It was without preamble that five adventurers stepped out from the treeline and approached the entrance to the valley. Wary of the small numbers and eager to keep his cannons as a surprise lever for more dire circumstances, Mike stepped out to fight alone.

After seeing that all five of the adventurers were Level 5 or below, he opted for using some rebounding iron axes from a distance, once again holding his cards for when they were needed. Three axes flew from his hands before the adventurers were even aware that an attack was coming. The first ax went all the way through the lead adventurer's chest, bursting from his back just as the second and third axes cut through the two adventurers on either side of the falling body; these axes retained much of their momentum and rebounded back to Mike’s hands with near bruising force. So quick had been the attack, that the remaining two adventurers were just registering their comrades' deaths when Mike released the axes a second time, concluding the enemies advance before they had come within 30 yards of the valley’s pass.

Without any pause, 5 more adventurers stepped from the forest, their levels similar to the first group, and walked in steady cadence across the clearing. Small tremors racked one of the marching soldiers, hinting at the fear that coursed through his body, and Mike was reminded of his first time marching into a fight.

The moonless night was made even blacker by the interwoven treetops that guarded the jungle floor, making it hard to see the squad leader who was less than a foot in front of him. A toxic mix of fear and excitement coursed through his blood stream, straining to break the control that had been honed over the previous 10 months. Despite the nerves spread across the group, each step they took was precise and silent, masking their approach to the enemy watchmen. Without any kind of signal, members of the squad disappeared as they approached the tree line, each intimately familiar with what they needed to accomplish during the mission. Mike remained with the squad leader and one other soldier, their task would be staging a direct assault to distract the enemy from their true target, a high profile warmonger who was none for treachery and torture. A twig snapped just ahead of the squad leader, and roiling silence boiled throughout the night, until it boiled over with an ear shattering gunshot.

Mike breathed deeply, shutting out the demons that haunted his past, and refocused on the approaching adventurers, the smallest of which was still trembling with each step. They had already passed the line of their fallen comrades, and were too close to the entrance to his sanctum. The mirth that usually inhabited his eye was absent as he pulled out some more axes and prepared to kill again. It was one thing to fight trained men who wanted him dead, it was quite another to execute those who stood little chance of stopping him.

Strafing to the left, he threw the two axes in his hands, and exploded after them, closing the distance to the incoming adventurers even as he formed Quicksilver axes in his hands. Five more adventurers were already marching behind this group, and he had to make up the ground he had wasted daydreaming.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Bart ushered the fourth group forward, exactly 3 minutes since their brethren had broken the tree line. He had at first been tempted to storm the valley as a host, but knowing Mike’s history, he feared what surprises the old man had in store. Instead, he had decided on a war of attrition. With the village numbering just under ten thousand, he had just enough troops to send a group of five adventurers out every 3 minutes for 4 days. At the end of 4 days, the first group should have had enough time to respawn and make their way back to the staging area, ready to enter the fight again.

Bart was counting on the fact that the first few hundred groups would be easily killed by Mike, but what would happen when non-stop fighting wore him down? It would be the perfect time to mount a real attack. He had set aside the 100 strongest villagers for that eventuality. His four original party members found themselves among that number, and he hoped that they would be killed by Mike one more time before Mike met his end–they deserved it for cutting Bart out when he was at his lowest.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

After an hour of fighting, Mike had managed to keep the line of carnage 35 yards away from the pass. He never would have imagined that killing 100 people with medieval weapons could be so effortless. His breathing had remained controlled and only the first droplets of sweats had begun to form on his brow. For the most part, he had been able to just use iron throwing axes, catching or dodging the rebounds where necessary. Every few waves, he fought in close combat in order to retrieve any axes that hadn’t made their way back to him.

Though physically easy, some of the fights were mentally exacting, especially when the occasional adventurer was unable to contain their fear. Their eyes and facial expressions betrayed their terror, yet they moved forward almost mechanically, never hesitating or faltering. Mike was reminded of the adventurers he had been forced to kill a few weeks earlier when they were hunting for other entrances to the valley. He had asked Brent about it, but the man had given him no clear answers. It was unnatural, and he wished he could better understand why it was happening.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

It was a battle scene unlike any Mike had experienced before. The System took a few minutes before it absorbed the bodies, making it so that there were never more than 25 bodies lying in the killzone at any one time. The majority of kills had taken place within a 10 yard band, making that area slick with blood, despite the few bodies that littered it. It was becoming more common for the marching adventurers to trip on a patch of slimy ground. Though they scrambled to their feet as soon as possible, the crimson liquid already coated their extremities. It had been 3 hours now, and Mike was beginning to feel tired from the physical exertion. While he still had a lot of stamina remaining, it worried him that there hadn’t been change in the attack. Rank after rank, minute after minute, the adventurers marched to their slaughter like clockwork.

