The morning sun struggled to break through the thick, light grey clouds that blanketed the sky. A heavy mist hung over the plains, giving the landscape an ethereal and mysterious appearance. The air was cool, damp, and carried the faint scent of wet earth. Sebeth and his 40 companions moved slowly, their herd hooves muffled by the humid ground. The mist swirled around them, obscuring their vision and making the path ahead Difficult to chart.

Despite the challenging conditions, the unit was not lost. They had the necessary tools and measures to navigate through such treacherous terrain. The soldiers, though seasoned, were unusually quiet, their senses on high alert as they scanned the surroundings for any sign of danger. The silence was broken only by the occasional snort of a horse or the creak of leather saddles.

Sebeth rode at the front, his sharp eyes scanning the barely visible horizon. He felt the tension in the air, echoing his unease. Riding alongside him, one of his men meticulously charted their course.

“How much farther until we reach the 4th outpost?” Sebeth Muller's voice was low, his words almost lost in the mist that enveloped them.

The soldier glanced at the map, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Not much longer, Commander. “Once we cross that small river, we should be close to our destination,” he replied, the soldier's voice carrying a hint of reassurance.

Sebeth leaned closer to inspect the map himself. The lack of visibility made it difficult to discern the details. The soldier held up a small, enchanted lantern, the light flickering eerily in the mist, casting long, wavering shadows. The Enchanted item they used was simple but effective, with its soft glow illuminating the parchment enough for Sebeth to confirm their location.

“You’re right. We’re almost there,” Sebeth muttered, more to himself than to the soldier. He handed the map back and straightened in his saddle. He felt a sense of determination settling over him.

The unit continued their march, their pace cautious as they approached the so-called river—a shallow stream, no more than a trickle, barely deep enough to wet the horses’ hooves. The water gurgled as it wound through the landscape, almost lost in the oppressive silence of the mist-shrouded morning.

As Sebeth and his men forded the stream, his mind wandered to the impending task. The 4th outpost was strategically important, a forward base in a hostile territory. Its well-being was crucial to the success of their overall campaign, and any sign of trouble could spell disaster for the larger forces still on the move. His mind raced with possibilities, each more troubling than the last.

The outskirts of the outpost soon came into view, or at least, what little could be seen through the mist. The fortress was a crude but sturdy structure. It was built from wood and stone procured from the surrounding forest. The walls were high and thick, meant to withstand the elements and any potential attack. These are purposefully built using makeshift materials. All this is because the posts are temporary things that cannot be moved and are destroyed once the mission directive is over after the three-month-long trade route protection duty is completed. The outposts are plotted based on previous known monster activities.  Sebeth felt a knot of unease tightening in his chest as he gazed at the imposing stronghold, a sharp contrast to his usual relief.

“Something’s off here. Why are there no guards at the gate? We did not even encounter any petrol along our way here?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. The absence of guards at the gates was immediately apparent, as was the lack of patrols in the surrounding area. Ideally, outposts like this would be bustling with activity—soldiers on watch, scouts patrolling the perimeter, and the occasional messenger riding in or out. But now, the silence was deafening.

“We should have encountered at least one patrol by now,” Sebeth said aloud, his voice carrying an edge of concern. He dismounted, his boots landing softly on the damp ground. As he began inspecting the scene more closely the mist seemed to close around him.

His men followed suit, dismounting quietly and spreading out to cover more ground. The tension was palpable; each soldier's movements were careful and deliberate. The horses, perceiving their riders' anxiety, became restless, their ears flicking at each minor noise.

As Sebeth moved closer to the gates, one of his men approached him, holding something in his hand. “Sir, we found this,” the soldier said, his voice low and urgent. He held out the small carcass of a dead messenger bird, its feathers wet and matted from the mist. The bird’s tiny body was cold and stiff, its eyes dull and lifeless.

Sebeth took the bird, examining it closely. It was a common messenger bird, one that was used regularly by the forces stationed at outposts like this one. The bird should have delivered its message days ago, yet here it was, dead and forgotten.

