The plains and the woods looked serene, nearly serene, as the dawn of the first day of the conference drew near. But deep in the north, in claw-like mountains ravaged by bitter gusts, terror held sway. Three years the goblins had worked hidden from sight, their rough engines screeching against bad tracks, their whistle high and tinny, echoing across valleys like a shriek. They had pulled it off, for goblins seldom finished anything so magnificent without catastrophe. And yet catastrophe had followed them wherever they went.
Their maiden test run on their railway was a disaster. Carriages twisted in the middle of the track, engines revved and then died into smoke, and a tiny explosion flung half a dozen goblins off down a shallow ravine. Their improvised engineering, powered by pilfered beastman oil and pilfered bits of human know-how, was not much more than a limp husk. But to them, it was a victory.
The next phase of their plan was kidnapping.
By night, the goblins attacked. Beastman engineers, diligently overseeing the final section of their rails, were taken in the darkness. Chains clanged, magical protections were skirted with inelegant alchemy, and before dawn, the goblins had spirited away scores of men, taking them off into the mountains like herded cattle. The prisoners were to be leveraged, to coerce Sharath to parlay—or maybe to sell secrets of his technological kingdom for gold.
When the news reached Darsha, Sharath sat in his war room, gazing out at the map of inter-kingdom rails. His hands were clenched involuntarily, knuckles whitening. The instant the first dispatch came, he let drop the crystal tablet, and it crashed on the polished oak floor.
"Cowards," he growled, low and menacing. "They dare—"
Madhu, at his side, placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Sharath… the goblins. They've… abducted engineers.
Sharath's eyes, normally measured and intent, blazed with a ferocity that could melt steel. His jaw clamped down, and for the first time in years, the empire saw the tempest behind the calm. He didn't speak; he didn't breathe rapidly. He just moved, and all around him seemed to feel the transition. The guards within the room stiffened. Couriers halted mid-stride. Even 🐧NeuroBoop, who was seated quietly in the corner, muttered in shock: "Oh. Oh no. That's… that's berserk mode."
In minutes, the troops were deployed. Horsemen in iron armor, mages, and magically enhanced units with the latest Sharath-designed gear flooded the goblin kingdom borders. Above, enchanted balloons floated like dark suns, their long shadows across jagged peaks. Spells, once devoted to watching and protecting, turned toward offense, granting troops protective shields and speed charms.
Sharath himself took the vanguard. Riding on a magically powered war steed, engine thrumming softly from its heart, he was a form of dark armor and shining steel. Madhu followed him, organizing logistics so that siege engines, magical bombardiers, and supply caravans flowed smoothly. The goblins were clever, but they were no match for coordinated planning and anticipation of the Darsha army.
The first blow was accurate. Goblin forts were besieged before the sun passed its peak. Sharath led the siege of the mountain passes, where the goblins had taken their abducted engineers. Booms of cannon fire and flame magic ripped through makeshift defenses. Goblins attempted to resist, but the army had been drilled for years, and Sharath's troops flowed like one—immaculately coordinated, lethal, and irresistible.
By the second day, the central goblin city was besieged. Wooden towers were set on fire, and magical walls shattered due to Sharath's combined engineering prowess and enchantments. The goblin king in the city square lifted his clawed arms, trying to parley, but the surrounding soldiers were already stunned by the human general's effectiveness.
Sharath dismounted his horse, striding through ash and smoke like a ghost. His mere presence made the goblins stumble. He did not yell, he did not brandish his sword—he merely strode. And as he strode, his army carried out the devastation with precision. Cranes and catapults destroyed walls for defense, specialized mages deactivated traps with precise spells. Those who fought back were quickly put down.
The engineers rescued were discovered huddled in a half-collapsed cavern, terror written on their faces. Sharath's eyes rested upon them for an instant, and then he faced the goblin king. "You threatened the empire. You took the innocent prisoner. You left me no choice." His voice, measured and tranquil, carried the weight of destruction. "This is the only mercy you will find: your empire dies here."
And so Sharath issued the command.