Cautiously, he used Tactics to siphon some of his Dexterity into Toughness, hoping to increase his endurance. This made his motions slower, and three waves later, the adventurers got further than they ever had before. It was still a full 30 yards from the entrance to the valley, but he heard a ragged cheer from the treeline, the rest of the villagers reveling in their progress. Gritting his teeth, he stepped further from the valley, eager to win back the contested ground. The next group was halfway through the killzone and another was already exiting the treeline. He waded into their midst with practice ease, severing and limbs and bashing aside defenses with unstoppable force. Not two minutes later, all 10 of the adventurers had been slain and all of the ground had been regained.

“Big Bossy Boss! Big Bossy Boss!” The hobgoblins yelled back their defiance by cheering for their champion and leader.

A small smile split Mike’s face as he waited for the next group. Once again he was reminded that he wasn’t fighting for himself alone.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

The sun was setting behind the western hills, enhancing the red that clung the entirety of a 20 yard band. The garish pigment reflected off of the Quicksilver that coated the pass behind Mike, making him appear as a bloodthirsty destroying angel to the villagers who continued to march toward him. He was struggling to keep up with the waves now, and the villagers had gotten within 15 yards of the pass at one point. Just a few feet shy of shiny metal that marked the edge of his territory.

By now, he had been fighting for 10 hours straight, and his frustration was beginning to increase at the villagers' tactic. Their small groups made the cannons ineffective, and Mike was sure that many villagers were still held in reserve, so he didn’t dare to bring out the hobgoblins to help him fight.

With a heaving chest and panting breath, he continued to fight all who approached him. Sometime in the last few hours, he had allowed some of his remaining Quicksilver to flow out of his spatial storage bag and coat his body in a flexible armor that fit him like a second skin. His high Toughness made it so that very few villagers would be able to harm him through the metal barrier, and Damage Premonition warned him of any dangerous outliers. No longer needing to dodge all of the attacks, he focused his motions on precise killing strikes that would cost him the least amount of energy.

He noticed with disdain that the armor was making the strikes that landed on him count towards Hardened Skin rather than Impervious Skin. The slight by the System caused anger to fuel his next few attacks, and they cleaved the enemy in half where he had just meant to just strike a finishing blow.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

As the moon reached its peak, Mike was barely standing. His legs ached from the constant motion of his body. His arms were numb from the force of his nonstop blows. The darkness made rebounding axes too dangerous to rely on, and he was no longer able to finish off any of the approaching villagers before they got to him. He now had barely any time to recover after each wave, the last enemy falling just as the first enemy in the next group reached him.

Mike took some blasting powder from his pouch and crushed it against the nearest adventurer, morphing his ax into a hammer while his strike was still in mid air. The explosion sent the adventurer flying backwards, his body rent in pieces. Mike was also affected, although he suffered no damage since the powder wasn’t in direct contact with his person. Rather, it sent the affected hammerhead backwards, causing Mike to swing in a circle.

Within two minutes, hundreds of tiny feet marched in practiced cadence in response to his signal. With boisterous cheers, they charged the 4 adventurers around Mike’s position, and he sat down with a groan. He would sit out for the next few waves while he rested up his body.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Darkness gave way to day, which slowly faded once again to night. Mike and the hobgoblins were swapping off every other wave now. Some of the hobgoblins had gained levels over the previous 18 hours, bolstering their strength. Others had fallen to the attacks of the adventurers. Each fallen hobgoblin tore at Mike’s heart, but there was nothing he could do.

Blood pounded in his ears and his lips and fingertips tingled from lack of blood flow due to his exhaustion. It was all he could do to stay conscious. Numerous small wounds now coated his body, evidence of his decreasing mobility in his impaired state.

A fresh host of hobgoblins filed through the pass, Creegle and Creeanth at their head. With a nudge from the Horde Leader, the shaman stepped forward.

“Big Bossy Boss go sleepy sleep.” The shaman squeaked out in a commanding tone that MIke hadn’t known him capable of.

Mike’s exhaustion overrode his sense of uncertainty and guilt, and he surrendered to the command. With faltering steps, he walked within the pass and collapsed to the ground. As his mind drifted to sleep.