Another soldier approached, handing Sebeth a burnt parchment. The edges were charred, the writing barely legible. It became evident that the bird had been carrying a message—an urgent call for assistance that had failed to reach its intended recipient.

Sebeth's mind raced as he linked the clues together. A sense of unease grew within him, and as the pieces fell into place, his boot struck a hard object. Glancing down, he discovered a wooden seal half-hidden in the mud. He stooped to retrieve it, wiping off the grime to uncover a Crest—a familiar one that he knew belonged to the outpost's commanding officer.

Just as he was about to speak, his focus was drawn to a sound approaching from within the outpost’s walls. It was faint at first but quickly grew louder. Loud voice, barking orders in a frantic, desperate tone. Sebeth heart raced as the words became clear.

“Aim, fire!”

There was no time to think. Sebeth’s instincts took over. He reached into his armour, his fingers closing around the familiar shape of a magic device. Without hesitation, he pulled it out and threw it into the air. The device activated instantly, creating a shimmering barrier above them just as a rain of ranged attack spells approached them from across the wall.

The air crackled with energy as the spells collided with the barrier, some dissipating harmlessly. While others erupted in bursts of light and sound, Sebeth's swift actions ensured no casualties despite the chaos. The soldiers’ horses, though startled, remained unharmed, their riders shielding them with practised ease.

“Damn it all,” Sebeth cursed under his breath. Ideally composed and calm, he felt anger rise within him. His temper flared, and in a rare display of raw emotion, he strode toward the gates, his footsteps heavy with purpose.

With a powerful kick, Sebeth broke open the fortification’s front gates, the wood splintering under the force of his blow. The sound echoed through the mist, contrasting sharply with the previous silence. Inside, the soldiers were in disarray, their morale shattered by the sudden breach. They had been expecting a goblin attack, not an incursion by their comrades.

Sebeth scanned the scene, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the commanding officer still frantically barking orders to fire. The officer was clearly out of his depth, panic etched into every line of his face. Sebeth wasted no time, closing the distance between them with a few swift strides.

“Stand down!” Sebeth’s voice boomed through the chaos, silencing the soldiers around him. He grabbed the officer by the collar, lifting him off his feet with ease, and then slammed him to the ground, debilitating him with a single punch.

The person in charge at the outpost lay stunned, gasping for breath as Sebeth crouched beside him. “Do you have any idea how expensive that magic item was?” Sebeth’s voice was low, menacing, as he spoke directly into his ear. “Do you know how much effort I put into crafting it, setting it aside for emergencies? And you just made me use it here, of all places! Do you know how hard I looked for the raw materials? Before I was finally able to finish that masterpiece. And now, all in ruins.”

The dust began to settle, and the confusion that had reigned just moments before gradually gave way to a tense silence. The soldiers who had fired upon Sebeth’s unit were now subdued, their weapons lowered as they realized their mistake. Sebeth’s men quickly took control of the situation, securing the area and disarming anyone holding their armaments.

As the chaos subsided, Sebeth received a status report from the remaining soldiers in the outpost. The story they told was one of desperation and fear. They had mistaken Sebeth’s unit for a goblin force. A force that had been terrorizing the area for days. The outpost had been on high alert, its soldiers stretched thin and on the brink of collapse.

“Why were you hiding? Why are 100 soldiers from your post missing? We encounter no patrols on our way here, either. We need answers,” Sebeth demanded, his voice cold and authoritative as he interrogated the remaining officers.

The officers, visibly unsettled by the encounter, faltered in their speech as they attempted to recount their experience. "The goblins... they've shown no mercy," they explained. We’ve lost men, entire patrols. The last scouting party we sent out discovered a large goblin encampment a few kilos from the outpost. They sent a messenger bird for urgent support, but…” the man hesitated, his voice faltering as he continued, “but the message never made it through.”

Sebeth’s mind raced as he processed the information. The situation was worse than he had anticipated. The outpost had been under siege, its forces dwindling as they tried to hold their ground against a relentless enemy. The missing soldiers had either been killed or were still unaccounted for, and the remaining men were barely holding on.

