My Goblin System : Levelling up with my SSS Class Devouring skill-Chapter 307

After another twenty minutes of painstaking progress, they reached a vantage point.

And there it was.

The Sanctum of Eternal Wisdom sat in a cleared area surrounded by ancient forest. The monastery was old—stone construction that had weathered centuries, walls thick enough to withstand sieges, architecture that spoke of a time when religious institutions needed to defend themselves from raiders.

The main building was three stories tall with a distinctive bell tower rising another twenty feet. Smaller structures surrounded it—dormitories, storehouses, a stable, what looked like training grounds. High walls encircled the entire complex, maybe fifteen feet tall, with a single main gate visible from their position.

But what caught Satou’s attention was the activity.

Soldiers. Lots of them.

"That’s more than monastery security," Sylvara said quietly, counting visible guards. "At least thirty soldiers in full armor. Patrol patterns on the walls. Checkpoints at the gate. This isn’t normal."

Satou’s enhanced vision studied the compound systematically. The soldiers weren’t just present—they were actively securing the location. Guard rotations every hour. Multiple patrol routes covering all approaches. What looked like magical detection at the main entrance.

"The patrol we heard earlier," Satou said. "They were talking about increased security for high-value targets. This confirms it—they’re protecting someone here."

"Richard Clay," Sylvara agreed. "Has to be. But why? If he’s been here for weeks without issue, why suddenly add heavy security?"

Satou’s mind worked through possibilities. "Maybe Chronus got paranoid. Maybe there was a threat we don’t know about. Or maybe..." He paused. "Maybe they sensed something. Maybe Richard or Chronus detected that someone was hunting them, even if they don’t know who or where."

"That would explain the timing," Sylvara said. "Richard’s been researching here for weeks with minimal security. Then suddenly, days ago, they fortify the monastery like it’s under threat. That’s not coincidence—that’s response to detected danger."

"Which means they’re nervous but not certain," Satou observed. "If they knew for sure someone was coming, they’d evacuate Richard immediately. The fact he’s still here means they suspect a threat but don’t have concrete information."

"That gives us an advantage," Sylvara said. "They’re defending against unknown threat. They don’t know what to watch for specifically. We can exploit that."

They observed for another hour as the sun continued descending. The soldier patrols were professional but followed predictable patterns. The monks went about their routines—evening prayers, communal meals, study sessions—apparently accustomed to military presence. The main building’s upper floors had lit windows as occupants moved about inside.

"There," Sylvara said suddenly, pointing to a window on the third floor.

A figure had appeared—tall, wearing robes that were finer than the monks’, moving with the kind of casual confidence that spoke of power. Even from distance, Satou could sense something different about this person. Not a monk. Not a soldier.

"Is that him?" Satou asked.

"Can’t confirm from this distance," Sylvara said. "But wrong profile for regular clergy. Could be Richard Clay. Could be visiting nobility. We need closer observation."

The figure moved away from the window, disappearing into the building’s interior.

"We wait until full dark," Satou decided. "Then we move closer. Get into position to confirm identity and routine. Once we know for certain it’s Richard Clay, we plan the strike."

"Agreed. But Lord Satou..." Sylvara’s expression was serious. "Those soldiers aren’t monastery guards. They’re proper military—Valstrath regulars based on the uniforms. Thirty-plus trained fighters with magical support. Even if we confirm Richard Clay is here, getting to him through that defense won’t be easy."

"Nothing about this mission was going to be easy," Satou replied. "We knew that from the start."

They settled into their observation position, watching the monastery as day faded into evening. Torches were lit along the walls. Patrols changed shifts with military precision. The compound prepared for night with the efficiency of an active military installation.

Inside those walls, somewhere in that ancient stone structure, was the target—Richard Clay, champion of the Time Lord, one half of Chronus’s soul and power.

The man whose death would cripple Chronus permanently.

And Satou was going to kill him.

The only questions remaining were: when, how, and whether they’d survive the attempt.

[Five Hundred Miles South - The Settlement, Late Afternoon]

The war room was packed with more people than it had ever held before.

The large table carved from a single tree trunk—impressive when it had been installed—now seemed inadequate for the number of commanders, leaders, and specialists crowded around it. Maps covered the surface, defensive plans layered three deep, supply inventories and training schedules competing for space along the edges.

Lyra stood at one end of the table, coordinating the meeting with the same ruthless efficiency she brought to every administrative task. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical style, her expression focused despite the exhaustion visible in her eyes. She’d barely slept since Satou left, throwing herself into work as a way to avoid thinking about him traveling through danger.

Jessica stood nearby, providing a counterbalance to the military tension filling the room. Her pink hair caught the afternoon light streaming through windows, and her healer’s calm presence helped keep tempers from flaring during disagreements.

The rest of the room was a fascinating mixture of species and command styles:

Urgak dominated one corner, the massive orc chieftain leaning over the table with his remaining arm, his scarred face set in permanent grimness. Several orc sub-commanders stood behind him—warriors who’d proven themselves in combat and now helped coordinate the growing orc forces.

Kelvin represented the hobgoblin contingent, his usual cheerfulness muted by the seriousness of the situation but still present in occasional comments that kept morale from bottoming out completely.

Grimnir stood with arms crossed, the veteran fighter looking even more intimidating than usual. His scarred face and missing fingers testified to decades of combat, and his presence reminded everyone that they were preparing for real war, not theoretical exercises.

Chief Ssk’thar of the Scaled Brethren occupied the corner furthest from the door, his reptilian bulk requiring a specially reinforced chair that had been constructed overnight. His amber eyes tracked every conversation, processing information with the intelligence of someone who’d led his people through multiple crises.