Fallout:Blood and the Bull

The noble wasted no time in revealing how profoundly out of touch he was with reality. As a member of one of the central noble factions, his extravagant spending habits made it clear: gold was no concern for him. He never haggled. He simply paid, as though the concept of assessing the value of something was irrelevant in his world. It bordered on absurd when he decided to buy four young orcs I had captured—the same ones we used to train my men.

What he offered me was astonishing, even by today's standards, where non-human slaves are highly valuable. Orcs, prized for their strength, commanded high prices, and younger ones, though less dangerous, still fetched significant sums. Yet the noble paid five times what slave merchants would have offered. Five times, simply because he wanted them as part of his personal collection—a sort of "beast prison" on his estate, which he planned to show off to his friends.

I accepted the deal without hesitation, though not out of enthusiasm. It was a good price, but the orcs were already valuable, and this noble was simply willing to overpay. His absurd offer only confirmed that he was more interested in impressing his circle than any practical utility. Still, gold is gold, and the coins added to the resources I needed to equip my men and strengthen the camp.

"I hope your friends find your new acquisition interesting," I said, my tone deliberately neutral. I had no desire to engage in pleasantries with someone so disconnected from the realities of our situation. He, unsurprisingly, responded with a broad smile, convinced he was sharing some kind of achievement.

"Ah, there's no doubt about that! Nothing makes an impression quite like something as exotic and dangerous as a live orc!" he exclaimed triumphantly, as if he had accomplished something notable by opening his purse.

"Yes, fine specimens," the noble remarked as he inspected the captured orcs with a long staff, prodding them as if they were mere display items. "I don't know how you do it, young von Falkenstein. The orcs that reach the south are lame, maimed, almost deformed from their injuries. But here you have them, whole, with only minor wounds. You've truly perfected the art of capturing these beasts alive."

It was the first time anyone spoke about me and my work with such admiration, let alone a noble. At twelve years old, I was still seen by many as an apprentice, someone just beginning to understand the world. Yet this man seemed to take what we had achieved seriously—or at least was interested enough to try to capitalize on it.

"Would you be interested in working for me?" he continued, lifting his gaze from the orc he had just poked with his staff. His tone was casual, but the words were heavy with intent. "When I'm done here, I plan to head east. Beastmen, you know? Your expertise would be invaluable for my next hunt."

I looked at him, trying to maintain a calm expression, though inside I felt a mix of discomfort and a twinge of pride. I wasn't accustomed to someone of his rank offering me such a proposition. However, his interest wasn't in me as a person but in what I could provide. To him, I was merely a means to secure his next trophy.

"Interesting," I finally replied, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. "However, as you can imagine, my priorities are here. These territories demand my full attention. I cannot leave them at this time."

The noble smiled, though it was more self-congratulatory than genuinely considerate of my response. "I understand, I understand. A pity, but I can respect your loyalty to your lands. Still, I'll keep the offer open. You never know when a young man like you might wish to explore new horizons."

"I won't rule it out," I replied carefully, inclining my head slightly in a gesture of respect. "But for now, securing and pacifying these lands remains my primary responsibility."

The noble nodded, seemingly satisfied with my diplomatic answer, and turned his attention back to the orcs. He admired them as if they were works of art, completely oblivious to the danger and effort it took to capture them alive. I, for my part, remained silent, observing the scene.

"Well then... tell me, what will we do this week?" asked the noble's assistant, his tone more practical than his master's, though still maintaining the formality of someone used to treating youths like me as subordinates.

"We'll march north," I replied, without shifting my gaze from the noble, though my answer was directed at the assistant. "I don't know if your lord wishes to practice a bit with minor nests along the way, but about fifteen kilometers from Alaric's castle lies a village that fell to goblins about thirty years ago. It's from there that most of the goblin raids in this area originate."

I paused, ensuring my words caught the noble's attention before continuing. "Much of the local population was taken when they overran the village. Over time, it's likely they've multiplied exponentially, turning it into a significant nest. If your lord wishes to find a goblin shaman, that's the best place to try."

The noble smiled broadly, a mix of excitement and satisfaction at my words. No doubt his mind conjured images of glory and trophies, with little thought of the real danger of facing such a large goblin settlement. His assistant, on the other hand, seemed more cautious, inclining his head slightly as if evaluating the plan.

"An entire village in goblin hands... fascinating," said the noble, twirling his staff as he pondered. "Yes, yes, a worthy place to seek what I need. What do you think, Konrad? Would it make a good hunt?"

"It will be dangerous," I replied, keeping my tone cold. "But if your lord is willing to face the risks, it's a unique opportunity to capture or eliminate a goblin shaman. We could also deliver a significant blow to the raids affecting this region."

The noble nodded, visibly thrilled, while the assistant mentally noted the details. I, for my part, understood that this plan, though risky, was an opportunity to advance the cleansing of the north while leveraging the strength of the noble's men. However, I also knew that the noble's lack of prudence could turn the expedition into chaos if we didn't handle the situation carefully.

