Chapter 17: Muscle Memory
Inside The Village
Tok—Tok—Tok… Tok… Tok
Tok—Tok—Tok… Tok… Tok
The slit drum echoed across the village.
It was a simple alarm system, a hollow log with a narrow carved opening that produced a loud, sharp sound when struck. Unlike horns, it didn’t require strength or training, so even a child could operate it.
And right now, a child was doing exactly that, pounding out the signal as the village reacted immediately.
Able-bodied men and women moved for the defenses, while the elderly gathered the younger children and pulled them toward safety. Fear was there—you could see it—but it didn’t turn into chaos.
The defenders headed north, the evacuees moved south. No shouting and no confusion as the rhythm already said everything.
Three quick beats for an incoming attack, followed by two slow beats marking the direction north. More than enough for everyone to understand exactly what to do.
…Well, almost everyone.
“Wait—wait—wait—”
Erika skidded to a stop mid-run, trying to catch the rhythm.
“Three quick… two slow…” she muttered, squinting her eyes trying to remember. “So… some rapist coming from the west…? Wait, that doesn’t even make sense, why would it—”
She grabbed her hair.
“Aaaargh! Things got way too complicated ever since Theo and David showed up!” she snapped. “Before this, men ran toward me to save me! Not run away to do their jobs like this—”
Thud.
“Ouch!”
A fist dropped on her head, clean and direct.
Erika looked up. A muscular human woman stood over her, arms lined with old battle scars.
“What are you still doing here, you stupid elf?!” the woman barked.
“A-Aunt Greta?” Erika said, rubbing her head.
“You forgot what the signal means, didn’t you?” Greta sighed.
“Y-yes…” Erika looked down, embarrassed.
“This is why Tara keeps complaining about you,” Greta muttered. “Look. Even old drunk Shum knows where he’s going.”
She pointed across the clearing.
A bald, bearded old man—thin, slightly hunched, and very clearly still tipsy—was walking in a loose line with a group of children.
Despite the sway in his steps, he was doing his job properly, holding one child’s hand while the others followed in a chain, each gripping the next as they moved toward safety.
They were even singing.
“Hey, Shum!” Greta called out.
“Heyy, what’s up, Greta?!” Shum shouted back, waving cheerfully without slowing down.
“There’s one more child over here!” Greta shoved Erika rudely in his direction. “Take her with you, I’m heading to the defense!”
“Ahh, young Erika, is it? Sure, sure,” Shum replied, still smiling like nothing was wrong. He turned slightly to the group. “Everyone, look, Erika’s joining us!”
“Yeeaaayy!” the children cheered.
And just like that, Erika was pulled into the line, hands linked like a kindergarten group as they continued their cheerful march toward safety.
Greta didn’t waste another second. She turned and headed straight for the north.
Greta had been Tara’s friend for many years, long enough that “friend” didn’t quite cover it anymore. More like sister now. She was the strongest woman in the village, the one who should have led the slave-hunting group that captured Theo, if not for Erika begging nonstop for the chance to prove herself.
Now, with Tara and the others away, the village defense fell to her.
---
Northern Perimeter
By the time Greta reached the northern edge of the village, the defense group was already in position. Men and women stood ready, each in their assigned spots.
The perimeter itself had changed.
Where there used to be open ground, there were now raised earth mounds—about three meters high—placed carefully at key positions. They didn’t block the usual path to the river, but from the top, defenders had a clear view of anything approaching.
And right now, something was.
“What is it?” Greta asked as she climbed onto one of the mounds.
“Goblins,” one of the men replied. “Fourteen.”
He pointed toward the river. A group of green-skinned figures was already stepping into the shallow water, grinning, laughing, moving with the confidence of creatures expecting an easy raid.
“Must be their mating season,” Greta said, keeping her eyes on the river. “Guess that dumb Erika wasn’t completely wrong.”
She didn’t linger on it.
