Chapter 13: The First Battle of Exploration

The following morning, apart from the twenty armed serfs left behind to guard the camp, the entire force set out in full strength. Thirteen Bronze Knights, two Squire Knights, one hundred and eighty armed serfs, and fifty-five expendable slave soldiers—a total of two hundred and fifty combatants—formed a column over three hundred meters long, marching imposingly toward the goblin tribe twenty-five kilometers away.

Within the ranks, there was no sign of panic among the armed serfs; instead, their faces glowed with excitement, eager for the coming battle. The reason was simple: Verin had promised that any serf who brought back three goblin heads would be publicly freed from bondage and granted the status of a free citizen. Beyond that, for each additional goblin killed, he would reward them with a silver coin.

Freedom and private property—these were dreams so distant that most serfs dared not even imagine them. But now, if they could risk their lives and succeed, their children, their grandchildren, even their descendants, would all walk as free men.

Mounted upon his red phosphorus steed, Verin observed his surroundings while watching the hopeful faces of his armed serfs. Satisfaction welled in his heart; barring any unexpected events, this campaign would proceed smoothly. He well understood the difference between a horde of living dead cannon fodder and a force of serfs burning with fighting spirit.

With memories from two lifetimes, Verin had clear plans for the future of his domain. This method, he knew, could be applied not only in war but also in other areas, much like the agrarian-military system of ancient Qin, though it would require some adaptation to avoid resistance from the prevailing norms of this world.

After four hours of marching, Verin ordered a halt and allowed the men to rest in the forest. At the same time, four knights serving as scouts rode off to reconnoiter the Boulder Tribe ahead, ensuring there would be no surprises.

Beneath a large tree, Verin took the rations handed to him by Orlando—a flatbread made from flour—washed down with cool boiled water to fill his stomach.

“Orlando, Hebron, you two will hang back and attack last. Do not charge in recklessly,” Verin said, wiping his mouth and fixing his two bodyguard knights with a stern gaze.

“Yes, my lord,” they replied in unison.

Compared with the increasingly seasoned Orlando, Hebron appeared somewhat timid, his confidence in the coming battle clearly lacking.

Seeing his awkwardness, Verin only shook his head with a smile. A few battles would cure that soon enough.

“My lord, the scouts have returned,” reported Belde, approaching Verin. “According to Otto and the others, the number of goblins in the Boulder Tribe has increased substantially.”

“How many more?” Verin asked.

“About a hundred,” was the reply.

“So, the Boulder Tribe now numbers four hundred goblins,” Verin mused.

Belde nodded, awaiting Verin’s decision.

“We stick to the original plan,” Verin declared after a moment’s thought. “I’ll lead the knights in a charge to disrupt their formation and take out their leaders. You command the infantry, send the slave soldiers in first, with the armed serfs close behind. We’ll break them in a single decisive assault.”

“I understand, my lord.”

After Belde left, Verin leaned back against the tree trunk, reserving his strength for the coming fight.

Meanwhile, deep within the Boulder Tribe’s grand cavern, the tribe’s chieftain, Gri, was locked in heated discussion with the leaders of six other goblin tribes. To host these guests, Gri had even brought out his treasured fruit wine.

Watching these country bumpkins guzzle his precious stores made his heart bleed, but he forced himself to appear generous.

“Human pioneers have been spotted again. Under the gaze of the Goblin God, we must offer up these humans’ hearts as tribute,” he declared.

One goblin chieftain with only a single ear froze, his raised cup suspended mid-air as he exclaimed in astonishment, “What? More human pioneers?”

“Oh, gods! Why do you not favor us goblins?”

“This won’t do—I need to pack up and move my tribe at once!”

At once, the six visiting chieftains erupted into chaos, frantically discussing how best to flee. As for standing against the human pioneers—such notions were laughable. Had they the courage to resist, they would never have taken refuge in this forsaken place to begin with.

“Silence! Under the watchful eyes of the gods, have you no shame?” Gri roared, leaping up in fury at his cowardly kin.

“Shame? What’s that? Survival is what matters most,” one goblin muttered without the slightest concern.

“That’s right. The Goblin God teaches us that living and reproducing are what matter,” another chimed in.

“If only humans would take goblin slaves, I wouldn’t even think of fleeing,” a particularly shameless elderly chieftain declared, rising with his staff.

Gri seethed with rage at this pitiful lot, while the female goblins serving nearby trembled with fear.

Just as he was about to call up the tribe’s warriors to teach these scoundrels a lesson, a flustered goblin burst into the cavern, shouting, “Chieftain, a large group of humans is approaching—less than six hundred meters away!”

“What? How did they arrive so quickly?” Gri’s face darkened as he shouted, “Quickly, assemble all the tribe members and prepare for battle! Under the witness of the great Goblin God, we shall destroy these humans!”

As expected, under the stern orders of the Boulder Tribe’s warriors, the six visiting chieftains and their retinues were driven to the very front lines—cannon fodder for the coming battle, intended to wear down the humans’ numbers.

“Hold position!” Belde commanded the armed serfs and slave soldiers, bringing the two hundred–strong force to a halt, facing off against the green-skinned monsters three hundred meters away.

Compared to the orderly ranks of the armed serfs, the fifty-five expendable slaves were a picture of chaos, fear, and confusion flickering across their faces.

“Belde, the infantry phalanx is yours,” Verin called out.

“Yes, my lord.”

Verin spurred his horse forward, preparing to lead the eleven remaining senior Bronze Knights in a first charge to shatter the enemy formation.

“Our first battle—we must prevail.”

At the front lines, Verin lowered his visor, lance in hand, his gaze sharp and focused. Behind him, the eleven knights of his retinue followed suit, awaiting his command.

“Charge!”

At his order, twelve red phosphorus steeds thundered forward.

Seeing these twelve armored giants bearing down on them, the goblin warriors from other tribes and the Boulder Tribe’s old, weak, and infirm fell into panic, pressed from behind by goblin spears, trapped with no escape.

“Stone throwers, now!” cried the Boulder Tribe chieftain, his voice shrill with panic.

Twenty goblin warriors hefted stones with all their might and hurled them at the charging knights.

But Verin and his men did not even attempt to dodge. Protected head to toe in armor, the stones posed little threat to them.