NOVEL NEXT Chapter 108: Setting things
Ethan stood in the heart of the Sanctum, the echo of dispersing footsteps fading into the distance. For the first time since stepping foot into Grosh'ka, the air around him was still. Quiet.
But his mind wasn't.
This place was now his.
And ownership meant responsibility.
He took a slow breath and glanced around. The Sanctum was crude—makeshift homes built from broken stone, bone, and scavenged wood. Iron cages still sat in corners, some open, others stained with dried blood. The scent of ash, sweat, and something fouler still lingered in the air.
No true civilization could grow in filth like this.
Without wasting time, Ethan began moving.
First, he headed toward the central platform where the rune stone pulsed faintly with dull light. He inspected it again—its size and structure, noting the residual mana signature left by the spirit he had destroyed. Whatever entity had latched onto it was now gone. The core was his completely. Its faint glow thrummed in sync with his own mana flow, and he could feel the pulse of every inhabitant tethered to it.
A network.
A link.
He could feel their emotions faintly—an ambient pressure of fear, wariness, curiosity… and among the goblins, restrained rage.
He left the stone and walked toward one of the lookout towers next. The steps were crooked, barely able to hold his weight, but he scaled it regardless, ascending to the top. From there, the entire Sanctum stretched before him—its crude walls, cracked roads, and uneven clusters of shelters. Beyond the gates, the vast wilderness of the Great Labyrinth loomed like a sea of shadows.
He watched in silence.
It was clear now—this place needed order. Structure. Growth.
He pulled out a notebook from his spatial pouch and began jotting rough plans.
Fortifications. Agriculture. Crafting sectors. Combat units. Training grounds. Patrol routes. Gate seals. Observation posts.
Everything the Sanctum lacked, he would implement.
But that came after stability.
Descending the tower, Ethan made his way to one of the old goblin storehouses. Inside, he found rotten food, poorly maintained weapons, broken armor pieces, and some rare supplies hoarded by the goblin overseers. He didn't touch any of it yet—just took stock of what was there and left, locking it behind him.
Then, he stopped at a water well—polluted, murky, useless.
"Kaeryx," Ethan muttered through their bond.
The little drake flitted down from the sky and perched beside him.
"Scout the outer perimeter. Mark the beast trails. Any signs of movement—Awakened or not—I want to know," he commanded.
Kaeryx bobbed his head and shot into the sky, vanishing in a blur of red and gold.
Ethan dusted his hands and walked toward the Sanctum's main square. It was large and flat—once used by the goblins to display punishments. Now, it would be the center of command.
He could already envision it: proper quarters, resource stations, an alert system.
Order born from chaos.
And perhaps…
A sanctuary carved from a world that had none.
He exhaled, staring up at the crimson sky of the Labyrinth.
There was much to be done.
But he wasn't alone anymore.
Ethan stood over a crude map sketched on the bare earth with a sharpened stick. His brow furrowed in thought as he marked makeshift zones: living quarters, a training yard, a supply depot, and a gathering hall. It was far from perfect—but it was a start.
From time to time, he glanced toward the far side of the square where goblins huddled together, whispering in their guttural tongue. Even without understanding the specifics, their intent was clear. Resentment still festered in their eyes. But they wouldn't move. Not yet. Not under his gaze.
A few of the humans and orcs cautiously moved about—clearing debris, reassembling broken stalls and tables, finding shelter among what ruins remained. Most of them still carried bruises from past mistreatment, their eyes flicking warily at the goblins whenever they passed too close.
Ethan walked among them, noting their expressions, their condition, the sharpness—or lack—of their spirits.
They've been broken.
But not beyond repair.
Near the well, he saw a young orc woman hauling two cracked buckets. Her muscles were lean but underfed, and her movements sluggish. He caught her eye, and for a moment, fear flashed across her face. She bowed her head instinctively and tried to hurry past.
"You don't need to bow to me," Ethan said quietly.
She froze, uncertain. Her gaze flicked up.
"Not unless you want to," he added with a faint smile.
Her mouth opened as if to speak, but she said nothing. Instead, she gave a stiff nod and continued, a little less hurried than before.
