Before the troops moved to their pre-planned positions, Isma gathered all 4,000 goblins and hobgoblins of the alliance around him.

  According to his tribe’s custom, before a great battle, a healthy bison was brought before the shaman’s altar and killed as a sacrifice for the Sword God, who, as a warlike deity craving carnage, strengthened his worshippers with the sacred meat. Whoever could, got at least a bite.

  Valeria watched these customs with a hint of embarrassment. The enemy could be approaching, taking strategic positions, yet here they were performing rituals — not in a safe temple behind walls before marching out — but on the battlefield.

  As queen, wearing the oak crown given to her by the Yellow Grass Tribe, she had to take the most prominent place, closest to the spectacle.

  She could smell the blood, and the scent of incense irritated her nose. Ignoring the noise and shouting, she instead focused on the massive — over 20 meters tall — statue of a warrior in armor with a horned helmet, wielding twin swords. Up close, the monument of the Demon God was even more impressive. She was sure the goblins had not carved it.

  Whoever had sculpted it knew their craft… Though faint traces of strange aura remained and noble, blood-colored stones had grown over and lost their shine with the years, pointing her toward another history.

  The fires in huge braziers burned brightly. The day had only just begun, a cold northern breeze was biting at everyone, and the low morale and fear in the eyes of many — often young and inexperienced, or remembering a recent bloodbath — filled the famous vampireess with something she could only call uncertainty.

  “The Sword God watches you! Fight like berserkers! Like possessed by war! Let the enemy tremble before your savagery!!!” Isma bellowed in his aged voice. “Forward! To your positions! To the glory of Zod! To the glory of Queen Valeria Nocturne!! To the glory of the Sword God!!!” He slammed his staff, and great vines of yellow grass grew around him.

  Valeria did not know this custom, but it impressed many. Some said this battle would be fought between the Yellow Grass Tribe and the Red Serpents Tribe, the two strongest tribes on opposite sides. Even in the days of Hakku, his enforcers, and the traitors from the Dok tribe, from which Domadok Greyhide originated, now under Doirak Ironside, the tribe had been called Red Hand Tribe after killing a vile half-ogre, and the name had stuck with it.

  With the red hand mark painted on his face, Doirak led the army’s elite infantry to the central front, in front of a dense forest with tall grass. Almost 1,700 goblins followed him.

  Meanwhile, Gyrd was already rampaging on the southernmost front. Borg, however, looked weakened, slowed. Valeria saw aura disturbances where he had been struck with a sword, but even knowing this, she said nothing. The army’s morale was at stake. The only thing she could do was tell him to take his medicine and not get killed. Wearing a brown helmet and riding a bear, he advanced to the southern front with his tribe and four smaller units.

  Shoma and Nut looked the most battle-ready. Who would have thought they would so quickly become such an essential part of the alliance? One could say they were its pillar. Under the fat goblin, all willing fighters from the western villages gathered.

  Isma, however, did not hurry. His lost eye was covered with a bandage, and the stump of his hand hidden under the shaman’s heavy fur robe. He was to stand behind Borg’s army, on the hill just behind the Sword God statue, and command. As an old goblin — over 80 — he knew exactly what mattered in a battle: whoever had better information and reacted faster had a huge advantage!

  Valeria had personally prepared the battle plan. As the most valued goblin, she gave him command over the entire green army. She herself reserved a special mission on which the battle’s outcome depended. The excellent spearman Zoggo would help her, and Mago, with half a thousand goblins, was tasked with holding the position north of the geese and south of the White Stone River.

  The sun was almost at its zenith when the first larger units of eastern goblins arrived at the battlefield. Their leader was Koshia — a cruel hobgoblin from the Red Serpents. In the center, black flags of the orc tribe Broken Skulls were visible, commanded by the sadistic orc Gromhul — known to Isma for his impulsiveness and savagery. He was massive as a mountain, some even said half-troll!

  “Mago. You know what to do,” Valeria said to the burly goblin with blue tattoos, a broad shield, and a curved blade. “Don’t die.” He nodded, bowed, and quickly took a strategic position. His goblins looked full of fighting spirit. Many remembered Godo and wanted to avenge his death. The wind blew from the north, making plumes and garments flutter.

  It began!

  Trumpets blared in the center. The enemy had not even considered sending a peace envoy.

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  Valeria could not see the entire battle. She could only try to observe through aura movements and reports. Huge flags rose on the hill where Isma operated, each pattern signaling a different command. The more capable goblins were responsible for reading and executing them. Where trees grew tall, there were even special positions atop them to observe orders and relay them with flutes, trumpets, and whistles.

  “Good! They didn’t break,” Valeria muttered, though the battle-thirsty Zoggo heard her words, clenching his spear. “Not yet,” she curtailed his impulses.

  Hundreds of powerful auras pierced through the thickets — likely orcs — but ran into Doirak’s elite and lost momentum. Arrows whistled and many enemies were wounded — some fell. Part of the goblin reserves moved to save the right flank of the central group from collapsing.