“So, today was supposed to be the day you’d finally get some relief,” Sebeth remarked, his voice tinged with understanding and frustration. “But instead, you ended up attacking the very reinforcements that came to help you.”

One of the knight captains from Sebeth’s unit, who had been quietly observing the exchange, spoke up. “Poor guys didn’t even know their message never reached the base. We just happened to come across the post for a completely different reason,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Sebeth nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve landed in quite a mess here. One problem isn’t solved, and here comes another,” he muttered, his voice heavy with the weight of the situation. He reached for a wooden glass of ale that one of the soldiers offered him and took a long drink, savouring the bitter taste as it burned down his throat.

He looked up at the sky. The clouds finally began to break apart, allowing the first rays of sunlight to pierce through. The mist was slowly lifting, revealing the rugged beauty of the surrounding landscape. Sebeth’s thoughts drifted to Arc, the young man likely facing his challenges somewhere far away.

“All in due time, Master Arc. We will come to your rescue soon, for sure,” Sebeth whispered to himself, his voice barely audible above the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. His determination was rekindled. He was aware that his mission was far from complete.

The morning sun broke free of the clouds, casting a warm light over the forest. A group of ten unknown individuals cautiously moved through the forest, transporting a large, mysterious package in a heavily reinforced carriage.

Three men rode at the front of the carriage, scanning the trees for danger. Another three guarded the rear, while the remaining four rode alongside the carriage, engaged in a secretive conversation.

“We’re moving as fast as we can with our current strength,” the carriage driver said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he glanced nervously at the dense forest surrounding them. He tightened his grip on the reins, urging the horses to maintain their pace.

Another man, partially obscured by a hood, spoke up, his voice tinged with concern. “Was it alright to leave that thing behind?” he asked, his eyes darting to the package in the carriage.

“We had no other choice. If we didn’t, the whole operation could’ve been jeopardized,” the leader replied firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He was a tall, imposing figure, his presence commanding respect and fear in equal measure.

A woman riding beside the leader chimed in, her voice calm and composed. “Do not ponder over needless issues. We have hidden it well. Even the Crafters cannot find it, no matter how hard they search,” she said confidently, her eyes betraying a hint of amusement.

Their conversation was abruptly cut off when the carriage driver suddenly stiffened, his eyes widening in alarm. “I see them up ahead! It’s Ogres!” he shouted, his voice cracking with fear.

The group's collective breath caught in their throats as massive ogres emerged from the shadows of the trees. The ogres were towering figures with sickly crimson-red skin and carried crude weapons.

The ogres moved surprisingly, their heavy footsteps shaking the ground as they closed in on the group. The leader of the operatives cursed under his breath, his mind racing as he quickly assessed the situation.

“Damn it, why ogres? Why here, of all places?” he muttered, his hands tightening around the hilt of his sword. He knew they had no choice but to fight. “Everyone, prepare for battle! Give it everything you got!” he commanded, his voice steady despite the panic threatening to take hold.

The operatives drew their weapons, their faces grim as they braced themselves for the onslaught. The ogres let out guttural roars as they charged, their eyes gleaming with malice and hunger. The clash was brutal and chaotic, the sound of steel clashing against bone and flesh filling the air.

The operatives fought Bravely, but they were outmatched. The Ogres’ sheer strength and size gave them a terrifying advantage. One by one, the operatives were cut down. Blood splattered the forest floor, staining the once-pristine leaves and flowers a deep crimson.

An unexpected flash of light enveloped the battlefield, and a figure emerged from the darkness. Wearing black attire with a hood and mask, the figure brandished a pair of daggers and defeated the ogres with extraordinary skill and accuracy.

The leader, now bloodied and battered, watched in awe as the shadowy figure made quick work of the remaining ogres. “Out of all the People, What are you doing here?” he muttered, still in disbelief at the sight before him.

The battle was over quickly. A shadowy figure stood among fallen ogres, their eyes cold and calculating. Without a word, the figure sheathed their weapon and approached the leader. Who might this individual be?