Ethan let out a slow breath. It'll take time.
From the rooftops, Kaeryx swooped down and landed on his shoulder with a sharp trill.
"You found something?"
The drake projected his findings through the bond—images of a distant ridge to the east, a den of lesser Awakened beasts that had made their way too close to the Sanctum's borders.
"Good," Ethan murmured. "Something to hunt. I'll deal with that later."
He turned toward the high watchtower and narrowed his eyes. David hadn't returned yet. He'd given the man space, but now was the time for action.
Just as he took a step forward, he heard the faint clang of footsteps—David was approaching.
Cleaned, shaved, and wrapped in the dark leather tunic Ethan had given him, David looked like a different person. The beaten slave was gone. In his place was someone who looked like a leader.
"Ethan," David called out, pausing a few paces away. "I still… can't believe it. What you did back there. What you've become." His voice lowered. "You're not the same boy I knew at Gareth Drakethorne Academy."
"I'm not," Ethan replied calmly.
David smiled, his eyes glinting with pride and disbelief. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you surpassed everyone in our class. Hell, maybe even the instructors."
He almost bowed.
But Ethan raised a hand. "No need for that," he said, his voice light, a small smile on his lips. "This is the least I can do… for a friend."
David blinked, emotion welling in his eyes. He stepped forward suddenly, arms open.
Ethan tilted his head, an amused glint flashing across his face. "Not yet," he said dryly.
David stopped, a grin breaking through. "Right. Too soon."
Ethan handed him a small rolled scroll, sealed with wax. "Blueprints," he explained. "A few things I want built. I'm placing you in charge of overseeing them."
David's breath caught. "Me?"
"Second only to me," Ethan confirmed. "I need someone I can trust."
David looked down at the scroll like it was the crown of a kingdom. "You can count on me."
"I know," Ethan said, then glanced out to the far gates. "We'll need to prepare soon. The Labyrinth never stays quiet for long."
He turned, cloak rustling as he began walking toward the Sanctum square again.
Behind him, David stood straighter than he had in years, clutching the scroll to his chest.
Grosh'ka was no longer a place of pain and chains.
It was changing.
And Ethan Drakethorne would see to it—one stone, one soul, one rule at a time.
Ethan stood atop the Sanctum's crude watchtower, arms folded, eyes surveying the quiet land beyond the warped wooden walls. From this height, the expanse of the Great Labyrinth stretched in every direction like a living maze—dense mist creeping over shattered stone plains, jagged cliffs rising in the distance, and the faint calls of Awakened beasts echoing through the canyons.
The Sanctum felt… still. Unnaturally so.
Kaeryx rested beside him, wings tucked in, tail lazily flicking against the wooden boards.
A moment of peace. That in itself is rare.
But Ethan wasn't the type to get comfortable.
His eyes scanned the crude inner structures—half-collapsed huts, broken stalls, charred totems. Pockets of activity stirred below. David was moving between groups, distributing the scrolls Ethan had given him, barking short commands. A few goblins hesitated, but David's sharp glares and Ethan's looming presence ensured no one objected—at least not openly.
A group of orcs was already clearing debris in what would soon become the training grounds. A pair of humans worked on repairing the collapsed forge area near the northeastern wall. Ethan had even spotted a minotaur earlier, dragging broken timber with surprising gentleness.
Things were slowly taking shape.
Still…
Ethan's fingers tapped against the railing, gaze narrowing slightly.
Something doesn't feel right.
He didn't know what. Just a pressure. A stillness in the air that seemed too deliberate. Like the Labyrinth itself was holding its breath.
Below, he caught sight of a goblin sneaking off toward the edge of the Sanctum's wall.
His eyes sharpened.
"Kaeryx," he said quietly.
The drake's pupils constricted.
Ethan leapt from the tower.
Wind howled past his ears, his cloak fluttering violently behind him as he dropped and landed with a muffled impact—dust kicking up beneath his boots. The goblin froze mid-step, head snapping back, eyes wide.
"You didn't think I'd notice?" Ethan asked, his voice low and calm, yet laced with iron.
The goblin trembled, its thin frame quivering under his gaze.
"I-I wasn't—"