Leon opened his eyes, staring at the familiar ceiling—the roof of the treatment tent in their war camp. He had ended up here countless times, and each time, his life had been saved by his half-brother, Bahma. Yet, with every instance, his resentment and hatred for Bahma only grew stronger. This time was no different.

"Tch, saved by an asura again, huh? It seems having a half-brother who’s an asura is quite the blessing," a mocking voice interrupted his thoughts.

Leon turned toward the source of the voice and saw his squad captain standing there, glaring at him with a mix of hatred and jealousy.

As one of the few hobgoblins who had survived countless battles, even reaching Gold Tier and earning the rank of captain, the squad leader had witnessed many of his team members fall—devoured mercilessly by demons. Yet, Leon, who always managed to survive, no matter the odds, was a thorn in his side.

If Leon had survived due to his own strength or cunning, the resentment might not have been so intense. But everyone knew the real reason Leon was still alive: his half-brother, the asura.

Although Leon’s mother—a hobgoblin—no longer cared about him, Bahma was different. The asura showed more concern for Leon than most would expect, even though they were only half-brothers. This attention became a source of jealousy among the other hobgoblins.

Why was Leon special?

Why did he have a connection to an asura while the rest struggled alone, without any aid?

Bahma himself was only a First Gate Evolution asura—a novice among his kind. However, his father was a formidable warrior, wielding the power of Third Gate Evolution. To grasp the significance of that strength, consider this: a First Gate Evolution asura could effortlessly annihilate an entire village, while a Third Gate Evolution asura possessed the power to level a massive city.

If they mastered the Mantra Path, their destructive potential could erase this entire camp from the map. With a single Brajadenta Rain spell, lakes could overflow, hills crumble to dust, and every hobgoblin in this camp would be obliterated in an instant.

Yet, the culture of the Wilwatikta Kingdom only valued strength—not lineage or family ties. That was the sole reason Leon remained a subordinate, working as demon bait, despite his connection to Bahma.

Still, he received some privileges. When Leon sacrificed his squadmates to save his own life, he should have faced severe military punishment. But the truth was, the military turned a blind eye, allowing him to escape without consequence.

The squad captain continued to glare at Leon with derision. But Leon didn’t respond. He stayed silent, though his right hand clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Only Leon knew how deeply he despised himself. He loathed every privilege he had received—privileges not earned through his own abilities but through the blood tie he shared with Bahma.

Leon didn’t respond to his captain’s taunts, remaining silent as he bottled up his simmering anger. The captain clicked his tongue, then said, "If you’re not too badly injured and can still move, get ready. We have another mission." Without waiting for a reply, the captain turned on his heel and left the treatment tent.

Leon stayed where he was, his gaze fixed blankly on the wall. His thoughts churned in chaos, questions echoing in his mind.

’Was it wrong that I was born a hobgoblin and not an orc? Was it wrong that I sacrificed my comrades to survive?’

No. None of that was wrong. The only thing wrong was his weakness.

If he weren’t weak, his mother wouldn’t have abandoned him. If he weren’t weak, he wouldn’t have needed to sacrifice his friends to save himself. If he weren’t weak, he wouldn’t need Bahma to save him. All the humiliation, all the hatred—it all came back to his weakness!

Leon’s breathing hitched. His teeth ground together in frustration. His fists clenched, and he struck the wall in front of him, hard enough to crack it. In the oppressive silence, he shook his head, trying to extinguish the flames of anger blazing in his chest.

Without a word, Leon stepped out of the treatment tent.

Outside, a familiar scene awaited him. Dozens of injured hobgoblins lay sprawled out or sat with pained expressions.

While hobgoblins had regenerative abilities, their recovery paled in comparison to that of orcs, let alone asura.

Healing potions crafted by the alrune could accelerate their recovery, but those potions were rare and reserved for only the most severe injuries. Cuts, fractures, and other wounds received basic treatment—stitched up, bandaged, and left to heal naturally.

At least hobgoblins had robust immune systems. Unlike humans, they didn’t need to clean their wounds, as infections were almost unheard of.

Leon tore his gaze away from the wounded soldiers and strode toward the center of the camp. The chaos of preparation surrounded him—hobgoblins and asura hurried about, busy with the upcoming mission.

This camp was a hive of monsters living in the shadow of constant war, always moving, always alert.

Leon knew well that guerrilla tactics were their only means of survival. Despite their strength, even an asura couldn’t survive if surrounded by hundreds of demons.