  Along the river, a large number of goblins with wide shields adorned with paintings, feathers, and skins marched slowly. Valeria spotted the White Stork and the Golden Mouse, two strong eastern clans. She decided to give Zoggo free rein for his bloodlust.

  As infantry, over two hundred elite fighters with silver hair attacked the enemy from the flank. A great fog transformed into black fire broke the shield wall, and Valeria jumped in — kicking, slashing, thrusting — any enemy who crossed her path.

  “For the queen!” shouted one goblin, stabbing a hobgoblin in the throat. Blood spurted. “Kill them! For Zod!” echoed the cries.

  Fury. Valeria’s first real battlefield experience in open field, and she had already slain her 30th goblin. A stocky brute thrust a spear into her side, but she anticipated the move, danced on her feet, closed the distance, and cut across so fast that he fell dead before he could beg for mercy.

  Blood and filth. Cracking bones and jaws of steel. Mago, wounded in the shoulder by a knife, stepped back, others took his place. Valeria, meanwhile, seemed like the Sword God himself had his Sword Goddess! Her face smeared with blood, her dark blade glowing red. A heel smashed an enemy’s eye socket, she followed up with another kick, and a mid-air salto brought her back on her feet with the sword aimed straight down into the skull of a massive foe.

  The goblins nearby froze. “Elder vampires…” said a mustached hobgoblin and ordered the archers to target the bloody duel. “1000 fish for anyone who hits her!”

  Arrows whistled, but in the battlefield chaos, with Valeria’s skills, more fell into Koshia’s minions than her. She only deflected one arrow with the side of her sword and executed a balestra move — jumping forward to confuse a club-wielding enemy and thrusting straight into his carotid artery, then kicking him away so he would bleed out moments later.

  The tide began to turn. Zoggo thrust his spear again and again, wounding or killing enemy after enemy. The enemy’s counterattack broke under the impact, and they began throwing spears and fleeing.

  “They’re running! Chase them! Kill!” shouted one of Mago’s men.

  Many goblins — still strong and alive — rushed into pursuit, but Valeria sensed danger and panicked. She shouted from her lungs:

  “Stop! Don’t chase them! It’s a trap!” Her voice barely carried through the chaos. Only a few obeyed. “This is an order! Halt! The Queen commands it!”

  Over a hundred goblins under Mago’s blue banners rushed into the pursuit. Less than two minutes later, arrows from the right reached them, and unprotected, they fell to orcs riding massive northern boars! The enemy cavalry struck the disorganized goblins like a knife through butter, and only Valeria’s fog and flames saved some from death.

  “I am Tormund Grey Shield! I will kill you, stinking wench!” roared a huge, dull-faced orc with a long beard, riding a silver boar as big as a bull. He crushed and killed two goblins along the way. The earth shook, and his roar carried far.

  Valeria, overcome with rage, asked the God of Darkness to blind her enemies. Dense fog shot from her fingertips toward the boar rider, and she charged at full speed.

  Along the way, she decapitated an enemy goblin, dodged a javelin, and leapt onto one of the boar’s tusks. Tensing her right leg, she jumped so high that as she fell, she drove her sword straight into the orc’s head.

  A damn trap. Who would have thought these stupid creatures would prepare an attack from the center, letting their right flank collapse and flee deliberately?

  Skull cracked. Brain and blood spilled on the enemy’s face. Valeria had killed a massive orc — probably one of the higher officers — and used the chaos to order a retreat. A rain of arrows covered them. She personally carried two wounded goblins on her shoulders out of the death zone.

  Zoggo was finishing off one of the orcs with surprisingly good armor and almost fell victim to another’s mace. Fortunately, Mago blocked the strike with his shield in time and cut the brute’s thigh. A few goblins pierced the wounded, enraged orc with spears from every side until he died.

  True massacre. Hundreds of casualties. A sea of blood. And this was only on one — the smallest — front. The vampireess grew anxious about the central and southern fronts. Did they hold? Were they alive? Was the enemy still pressing?

  She could not know. Her only task was to survive until nightfall and complete the special mission with Zoggo and his elites. Whether she killed 200 or 300 more goblins wouldn’t change the battle’s outcome. She had to conserve her strength.

  Trumpets blared in the center. The massive troll Nut had joined the battle, ridden by Shoma, who would never let anyone harm his friend. The best warriors of the western goblins protected the troll’s legs, and his massive tree-club crushed entire enemy units.

  Valeria, receiving reports, knew at least one thing:

  Everything was still in play. If no front collapsed. If she managed to complete the mission that night, the battle would be won.

  She only needed to make sure Mago didn’t cross the hill they had fought so hard for. From it, they had the height advantage and could repel enemy forces two or three times their size.

  The day was ending, the troops slowly sounded the end of the first day of combat. Many goblins had fallen — more than Valeria had expected. Fortunately, mostly on the enemy’s side!

  The silver-haired queen looked toward the monument on the distant hill and felt as if something had changed in it. As if it was watching her… differently?

  Before her lay piles of corpses, behind her were waves of wounded.

  All this, to the glory of the Sword God, huh?