The army advanced in organized waves. Every building, every workshop, every rail and rough engine was leveled. Goblin huts fell, goblins were taken or driven off, and magical protections were removed or reversed upon them. It was not just a victory—it was wholesale extermination. At the end of the third day, the goblin empire no longer existed. There were only smoldering rubble and stragglers, who scattered into mountains where they would never be found again.
The extent of Sharath's anger sent shockwaves across the nearby realms. When news reached the elves, they shook. When it reached the dwarves, their beards quivered. And the beastmen? They had seen the effectiveness, the precision, and sheer destructive capability of a man who mixed engineering, magic, and war brains firsthand.
In the corridors of Darsha's palace, Sharath stood looking down upon the battlefield from a balcony. Sunset was pouring the sky with colors across burning rubble. Madhu came up to him, speaking softly but firmly. "You did what you had to. But… the others… they will see this, and fear will follow."
Sharath's jaw clenched. "They ought to fear. They all should fear. Never will any force dare challenge the Darsha empire and go unpunished. Let this serve as a lesson carved into the very rocks of the mountains."
🐧NeuroBoop grumbled cynically: "Lesson learned. Severity: genocidal. Morale boost: dubious. Reputation: awe-inspiring. Humans really do overreact at times."
The following day, ambassadors came from elves, dwarves, and beastmen, offering guarded congratulations. They did not mention rebellion, or trade—they merely were in awe of the size of the destruction, the effectiveness of the strike, and the sheer determination that lay behind it. The elves murmured among themselves about the tunnels they had built, comparing them to the destruction achieved in a matter of days. Beastmen offered quiet respect, their typical rowdy atmosphere restrained.
In the great hall of the palace, Sharath called forth representatives of all three empires. He spoke not of conquest, but of watchfulness, order, and unity. "This empire," he declared, voice firm, "will not only survive—it will prevail. And those who seek to harm it will face retribution beyond imagination. You've witnessed what I am capable of when threatened. Let this be our basis: peace, maintained by power."
There were queries, naturally. The elves tentatively asked after their borders, the beastmen requested guarantees regarding oil commerce and sharing of resources, and dwarves asked after new tunnels and co-ventures. Sharath responded to each patiently, but the shadow of recent events rested uneasily in the air.
In the shops and laboratories, meanwhile, engineers murmured about the abrupt accelerated pace of Sharath's defense projects. The goblin annihilation had caused everyone to recall how vulnerable empire really was, and the innovation kept pace at a faster rate. Though the goblins had departed, shadows they left behind drove each inventor to design quicker, superior, and more effectively.
Sharath lay awake through countless nights pouring over the intelligence gathered from the goblin lands. Maps, pilfered blueprints, and rough rail diagrams covered his desk. He examined them not to rebuild, but to comprehend, to make certain no such danger would ever happen again. Magical wards were strengthened, spy networks expanded, and contingency plans created for all possible contingencies.
And yet, even as he was angry and resolute, Sharath bore a burden. Genocide had not been his desire, but practicality had made its necessity. He was aware history would report this otherwise, legends would speak of the human king who burned a goblin kingdom to ashes—but he was also aware peace, order, and prosperity for the Darsha empire had been assured.
Next week, the empire was calm once more. Work on railways, air balloons, and schooling resumed. People walked about freely, not knowing how much havoc had taken place just beyond the mountains. Commerce picked up again, oil exports went on, and magical monitoring brought stability.
Sharath strode through the city, sword still sheathed, watching the peace he had battled to maintain. Children played in the street, scholars argued openly, and the scent of iron and oil hung in the air—the smell of progress.
Madhu fell into step alongside him. "You saved them all—from themselves, as well," she said softly, pointing to the city. "From war, from chaos, from goblins."
Sharath smiled weakly, eyes following the newly drawn lines of tracks and bridges that cut through his empire. "I did what needed to be done. Strength sometimes needs to be absolute for peace to prevail. Let this empire expand, develop, and thrive… under control."
🐧NeuroBoop, hovering unseen, contributed with a hint of sarcasm, "And perhaps, perhaps humans will understand not to abduct engineers ever again."
Sharath permitted himself a soft laugh. For the first time in days, he did not have the weight of anger. The goblins were defeated. The empire was safe. And the horizon lay before him, full of boundless potential for progress, diplomacy, and inventio