind a collapsed building nearly twenty meters off. From there, he crouched low, peering through a crack in the broken stone.

’Now... all I have to do is wait.’

The fire burned.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two.

Every so often, Steve would slip out, silently feed more wood into the flames, then retreat again. The fire crackled and roared, casting dancing shadows across the crumbling walls.

But nothing came.

No sound. No strings. No goblins.

Just silence.

Steve’s brows furrowed. His knees ached from crouching so long, and the smoke was starting to sting his eyes.

He sighed again, long and low.

’Am I doing something wrong? Should I have made the fire bigger? Or... are they really not here anymore?’

He rubbed his chin.

’Where the hell is the clan when you actually need them to show up?’

Grumbling under his breath, he stood. He stepped out from behind the debris and made his way toward the fire to stoke it again. His boots crunched over broken glass and ash.

Then—

Thud.

He froze.

A distant sound. Faint. Muffled.

He stopped mid-step. His head tilted slightly, ears straining.

Then—

THUD.

Closer. Heavier. Louder.

His heart jumped.

’That’s not wind. That’s not rubble shifting.’

He remained perfectly still, his breath caught in his throat.

Thud. THUD.

Now unmistakable.

He pivoted and dropped instantly to a crouch, slipping behind a toppled pillar. His hand went to the hilt of his blade, and his eyes narrowed.

The sound grew louder—more deliberate.

’They’re coming.’

His grip tightened.

’I don’t know how many. I don’t know what kind. But they’re coming. Finally.’

Smoke wafted toward the cliffs. The fire, still roaring, would have drawn them in like moths.

A shadow flickered in the distance. A small one. Then another. Then something much larger—hulking, broad-shouldered, dragging something behind it.

Steve’s heartbeat quickened.

’Good. Now we hunt.’