Mike surveyed the parade grounds in the crisp morning air, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry at the hobgoblins antics. Over the past six weeks, he had started to take a more hands on approach to hobgoblin training, spending no less than 3 hours each morning going through drills. Every other day, those drills happened on the parade ground near camp, an area that had slowly been turned to mud by the tromping of hundreds of small feet. It was always a toss up as to whether a given training would be a success or not–due in no small part to the constant addition of hobgoblins to his valley. He didn’t know where they came from or how hobgoblins procreated. All he knew was that the population of Level 1 hobgoblins always made up the same ratio of the valley, despite many of the more tenured hobgoblins gaining levels. His latest estimates put the population of the valley near 20000, and he was worried about surviving the winter.

Today is not going to be a successful day of training, Mike mused as he watched a group of hobgoblins stop mid march, apparently deciding a particularly large patch of mud was the perfect place to begin an impromptu brawl.

Hobgoblins were incredibly dimwitted at low levels, and they constantly fought for superiority over those of equal or lesser levels. Creeagle and Creeanth seemed to be above these machinations as the two strongest hobs in the valley, not to mention that their skills gave them special advantages over others. While no one challenged them directly, sometimes the mob mentality was too much for the younger hobgoblins, and they would shirk their duties in favor of having a good time. In Mike’s mind, this was proof that these hobs hadn’t been a part of the original hordes he had saved, and they also hadn’t been present when the Arena started pulling hobgoblins. The individuals that had been a part of those events were ever diligent in their pursuit of safety, and were much easier to work with. The obvious fickleness of youth reminded Mike of his time spent as a Boy Scout troop leader–the youth of his own species were every bit as dimwitted as hobgoblin youths he decided.

He watched the epicenter of the brawl spread out to surrounding platoons, and soon it seemed that every hobgoblin under level 3 was involved, despite the thrashing rushes wielded by those trying to restore order.

The current chaos wasn’t enough to cause Mike to step in and restore balance though–his perspective on what constituted too much chaos had changed the day the younger hobgoblins had somehow managed to light their clubs on fire during one of the mock battles. Only the quick actions of the fishers had saved the huts and food stores of the valley.

Even if it wasn’t yet time for him to restore order, the platoon leaders wouldn’t be enough and he nodded to Creeanth who was standing beside him, giving the signal that the shaman should step in. While Creeagle was the direct leader of the horde, the veneration showed the shaman was second only to Mike himself in the valley, whose presence still interrupted normal proceedings if he wasn’t careful.

Twenty minutes later, the troops were once again marching in sync, and Mike’s thoughts turned to the foreboding events of late, which had been the cause for the increased need to train the valley’s inhabitants. As if the impending winter wouldn’t be hard enough, reports of his scouts dispatching villagers near his valley were increasing. The villagers were once again becoming bold enough to challenge his claim on the surrounding lands, and it seemed more coordinated than it ever had before, almost as if the villagers were probing his strengths rather than just trying to explore and gain levels. The same warning that had saved him from Bart’s original attempt on his life increased in volume with each new report. An invasion was coming, and the valley wasn’t yet ready for it. If they were lucky, it wouldn’t come til Spring, but Mike feared it would be sooner.

That very morning, Mike had witnessed a group of no less than 30 villagers approach the valley. With such a large group, the scouts had sent a runner back to get Mike as reinforcement. Judging the direction and speed of the encroaching force, Mike had flitted from tree to tree on his path to intercept them, instructing the scouts to flank the enemy and wait for his signal.

Finding a clearing that would suit his needs, he filtered Dexterity into Strength using Tactics and then waited for the group to appear. About ten minutes later, the adventurers came into the clearing, the happy banter that tended to proceed such a force of humans had been distinctly absent as they stoically approached the valley. When the lead adventurer was halfway through the valley, Mike lobbed a large log from his hiding place, causing the group to dive for cover. Using Tactics to restore his normal Dexterity, Mike silently ran to the edge of the group and pulled an unsuspecting adventurer into the underbrush, his right hand covering the man’s mouth to ensure no sound could be produced. With speed far eclipsing what he had possessed back in Vietnam, he was able to knock out the adventure and don his clothes in record time. That accomplished, he slithered back among the still cowering adventurers, ingratiating himself into their midst. It was amazing how easy it was to infiltrate an opposing group of humans if they weren’t expecting it. A human form, occupying the space where they thought a comrade was, was often enough to buy a trained infiltrator more than just a handful of minutes, so long as those they infiltrated never saw anything obviously off about the picture.

