The first horn sounded at dawn.
It was low and long, echoing across the valley like a dying animal's breath. Fog still clung to the ground, rolling in pale sheets between the ranks of the human army. The goblin kingdom lay ahead—jagged stone walls, crooked towers, and banners stitched from scavenged hides flapping in the wind.
Aurelian stood at the front line, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the fortress. He did not move when the second horn sounded. He did not move when siege engines creaked into position or when archers nocked their arrows.
He waited.
A scout rode back hard, nearly falling from his horse as he dismounted.
"My lord," the scout said, breathless. "The goblins… they've formed ranks outside the gates."
Aurelian turned slightly. "Infantry?"
"Yes. But—" The scout hesitated.
"But what?" Aurelian asked calmly.
"They're using human slaves. Men. Women. Even children. Chained together. Forced in front."
A murmur rippled through the officers nearby. Several soldiers stiffened. One young captain swore under his breath.
Aurelian closed his eyes for a single moment.
Then he opened them.
"Call the commanders," he said. "Now."
The battlefield unfolded with brutal clarity as the fog thinned.
The goblins marched in uneven lines, shrieking and beating rusted weapons against shields. And before them—hundreds of humans. Shackled. Bruised. Some barely standing. Some weeping openly. Others staring ahead with hollow eyes, already broken.
A soldier near the front line whispered, "That's… that's my people."
Another said, "They're using them as walls."
A third dropped to one knee and retched.
Aurelian walked the line, boots crunching against frost-bitten grass. He stopped beside a group of new recruits, their faces pale, hands shaking.
"Lower your weapons," one of them said without thinking. "We can't—those are our own."
Aurelian turned to him slowly.
"What is your name?"
"R-Rowan, sir."
"Rowan," Aurelian said, voice even, "tell me. If you do not attack, what happens to them?"
Rowan swallowed. "They… they die anyway."
"And if you retreat?"
"The goblins keep them."
"And if you hesitate?"
The young soldier said nothing.
Aurelian leaned closer, his voice low but carrying.
"Then they die slowly. Screaming. Forgotten."
Another soldier spoke up, anger breaking through fear. "So we kill them ourselves? Is that what you're saying?"
Aurelian straightened.
"I am saying," he replied, "that the goblins made the choice. Not us."
That answer spread like poison.
The horns sounded again.
"Hold!" shouted a commander.
The goblin lines advanced.
The slaves stumbled forward, dragged by chains, shoved by spear butts. One woman screamed something in a language Aurelian did not recognize. A child tripped and was trampled.
Several human archers lowered their bows.
"Don't shoot," someone shouted. "Don't—"
Aurelian raised his hand.
"Listen to me," he said loudly, turning so his voice carried down the line. "Every second you hesitate, they tighten the chains. Every second you falter, they learn your weakness."
A soldier yelled back, voice cracking, "They're using our guilt!"
"Yes," Aurelian said immediately. "And it is working."
The goblin drums began—fast, erratic, mocking.
Aurelian drew his sword halfway from its sheath, the sound sharp and unmistakable.
"This," he said, "is the battlefield they chose. This is the cruelty they perfected. If you stop now, they win not just today—but forever."
Someone screamed, "There has to be another way!"
Aurelian's eyes hardened.
"There is no clean war," he said. "There is no bloodless liberation. There is only action—or extinction."
He raised his voice.
"Look at them!" he shouted, pointing at the goblin lines. "They hide behind your brothers and sisters. They dare you to care more about the moment than the future. They dare you to choose comfort over survival."
A soldier whispered, "I can't do this…"
Aurelian turned sharply.
"You can," he said. "And you will. Because if we break today, every human in every cage across this world stays there. Or dies worse."
The goblins laughed. They could be heard even from this distance.
Aurelian lifted his sword fully now.
"This is the price of liberation," he said, voice iron. "And it will be paid—by us, or by our children."
Silence.
Then, reluctantly—
"Archers," a commander said, voice trembling. "Draw."
Bows rose.
Hands shook.
"Loose," the commander whispered.
No one moved.
Aurelian shouted, "NOW."
The sky darkened.
Arrows fell like rain.
Screams followed.
Human screams.
Slaves collapsed, bodies jerking as arrows struck flesh meant to shield monsters. Goblins shrieked in rage as their living barricades fell away, exposing them to steel and fire.
Infantry charged.
Some soldiers screamed apologies as they ran.
Others shut their eyes and swung.
The ground became mud and blood and shattered chains. A man fell at Aurelian's feet, clutching his leg, whispering, "Why…?"
Aurelian did not answer.
The goblin kingdom fought savagely once exposed—ambushes from the walls, firebombs hurled into packed ranks, traps detonated beneath advancing feet.
Humans died.
Slaves died.
Goblins died screaming.
The gates fell by midday.
By sunset, the fortress burned.
Smoke choked the air.
Bodies lay everywhere—piled near the walls, scattered in the fields, tangled together so that it was impossible to tell slave from soldier from enemy.
Aurelian stood among them, armor stained dark.
A lieutenant approached, eyes red.
"My lord," he said quietly. "We… we won. But the cost—"
Another officer joined, voice sharper. "Hundreds of slaves dead. Our own soldiers too. Some are… questioning."
Aurelian nodded once.
"Gather them," he said. "All of them."
The officers exchanged looks.
"For what?" one asked.
Aurelian turned toward the smoking ruins of the goblin capital.
"For truth," he said.
The horns sounded again.
And the army began to gather.