My Goblin System : Levelling up with my SSS Class Devouring skill

Each elite wore dark armor that absorbed light, enchanted to reduce noise from movement. Their weapons were professional killer’s tools: poisoned blades, crossbows for silent ranged kills, garrotes made from demon-forged wire that could slice through flesh and bone.

Vex’ahlia herself addressed them, her black eyes reflecting no light, her silver-white hair bound back severely.

"We target leadership and specialists. Battle mages are priority one—every mage we kill weakens their magical capabilities. Officers are priority two—killing captains and lieutenants disrupts command structure. Specialists are priority three—sappers, siege engineers, medical staff."

She pulled out a list compiled from two days of observation.

"I have names and tent positions for eight high-value targets. We split into pairs. Each pair takes one target. Infiltrate, eliminate, extract. No heroics. If the target is too well-defended, withdraw and find an easier kill. Dead enemies are valuable. Dead elites are unacceptable losses."

The thirty warriors divided into fifteen pairs, each pair receiving a target dossier with sketched tent locations and guard patterns.

"You move independently once outside these walls. Rendezvous point is the western ravine at four hours before dawn. Anyone not at rendezvous by then is assumed killed or captured—we don’t wait."

Understanding rippled through the group. This was professional military operations with professional acceptance of casualties.

"Move out. Make Elric’s command staff afraid to sleep."

The elites departed through the western postern, moving with equally professional silence.

And in the warehouse district, hidden defenders settled into position and waited.

Kelvin commanded forty of the settlement’s best warriors, positioned with tactical precision throughout the central food warehouse and surrounding buildings.

Inside the warehouse itself:

Ten defenders concealed behind grain sacks, positioned to create crossfire

Five defenders in the rafters above, ready to drop down or fire from elevation

Five defenders hidden in false-bottom storage containers, positioned for ambush

Around the warehouse perimeter:

Ten defenders in adjacent buildings with sightlines to all exits

Five defenders on rooftops with bows ready for fleeing targets

Twenty of Seraphina’s corruption specialists were woven throughout these positions, their detection magic creating an invisible web that would sense any living being approaching with hostile intent.

Kelvin himself held position behind a large grain barrel near the warehouse’s main entrance, positioned to observe anyone entering while remaining concealed. His weapons were ready: two short swords designed for close-quarters combat, a belt of throwing knives, a whistle to signal the trap’s springing.

"Infiltrators are five minutes out," Seraphina reported through the network. "Three targets, approaching from the northwest. They’re moving cautiously but directly toward your position."

"Acknowledged," Kelvin responded. "All defenders—weapons ready but remain concealed. Let them enter. Let them start their sabotage. Only when I signal do we spring the trap."

Forty mental acknowledgments.

"Jessica, have healers ready. If any of our people get hurt in the fighting, I want immediate medical response."

"Healers positioned and ready," Jessica confirmed. "But try not to get hurt. We’re running low on supplies."

"I’ll do my best."

Kelvin settled into absolute stillness, controlling his breathing, becoming part of the shadows. He’d fought in enough battles to know how to wait.

The infiltrators were coming.

Let them think they were succeeding.

Then show them how wrong they were.

Hour Nineteen: The Warehouse Infiltration

The three Royal Shadow Corps infiltrators reached Third Line’s northwestern gap and penetrated without incident. The incomplete fortifications were exactly as scouted during two days of distant observation—a fifty-yard section where the wall was only six feet high instead of twelve, with gaps wide enough to slip through.

They moved with professional silence honed by decades of covert operations. Every step was calculated. Every shadow assessed for concealment. Every sound analyzed for threat.

The lead infiltrator used hand signals to direct his team:

Two fingers pointed forward: Advance. Closed fist: Stop. Fingers walking: Patrol approaching. Flat hand waving down: Take cover.

They navigated the settlement’s outer districts using pre-scouted routes that avoided obvious patrol paths. The settlement’s defenders were concentrated at Second Line, leaving the interior districts less heavily guarded—a tactical weakness the infiltrators intended to exploit.

Thirty minutes of careful movement brought them to the warehouse district—a cluster of large wooden buildings near the settlement’s center. Even in darkness, the structures were identifiable by their size and the smell of stored grain.

The lead infiltrator halted his team with a closed fist. They went to ground behind a low wall, observing the warehouse area for guards, patrols, any sign of defensive presence.

Minutes passed. Five. Ten. Fifteen.

Nothing. No visible sentries. No torches marking guard positions. No sounds of patrols. Just darkness and silence and the faint smell of stored food.

The lead infiltrator’s instincts screamed warning. This was too easy. A warehouse full of food supplies, critical to the settlement’s survival, and no guards?

Either the settlement’s leadership was incompetent... or this was a trap.

But orders were orders. They had a mission. Destroy the food supply. End the siege in days instead of weeks. Save hundreds of human lives by preventing a prolonged battle.

He signaled his team: That one. The largest warehouse, showing signs of heavy recent use—fresh mud tracks from carts, worn paths where supplies had been carried, slight wear on the door from repeated opening.

They approached cautiously, watching for tripwires, pressure plates, any sign of physical traps.

The lead infiltrator examined the door lock with experienced eyes. Standard mechanism, nothing sophisticated. He pulled lock-picking tools from his pack and worked the lock with practiced skill.

Click.

The lock opened.

He paused again, listening for any sound from inside. Nothing.

Slowly, he pushed the door open, letting it swing wide enough to see inside.

The warehouse interior was dark, stacked with grain sacks and food barrels. Perfect target. A few alchemical incendiary flasks would reduce months of food supplies to ash in minutes.

Still no guards. No sounds. No movement.

The lead infiltrator made a decision. Mission first. Paranoia second.

He signaled his team: Proceed. Plant incendiaries. Be ready for quick exit.

The three infiltrators slipped inside, separating to cover more ground. Each pulled prepared incendiary materials from their packs—alchemical flasks designed to burn hot enough to ignite even wet grain.