Meanwhile, behind the supply tent, our captured rebel mage was screaming bloody murder about ants and bees.
“I swear by the gods!” the prisoner cried. “They’re massive! Giant ants! They’re crawling in my boots! I can hear them thinking!”
“A grown man who killed villagers is now afraid of insects,” I muttered. “Unbelievable.”
“Absolutely tragic,” Norma deadpanned, sipping from her mug. “We should send in a toddler with a flyswatter.”
Eventually, the men around us finished their food, and the morning report began. Alaric’s top lieutenants described minor skirmishes near the border villages, signs of burned farms, and strange tracks leading into the Dark Forest behind us. A place even locals refused to enter. Cold, damp, thick with shadows. Something lurked there. And not just goblins.
A
