How Not To Summon a Modern Private Military Company in Another World Chapter 20: Leaving the Temple

Albert moved slowly through the dim corridor, rifle tight against his shoulder. The stone beneath his boots was cold, uneven, still slick with moisture from centuries of neglect. Every step echoed faintly, swallowed by the stale air. The green glow of his NVG washed the world into shades of shadow and movent.

"Clear left," whispered one of the Atlas operators.

"Right clear," another answered.

They had been advancing for several minutes, the passage winding deeper underground. The further they went, the more alien it beca, the walls narrowing, the carvings turning strange and almost serpentine. The sll of decay thickened, mixed with sulfur and sothing else Albert couldn’t quite place. Sothing alive.

Ward tapped his shoulder, motioning ahead. "Sir, thermal’s picking up movent. Big cluster, thirty ters down."

Albert held up a fist, signaling a halt. The team crouched, weapons raised, ears straining.

He took a slow breath and gestured forward. The corridor widened ahead, a faint red light flickered from sowhere below. They approached carefully until the floor dropped away, revealing a carved ledge overlooking an open chamber.

And what they saw froze every man in place.

Below them was a massive cloister, a hollowed-out cavern lit by crude torches jamd into the walls. Hundreds of goblins crowded the floor, their green hides glistening under the fla. They were packed shoulder to shoulder, hissing and snarling, ard with crude blades and rusted spears.

But it wasn’t the goblins that drew Albert’s focus.

At the far end, towering above them all, was sothing far worse.

The creature stood nearly three ters tall, its bulk massive and deford, with muscles that looked carved from stone. Its skin was a mottled gray-green, veins bulging like ropes. In one hand it gripped a rusted iron club the size of a man. Its head was wide and brutish, a flattened nose, tusk-like teeth, and eyes burning faint orange in the gloom.

It raised its club high and bellowed sothing, a guttural roar that wasn’t quite language but had rhythm, structure. The sound reverberated through the chamber, shaking dust from the ceiling. The goblins below responded with shrieks and pounding fists, stamping their crude weapons against the ground in unison.

Albert said nothing, watching closely. The creature was giving a speech, or sothing like it. It barked and growled, gesturing at the walls and the ceiling, pointing toward the tunnel where Atlas was hiding. Every ti it roared, the goblins scread louder, like a mob ready for war.

Ward leaned closer, voice low but urgent. "Sir... we’re looking at sothing different here. That thing’s not like the others."

"No shit," Albert said. "But what the hell is it?"

"Doesn’t matter. It’s huge, fast, and angry. And if that’s a leader, then killing it might scatter the rest."

Albert’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. "Or it’ll drive them into a frenzy."

They stayed low, watching. The creature slamd its club into the ground, sending cracks through the stone. The goblins howled, throwing bones and weapons into the air like a ritual.

Ward swore quietly. "We can handle the little ones with small arms. But that big bastard? We’ll need sothing heavier."

Albert turned his head. "Suggestions?"

"RPG would do it," Ward said. "Or a Javelin, if we had one. Hell, even a Carl Gustaf. Sothing that hits hard enough to punch through a truck."

Albert glanced at the confined walls. "Not in here. Blast would tear us apart."

"Then we lure them out," Ward replied. "We fall back to Claes’s position, get topside, and level this whole goddamn pit from above."

Albert considered it for a mont. It was the right call, the only call. The structure was too tight for a stand-up fight. Hundreds of goblins, one massive unknown creature, and zero room to maneuver. What’s more, there could be more.

He clicked on his comms. "Bravo, this is Actual, do you copy?"

After a few seconds of static, Claes’s voice ca back. "Go ahead, Actual. We’re stabilizing survivors now."

"Listen carefully," Albert said. "We found sothing. Large chamber beneath the temple. At least a hundred goblins gathered, plus one oversized... thing. Looks like so kind of mutated leader. Three ters tall, heavy weapon, commands the rest."

Claes’s voice sharpened. "An alpha?"

"Sothing like that. We’re not engaging here — too risky. We’re pulling back to your position. Prep for evac."

"Copy that. Did you call it in, the evac?"

"Ward just did that five minutes ago. Two MH-53, the one that carried us to the village, and two CH-53 to transport the survivors."

"Good," Claes replied.

Albert nodded and gestured for his n to move. The Atlas operators turned, retracing their steps through the twisting corridors. Behind them, the faint roar of the horde echoed up from below.

They reached the main chamber where Claes’s Marines waited.

Albert gave a short nod to Claes as he approached. "We’re moving out. That thing down there—whatever it is—it’s stirring them up. We don’t want to be here when it finds the surface."

Claes slung his rifle and pointed toward the exit. "We’re going to carry the survivors."

Albert looked at the survivors who were being carried by the Marines, they looked pitiful as Claes described.

"Poor souls," he said.

"Yeah, this temple deserved to be leveled up," Claes comnted.

"Okay, let’s move. We didn’t want to be here when that huge creature ordered them to move out and possibly hunt for us," Albert said.

Claes gave a curt nod, tightening his grip around the frail woman in his arms. The others followed his lead, Marines hoisting survivors over their shoulders, carrying them in a fireman’s lift or cradling them carefully in both arms.

Five minutes later.

The survivors whimpered softly, so half-conscious, others clinging weakly to the Marines carrying them. Claes’s n murmured reassurance as they climbed the final slope toward the exit, their breath coming out ragged in the cold air.

Albert motioned his team forward. "Form periter! Get those won to the center!"

The Marines and Atlas operators spread out, scanning the treeline with rifles raised. The survivors were laid down gently on the ground.

Claes set his rifle against a rock and looked up at Albert. "We’re all out."

"Good," Albert replied, exhaling. "Predator One, this is Atlas Actual. We’re clear of the temple. Confirm visual and report on air assets."

Static crackled, then the drone operator’s calm voice ca through. "Actual, this is Predator One. Visual confird. All friendly heat signatures accounted for. Air assets inbound, ETA two minutes."

Albert turned toward the horizon. "Copy that. Two minutes to heaven."

Ward gave a dry chuckle. "Feels like the longest two minutes of my life."

"Yeah," Claes muttered. "I just hope that thing down there doesn’t decide to co out for so air."

"Let’s make sure it doesn’t," Albert said. "Everyone, weapons ready. If anything moves from that entrance, we light it up."

The forest was eerily silent except for the faint moans of the rescued won and the steady hum of the wind. Then, gradually, a distant rumble rolled over the treetops, the familiar, heavy chop of rotor blades cutting through the air. Dust and ash lifted from the ground as the sound grew louder.

"There they are," Ward said, spotting faint blinking lights cresting the ridge.

Albert raised his hand toward the sky as twin MH-53 Pave Lows ca into view, followed by the bulkier CH-53s trailing behind them. The formation descended steadily, lights flashing, rotors thundering through the valley.

"Alright!" Albert shouted over the wind. "Marines, load the survivors on the CHs! After that, you board that on the left MHs. Atlas, you’re on the right MHs! Move!"