"Then it's decided," the noble declared theatrically. "To the north, to glory!"

We continued north as the noble had decreed—a contingent of over three thousand men, bolstered by the five hundred Alaric had brought, the noble's troops, my own men, and reinforcements joining us along the way. Alaric, for his part, didn't just observe; he assumed his leadership role with the strength he always displayed, but left me a specific task: scouting and tracking goblin movements. According to him, "I was good at it."

I couldn't help but note the tone in his words, as if he still struggled to admit that, despite my youth, my work was effective. But there was no time to dwell on that. We had a clear objective, and my duties involved not only identifying nests and tracking enemy movements but also keeping the southern noble's impulses in check. His enthusiasm to charge ahead without planning was, at best, a constant hazard. The deeper we ventured into goblin territory, the larger and more organized the groups we encountered became.

These goblins weren't like the scattered, inexperienced ones we'd faced before. These wore garments made of leaves and bark, perfectly camouflaged in the dense forest. They were armed with rudimentary but effective bows and nets they hurled from the shadows to immobilize their prey. More concerning were the goblins mounted on trained wolves, riding them like horses, wielding bronze-tipped spears that glinted faintly in the forest's dim light. These mounted attacks were swift and coordinated, designed to harass and disorganize our lines.

Nonetheless, we were rarely caught off guard. Between my men and those of the southern noble, we had skilled eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. The hunters in my group, along with the noble's seasoned scouts, ensured that each advance was cautious. We had learned to react quickly, forming defensive lines when necessary and pursuing attackers only when we held the advantage. Despite their cunning, the goblins couldn't match the discipline and preparation of our combined forces.

With each passing day, the skirmishes intensified. Mounted goblin attacks grew more frequent, and every clash served as a reminder that we were nearing the heart of their territory. The casualties began to mount, though not devastatingly so, thanks to the discipline of our men. But the strain was palpable: the troops grew weary, provisions were dwindling rapidly, and tension in the camp increased. Even the noble, brimming with euphoric energy at the outset, seemed to realize this was no mere hunt.

Alaric, ever stoic, supervised operations from a central position. While he delegated many tasks to his captains, he paid close attention to my reports. He seemed to trust my judgment—or at least valued my findings enough to act on them.

Finally, as the forest began to thin, we knew we were close to the lost village. The air felt different, laden with an unsettling silence. The goblins were aware of our presence, and there was no doubt that the hardest fight was yet to come.

Emerging from the woods and advancing into the hills, we were met with an unexpected sight: the old vanguard castle, a relic from the war against the goblins that had fallen decades ago. While time and nature had taken their toll, the castle was not entirely consumed. Its walls, though crumbling in several places, still stood, and the surrounding lands—far from being wild and untamed—showed clear signs of activity.

To our surprise, the goblins had been doing more than pillaging and destroying. The fields around the castle were partially cleared, used for rudimentary farming and animal husbandry. Small pens held livestock that, while poorly cared for, suggested an attempt at domestication. The crops were basic—likely just enough to sustain their growing population—but their methods were crude. What they lacked in technique, however, they made up for in sheer numbers.

From our elevated vantage point, we could see scores of goblins bustling around the castle grounds and its surroundings. It was like watching an agitated anthill, with dozens—perhaps hundreds—of goblins engaged in tasks ranging from transporting materials to tending animals. Some were armed, patrolling the crumbling walls in a chaotic manner, but they hadn't bothered to repair the structure. The breaches in the walls remained open and visible—an invitation for any force bold enough to attack.

The southern noble observed the scene with barely contained excitement, while his men murmured among themselves. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking: the place was teeming with potential trophies. But I saw something different. This wasn't just a goblin camp—it was a well-established base, with a population that wasn't merely surviving but thriving. This explained the frequency of attacks in the region.

Alaric, always the more cautious one, approached to assess the situation beside me. "There are a lot of them," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the castle. "More than I expected."

"And more organized," I added, pointing to the pens and fields. "This isn't just a refuge. They've made this their home. If we're going to take it, it won't be easy. But it's the perfect opportunity to deliver a decisive blow."

The noble interrupted our discussion, his enthusiasm overflowing. "Magnificent! It's exactly what I was hoping for! This place will be the stage for a grand hunt, I can feel it. The goblin shaman must be here. We can't waste time—let's attack at dawn!"

I glanced at Alaric, who returned my look with clear skepticism. Attacking without a plan would be disastrous, but at the same time, we couldn't let the opportunity slip away.

"We can attack," I said finally, keeping my tone firm, "but not without ensuring we have the advantage. We need to scout further, find the weaknesses in their defenses, and avoid being overwhelmed by their numbers. A frontal assault would be suicide."

Alaric nodded, his expression serious. The noble, though somewhat impatient, seemed to accept the logic of my words, though his smile never quite disappeared. For him, this was still a game. For us, it was a battle that could shift the course of this campaign.

As the men prepared for the night, I made sure to send scouts to map the terrain. If we were to succeed, we needed to exploit every weakness and ensure that our strike was swift and decisive.