Mike was broader than the adventurer he had unarmed and disrobed, and the adventurer’s gear was tight across his chest and shoulders, but not enough so to draw undue attention. By simply turning away from the group and making it look like he was searching the surroundings, he was able to stay with them through the 10 tense minutes while they searched for where the flying tree had come from. As they once again resumed their journey, it was easy for him to fall into the back of their formation, where he would more easily remain unobserved.

For the next 20 minutes, he began to piece together the current state of Noobtown through segmented pieces of information whispered in hushed tones. This group of adventurers, composed of 5 separate parties, had been tasked with determining whether or not there was another entrance to Mike’s valley, and had been escorted to within 4 miles of the valley by a few “overseers,” whatever those were. Through a few angry remarks, it became apparent that the overseers were the trusted vassals of none other than Bart. Mike had no idea how that spineless and backstabbing man had gained such prominence when he himself had stolen much of the shopkeeper’s wealth during the village raid. Apparently, the man now controlled the majority of the village, though few followed him by choice. An impressive outburst of expletives from one of the female adventurers, describing both Bart’s heritage and his ability to control the villagers, caused Mike to ask a question without thinking.

“But how is Bart forcing you all to do this? Surely you have free agency.” Mike said allowed, wishing that he could simply blame old age for his untimely outburst, even if it was purely the result of his boundless curiosity.

The adventurers turned at the sound of his voice, unrecognized amongst their close-knit party. Confused glances turned to outright alarm as they went from not recognizing a fellow adventurer to realizing that the boss of the entire Zone was casually standing within spitting distance of them.

“This doesn’t need to become unpleasant, and in fact, I don’t want it to. I would love to know more about how Bart is forcing all of you to attack my valley.” Mike continued quickly, hoping to get more information out of them and avoid bloodshed with a show of diplomacy.

The group awoke from their confused stupor and began woodenly unsheathing their weapons before charging him with poor form and predictable maneuvers. Their attacks felt robotic, as if each swing or stab was performed unwillingly and without heart. It was markedly different from the previous battles he had experienced with villagers, who had fought with rabid intensity in the hopes of gaining glory and experience. No, these villagers seemed terrified of him, yet they fought him anyway, despite his continued pleas for a cease-fire.

When it became apparent that they would fight him to their dying breath, he went on the offensive and easily rendered the group unconscious, signaling the waiting hobgoblins to finish the group off. He was certain that they would continue scoping out his valley’s weaknesses if he allowed them to awaken. But not even the several hundred points to his dodge skill could make the encounter remotely positive for him.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Mike came back to his surroundings in the middle of the parade grounds with a bad taste in his mouth. Even knowing that the humans would respawn, the wholesale slaughter of those men and women was not what he wanted. Noticing that the hobgoblins had once again dissolved into disarray, he motioned for Creeanth to follow him away from the unsatisfactory scene. These hobgoblins weren't near ready to fight the village, and perhaps no amount of training in the next few months could change that. Still, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn’t take every opportunity to try and change that.

As he led the way towards the gardeners and winter-staging area, Mike detailed the list of large items on his agenda.

“We are going to increase our acorn flour output in addition to optimizing how we store the unprocessed acorns. We are also going to need to think through how we can keep the fish ponds from freezing. It wouldn’t do to lose the stock we have carefully cultivated this winter, and I’m not sure where these fish came from or if more will appear should they die out, given the Zone barrier segregating us from the rest of the world. We also need to procure some garlic that we can plant. I’ve never survived a winter without garlic, and truth be told, I don’t know that I can. One the subject of garlic, did you know it has medicinal properties? Well it does, according to this interesting book…”

Mike's monologue went unimpeded for a time, as Creeanth listened with comic intensity. Mike had decided several weeks ago that Creeanth needed to be trained up to lead the valley should the worst case scenario happen and Mike was either moved from the Noob Zone or killed. To that end, the shaman now followed Mike around for the majority of the day, listening patiently to Mike’s nonstop instructions. Mike wasn’t positive how much the shaman understood, but the shaman’s ability to communicate Mike’s desires to the other hobgoblins gave him hope, even if questions in very broken English were the only communication that flowed the opposite way.