Volk sat silently against the jagged wall of the cave, his hulking frame a statue in the dim torchlight. His eyes were closed, but his mind remained sharp—calculating, scheming.

Around him, the horde lay sprawled across the cold stone, their heavy breathing mingling with the soft drip of water echoing from the cavern’s depths.

Orcs and ogres, bruised and battered, snored and groaned in their slumber, unaware of the quiet storm brewing within their leader’s mind.

Volk’s eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes—cold, sharp, glowing faintly with steely resolve.

Slowly, deliberately, he rose to his feet, each movement calculated and soundless.

His massive form towered over the resting horde, his shadow stretching long and ominous across the cavern floor.

He took a moment to survey them, the warriors who had entrusted their lives to him.

For all his bravado earlier, Volk knew the truth in his gut: If the harpies truly wanted to find them, they would.

The cave’s darkness was no fortress. It was temporary—an illusion of safety.

The harpies were sharp-eyed predators.

They could follow blood trails, pick up lingering scents, and they had patience on their side. Hiding in the cave was nothing but a delay of the inevitable.

The horde might rest for a few hours, but soon enough, the harpies would descend like a swarm of death.

Volk clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. This place will be our tomb if we let it.

He had spoken confidently earlier—crafted a lie, a story to soothe the fears of his tired soldiers. And it worked.

It bought them the rest they desperately needed. But Volk knew better than to trust fate.

Victory wasn’t won through hope; it was won through action.

If the harpies were going to come, he would not wait for them to strike first. No, he thought, his fist tightening. I will face them. Alone, if I must.

Silently, Volk turned toward the cavern’s exit.

His heavy boots moved with uncharacteristic grace, barely making a sound as he slipped away from his slumbering horde.

Each step carried the weight of his decision—one that he bore alone. He would not risk waking them.

If his plan failed, if he fell out there under the open sky, the horde would still have a chance to recover, regroup, and fight another day.

They don’t need to know what I’m doing.

Not yet.

Emerging into the dark tunnel leading toward the cave’s mouth, Volk took a deep breath.

The air here was colder, sharper, alive with faint echoes of the wind outside. He could almost sense the harpies—those arrogant birds—circling above, waiting for their moment to strike.

Let them come, Volk thought darkly as his lips curled into a smirk.

Let them fly down, full of confidence, thinking they have cornered us. I’ll make them regret underestimating me.

Volk wasted no time. If he was going to lure the harpies into a trap, he had to act fast, and he had to be meticulous. Every second counted.

He scanned the tunnel, his sharp eyes catching every detail—the way stones jutted from the walls, the loose gravel along the ground, the sharp, splintered edges of wooden beams long abandoned by miners who once used these caves.

A plan began to form, and Volk’s mind became a storm of ideas.

First, he needed choke points. Harpies were agile, fast, and deadly in open spaces, but here in the cave, their wings were a liability.

Volk began moving rocks—huge boulders that others would deem immovable.

His powerful hands gripped stone after stone, sweat pouring down his brow as he carefully rearranged them into narrow, maze-like pathways.Any harpy that entered would be forced to fly low or weave between walls of jagged rock, robbing them of their advantage.

“This will slow them down,” Volk muttered to himself, his voice low and dark as he shoved another massive boulder into place.

Next, he needed traps—real ones.

Volk gathered every resource he could find in the tunnels.

From the broken wooden beams, he fashioned crude but effective spike traps.

He snapped off sharp shards of wood, wedging them into the ground at angles where an unwary harpy might land, impaling themselves.

He placed them beneath piles of loose gravel, covering them so they remained hidden to the untrained eye.

He worked tirelessly, his mind fixated on every detail.

He strung tripwires made from old rope across narrow pathways, tying them taut. Volk knew harpies were sharp, but if they were chasing him in anger, they wouldn’t see every wire—especially not in this dim cave.

Each wire would trigger a collapse—loose stones and boulders he rigged overhead, ready to fall and crush anything below.

“You’ll think twice about coming down here, won’t you?” Volk growled to himself, a savage grin forming as he checked each mechanism, ensuring they would hold.

He even prepared fire. Volk tore strips of cloth from his cloak and wrapped them around discarded bones and sticks.

He dipped them into pools of old, oily water he found deeper in the cave, likely remnants of some forgotten seepage.

Once lit, they would burn hot and bright—enough to disorient the harpies’ keen eyes and send them careening into the traps he’d laid.

Time slipped away unnoticed as Volk worked, sweat pouring off his brow and dripping onto the stone.

His muscles ached, his hands bled from gripping splintered wood and sharp stones, but he did not falter.

Every trap, every barrier, every piece of his plan was carefully, brutally efficient.

Finally, Volk stepped back to admire his work.

The cave tunnel was no longer just a passage; it was a gauntlet.

A death trap.

If they come for me, Volk thought as he wiped blood from his calloused hands, they won’t leave alive.

But he wasn’t done. Volk turned his gaze toward the mouth of the cave. He needed bait.

The harpies would need a reason to come down, to follow him deeper into his web of traps. He grabbed one of the sharp wooden shards and sliced open his forearm with a hiss.

Experience tales with empire

Blood welled up and dripped to the ground.

Volk smeared it across the stones, down the tunnel walls, leaving an unmistakable trail.

To any harpy, it would look like prey—wounded, bleeding, and desperate—fleeing deeper into the cave.

“Come find me, you winged bastards,” Volk snarled, his voice echoing faintly into the dark. He could already imagine the harpies’ cries of frustration, their arrogance turning to fear as his traps sprang to life.

Satisfied, Volk moved back to the final chamber where his horde still rested, unaware of the carnage he was preparing outside.

He sank down to his knees against the cold stone, his breathing heavy but controlled.

“It’s ready,” he murmured to himself, his lips curling into a grim smile. “If they dare come, I’ll make them pay.”

For now, Volk closed his eyes. The traps were set, the plan was in motion. All he needed to do was wait.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep