Bruk and Drog stood before Leonhart, their expressions serious yet tinged with anticipation. The cavern, now filled with his warriors, felt smaller than ever. His people—forty in number, a fraction of what once was—waited silently, their gazes locked onto him, their leader, their hope.
Bruk was the first to speak. "Sshorak agreed to the alliance… but he has a condition."
Leonhart's sharp eyes flickered with intrigue. "A condition?"
Drog smirked. "He wants to meet you first. Personally."
Silence stretched in the chamber before Leonhart gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Then we will go to him. All of us."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered goblins, but none voiced disagreement. They understood the significance of this meeting. The lizardmen were a warrior race, bound by strength and honor. Sshorak was no fool—this was not hesitation, but a final test.
"Prepare to move," Leonhart commanded, his voice unwavering. "We leave before nightfall."
The journey was grueling, but his people endured. Moving through dense swamps and humid air, they marched with purpose. The landscape soon shifted into the vast wetlands that marked the lizardmen's territory—mist-covered waters, ancient trees, and unseen creatures lurking beneath the murky surface.
As they neared the heart of the territory, they were met by lizardmen warriors. Towering, scaled figures, armed with spears and clad in bone-carved armor, watched them with cold, calculating eyes. Yet, they did not move to stop them.
One of the lizardmen stepped forward and motioned with his clawed hand. "Follow."
Leonhart strode ahead, Bruk and Drog flanking him, his people moving behind in tight formation. Every step forward was heavy with tension, but Leonhart held his head high. He had no doubt, no hesitation. The air around him thrummed with quiet authority.
At last, they reached the village—if it could be called that. The lizardmen lived among the wetlands, their dwellings built into the trees and stone, connected by natural bridges. Fires flickered, illuminating the forms of dozens of warriors who had gathered to watch.
And at the center, atop a throne of carved bone and woven reeds, sat Sshorak.
The lizardman chief was an imposing figure. Taller than any of his kind, his emerald scales gleamed under the firelight. His piercing yellow eyes met Leonhart's as he stood, his muscular frame exuding raw power.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, to the astonishment of all watching, Sshorak placed a fist over his chest and bowed his head slightly.
"Leonhart," he rumbled, his voice deep and guttural. "You have come."
Leonhart stepped forward, his gaze steady. "You wished to meet me before finalizing our alliance."
Sshorak studied him for a moment longer, then let out a low, rumbling chuckle. "That is what I told your warriors." His eyes glowed with something close to admiration. "But the truth? I had already decided."
Bruk and Drog exchanged surprised glances, but Leonhart remained composed. "Explain."
The lizardman chief folded his arms, his sharp claws tapping against his biceps. "I watched your battle. I saw how you stood against the humans, how you fought beyond your limits. And more importantly, I saw your people—how they look at you." His golden gaze swept over the goblins behind Leonhart. "Only a fool would reject such strength."
The words sent a ripple of pride through Leonhart's warriors. Some stood taller, their chests swelling with newfound confidence. Even Bruk and Drog smirked, their earlier concerns melting away.
Leonhart let the weight of Sshorak's words settle before he spoke. "Then why the request to meet me?"
Sshorak bared his sharp teeth in what could only be described as a grin. "Because I wished to look into the eyes of the monster who defied the humans and lived." His tail flicked behind him, a slow, deliberate motion. "And I wished to welcome you properly."
He stepped forward, standing eye to eye with Leonhart. Then, in a display that left both goblins and lizardmen stunned, Sshorak extended his clawed hand.
Leonhart did not hesitate. He reached out, grasping the lizardman's wrist in a warrior's clasp.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken respect. Then, a roar erupted from the lizardmen warriors—a deep, reverberating sound of approval. The goblins, emboldened, followed with their own cries, their voices filling the air.
Sshorak released Leonhart's hand and stepped back. "From this day forth, our blades will strike as one." He turned to his warriors. "Let it be known—the lizardmen stand with the Variants!"
Leonhart's heart pounded, but not with uncertainty. This was victory—not just of strength, but of recognition. They had been hunted, broken, reduced to mere survivors. But now, they had allies, for real this time. They had a future.
He turned to his people, his voice carrying across the gathered warriors. "We rise from the ashes. We will no longer run. We will no longer hide." His eyes burned with the fire of unshaken resolve. "This is only the beginning."
The roars of both goblins and lizardmen shook the very air.
And so, the alliance was forged—not out of necessity, but out of respect.
The end of Chapter 24.