Yet there was something unsettling about the camp, something Leon always noticed: there wasn’t a single female monster in sight. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Of course, this made sense. After the establishment of the special division under the command of the four Main Queens, female monsters rarely appeared at frontline camps. Most had their own missions or remained in tents dominated by the asura.

But the term female monster itself now felt outdated. Most of them—nearly 60%—had become Valkyries, the wives of asura. The rest were either too young to marry or unwilling to leave their previous husbands for the asura.

Everyone knew how this worked. Once they came of age or lost their husbands on the battlefield, they would vie to marry an orc or, if they were fortunate, an asura.

Even though the number of orcs and asura had grown to the thousands, it still wasn’t enough to meet the demand for marriage among female monsters. To them, the blood and seed of the asura were the keys to evolution, the path to greater strength.

Meanwhile, male monsters of other races were pushed to the margins. Cases of female monsters choosing to marry male monsters from other races were extraordinarily rare—practically nonexistent.

For female monsters, it was preferable to be the tenth wife of an orc than the first wife of a goblin. The evidence was clear in Leon’s life. Despite being in his twenties and still unmarried, his younger half-brother, Bahma—five years his junior—had already taken his eighth wife and fathered over a dozen children.

This reality didn’t seem to bother goblins or other monster races. But Leon understood that if this trend continued, non-orc and non-asura races would edge closer to extinction.

Nearly every child born from the union of an orc and another species became an orc, further solidifying their dominance in the racial hierarchy of the Wilwatikta Kingdom.

Leon took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to banish such thoughts.

’I’m just a Silver Tier hobgoblin. Surviving is hard enough without worrying about kingdom politics.’

To him, stronger hobgoblins could worry about the future of their race—or perhaps Prime Minister EZ, the pride of goblins, who was responsible for safeguarding their species.

Leon had more immediate concerns: growing stronger and, most importantly, completing the next mission without needing Bahma to save him again.

With renewed determination, Leon headed to his tent to prepare. He quickly made his way to the team’s gathering point.

As expected, the atmosphere that greeted him was cold. There were no friendly greetings or smiles. Every member of his squad regarded him with icy glares, eyes full of hatred and contempt. But beneath that hatred, Leon could sense a deep envy.

He noticed a few new faces among them—hobgoblins sent to replace those who had perished in the previous ambush. These fresh faces brimmed with enthusiasm, eager to prove themselves in battle. Leon recognized the pattern; they were hobgoblins who had recently undergone the perilous process of Mana Cream Cultivation.

Though the process was highly dangerous and had a high mortality rate, the vast goblin population in the Wilwatikta Kingdom ensured a steady influx of hundreds of new hobgoblins each month. This allowed the goblin race to remain the largest population in the kingdom, followed by the far fewer sylphs.

"Move out!" the captain’s voice shattered the silence.

Without hesitation, the captain led the charge out of the camp, the squad following close behind. Leon ran with them, his steps steady even as the weight in his heart pressed heavily.

It didn’t take long for them to reach their hideout—a temporary base they had prepared in advance. While the running speed of hobgoblins couldn’t match the asuras who used the Padakacarma mantra, surpassing 50 km/h was no difficult feat for them.

Their robust bodies and rapidly recovering stamina allowed hobgoblins to run for half a day straight without showing signs of fatigue. Even so, they needed to conserve their energy for the battles ahead. The battlefield was full of uncertainty, and exhaustion could mean death.

Upon arriving at the hideout, they quickly descended into the underground chamber they had prepared earlier. The room was dark and cramped but secure enough to serve as a refuge. This was where they would wait, ready to launch a surprise attack on the enemy in line with their guerrilla warfare strategy.

The key to successful guerrilla warfare was information. Typically, this strategy worked best in home territories, where local inhabitants could act as spies or provide intelligence on enemy movements. However, while the Bog Forest was technically part of the Wilwatikta Kingdom, its vastness made it a different matter. The monsters only controlled a small section known as Bitter Maja, which accounted for less than 2% of the entire Bog Forest.

The majority of the forest remained an enigma to them, brimming with the potential for unforeseen dangers. Fortunately, monsters possessed an innate instinct that allowed them to sense hidden threats in unfamiliar territories. For tracking enemy movements, they relied on small allies who could move swiftly and remain undetected.

"Hawk flies, yet Eagle soars above it!" the captain called out, reciting the first part of a coded phrase.

"Eagle flies, yet the sun remains above it!" came a small voice from the darkness.

Moments later, a diminutive figure emerged before them. It was a sylph—one of their crucial allies in this guerrilla war.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Words Count: 1768