"What about their leader?" Satou asked, his tactical mind cataloging information. "You mentioned King Vexor. Does he lead from the front, or does he stay back?"

"Vexor commands from their central encampment, about three miles west of our position. He has personal guard—twenty elite warriors called the Crimson Scales. They were legendary even before the dark magic. Now they're..." she shuddered. "Our best fighters couldn't last more than a few seconds against them."

"And the source of the dark magic?" Freda interjected, her scholarly mind focused on the core problem. "Do you know where the rituals are being performed? There must be a physical site, probably with complex magical arrays and sacrificial altars."

Ssyla frowned, thinking. "There's an ancient temple in the valley's center—the Temple of the First Coil. It was a neutral holy site that both our tribes shared for religious ceremonies. But after the war started, Vexor claimed it for the serpent folk. Our scouts reported seeing strange lights there at night, and hearing chanting. Warriors who went too close either never returned or came back... wrong. Changed."

"That's our primary target," Freda said immediately. "Whatever ritual they're building, it's centered there. We need to destroy that site and kill whoever's conducting the ceremonies."

"First things first," Satou said pragmatically. "We need to reach the lizard-folk survivors, assess their situation, and plan our approach. Charging blindly at a fortified temple surrounded by eight hundred hostile warriors would be suicide."

They continued moving, and within fifteen minutes encountered their first serpent patrol.

Three serpent warriors emerged from behind a cluster of rocks, their scaled forms moving with fluid grace. But the moment Satou saw their eyes, he understood what Ssyla had meant.

Empty. Completely devoid of emotion or intelligence. They looked at the approaching group with the same expression one might give a piece of furniture—no recognition, no fear, no anger. Just blank acknowledgment of targets to be eliminated.

They attacked without warning or hesitation, moving with supernatural speed that would have been impressive from normal warriors.

But they weren't facing normal opponents.

Satou didn't even need to engage personally. "Kelvin, Grimnir—they're yours. Urgot, watch and learn."

Both Kelvin and Grimnir moved instantly, their weapons appearing in their hands as they closed with the serpent warriors. What followed was a masterclass in coordinated combat.

Kelvin went low, his daggers flashing in precise strikes aimed at tendons and arteries. Grimnir went high, his massive war axe coming down in overhead chops that forced the enemies to divide their attention. They'd fought together for so long that their movements were perfectly synchronized—when Kelvin created an opening, Grimnir exploited it immediately. When Grimnir's heavy attacks forced an enemy to dodge, Kelvin was already there to punish the movement.

The serpent warriors were strong and fast, enhanced by whatever dark magic corrupted them. But they fought without strategy, without adaptation. They were powerful but predictable—attacking in straight lines, not defending when defense was needed, not retreating when retreat was tactical.

Within thirty seconds, all three were dead.

But more importantly for Satou's purposes, both Kelvin and Grimnir were gaining valuable combat experience against enhanced enemies. Each fight was making them sharper, faster, more efficient in their movements.

"Good," Satou observed, watching how they coordinated their attacks. "You're both adapting well to their fighting patterns."

They continued moving, and over the next hour encountered two more patrols. Each time, Satou let his companions handle the fights while he observed and provided tactical guidance. With every battle, they were honing their skills against these corrupted warriors.

Urgot finally got his chance during the third encounter—a patrol of four serpent warriors that emerged from a ravine. The young orc's eyes lit up with eager excitement as Kelvin gestured for him to take the lead.

"Remember your training!" Kelvin called out. "Control your breathing! Watch their movements! Don't over-commit to your strikes!"

Urgot charged in with the enthusiasm of youth but also the discipline of someone who'd been trained by the best warriors in Satou's settlement. His technique was rougher than Kelvin's or Grimnir's, more brute force than finesse, but it was effective.

He caught the first serpent warrior with a devastating overhead strike that shattered the creature's collarbone and drove it to its knees. Before it could recover, Urgot followed through with a powerful kick that sent the creature sprawling, then finished it with a crushing blow to the skull.

The remaining three serpent warriors turned their empty eyes on Urgot, attacking in perfect synchronization. The young orc found himself instantly overwhelmed, forced into pure defense as clawed hands and fanged mouths sought his flesh.

But before they could land a killing blow, Kelvin and Grimnir intervened, their more experienced hands turning the tide. Within moments, all four serpent warriors were dead.

"How'd I do?" Urgot asked eagerly, breathing hard but grinning from ear to ear despite a few scratches on his arms.

"You over-extended on your second strike," Kelvin critiqued immediately. "If we hadn't been here to cover you, that would have been a fatal opening. And your footwork needs refinement—you're fighting like you're in an open arena rather than on uneven terrain."

Urgot's face fell slightly at the criticism.

"But," Grimnir added with a rare smile, "for your first real combat against enhanced enemies, you did well. You didn't panic, you remembered your training, and you adapted when things got difficult. That's more than most warriors manage their first time."

The young orc's grin returned, even brighter than before.

They pressed on, and finally the cliffs came into view—a massive rock formation that rose like a jagged tooth from the scarred landscape. At its base, cleverly concealed behind fallen boulders and strategic vegetation, was the entrance to what Ssyla called the ancestral caverns.

Two lizard-folk warriors stood guard at the entrance, their scales bearing the scars of multiple battles. The moment they spotted the approaching group, their weapons came up defensively—until they recognized Ssyla.

"Ssyla!" one of the guards exclaimed, relief and shock mixing in his voice. "By the First Scale, we thought you were dead! The scouting party—"

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