“How many do we have?”
“Twenty-seven, ma’am,” the man replied. “The rest are still out, hunting or working on the demon hounds.”
Greta glanced back at her people. The defenders were already in position, men and women standing where they were supposed to be. Many of them looked nervous, but they held their ground.
That alone was already a change.
Before, fighting was handled by the village warriors. It was a voluntary role, taken by those born strong, the ones who wanted status and bragging rights.
Now, everyone fought. Or more precisely, everyone had been turned into soldiers. Part of it was necessity. Many of the original warriors had died during Erika’s first mission, the same one involving the demon hounds now being trained in the stone ravine nearby.
The other reason was David.
Training. Drills. Discipline. He didn’t train them to stand out as individuals. He trained them to move and fight as a group, and that made them far more dangerous.
Greta looked over them again. Leaner bodies, steadier posture. Still nervous, but no longer helpless. Good enough.
She raised her voice. “Remember your training!”
“Yes, captain!” they answered together.
---
River Side
The goblins stepped into the river, visibly excited as they looked toward the village.
Their goal was simple, just like any goblin raid: rush in, grab what they could—livestock, supplies, women—then pull back the moment resistance became too strong.
Quick in. Quick out.
They were a mismatched group, carrying whatever weapons they had managed to loot. Rusty short swords, chipped knives, crude wooden spears, and a few short bows. None of it was maintained properly. At least they weren’t wearing armor. Except for one.
A larger hob-goblin stood at the back, wearing crude, rusted armor. A round wooden shield rested on one arm, with a sword in the other. The one leading them.
The goblins crossed the shallow river step by step, spreading out as they looked for easy footing.
Near the center of the river stood a single wooden post, a strip of bright-colored cloth tied at the top, swaying in the wind.
None of the goblins paid it any attention. But for the defenders, that post meant everything.
It was the marker they had trained with for months, the point every shot was practiced against. They didn’t need to guess distance or adjust under pressure. They just aimed where they always aimed.
And as most of the goblins moved around that marker—
A sharp whooshing sound cut through the air.
THUD THUD THUD THUD
Fist-sized rocks rained down from above.
Two goblins dropped immediately. One took a direct hit to the temple, its skull cracking as it collapsed into the water. Another was struck in the shoulder, the impact snapping the bone and leaving it screaming on the ground.
“Skreee!”
The rest froze, stunned by the sudden attack. They turned toward the village and finally saw the source.
A line of humans stood on top of the earth mound, holding wooden staves.
---
Northern Perimeter
But the staves were not ordinary weapons. Each one was a five-foot pole fitted with a leather pouch at the end, a staff sling. Ten of them stood in position.
“Load!” Greta ordered.
Behind each slinger, a child stepped forward and handed over another staff sling already loaded with a rock. The slingers took them smoothly and passed back their empty ones, which the children immediately began reloading.
“Lock!”
Each slinger secured the loop and adjusted their stance.
“Loose!” Greta shouted.
The staff slingers released in unison, sending their shots toward the goblins clustered in the river.
Three more were hit. One dropped instantly with a crushed face, while two others took heavy hits and collapsed into the water, unable to move.
“Load!” Greta ordered again.
This was the village’s latest development, the staff slingers. They didn’t need to aim at individuals. They just aimed toward the pole marker planted in the river, the same marker they had practiced shooting at for the past three months under David’s guidance.
Or as they called it—
Kill box number 3.
“KREEEE!”
The hobgoblin at the back finally reacted, shrieking as it gave the order to charge.
The remaining eight goblins rushed forward, only to immediately struggle. The river slowed them down, breaking their footing. One of them even stumbled and fell before scrambling back up.
Which only gave the defenders more time.
“Loose!” Greta ordered.
Another volley of fist-sized rocks rained down. Two more goblins were struck and killed on the spot.
With volleys coming every five seconds, the goblins had no chance of crossing the river.