Chapter 44: The First Tentative Assault (Part One)

Thirty kilometers from Lake of the Wishing Stars, over three thousand gnolls had gathered, resting wherever they pleased to recover their strength.

Inside a tattered tent, a black-furred gnoll sat at the head of the assembly, gazing unperturbed at the boisterous chieftains of each clan quarreling below.

“We’re about to enter the human world, thanks to Lord Waras’ grace.”

“This time, I’ll feast to my heart’s content. Tender-skinned human nobles… just thinking about it makes my mouth water.”

“Wealth! The gold coins of the human lands are calling to me.”

The clan chiefs of more than a dozen gnoll tribes chatted noisily, each wolf with its own desires.

At that moment, a tall gnoll strode in and knelt on one knee, waiting for his leader’s command.

Commander Rogs, leader of the gnolls, opened his eyes from meditation. The tent fell instantly silent; no chieftain dared utter another word.

“Commander, the scouts report a human territory lies thirty kilometers ahead.”

“The time?” asked the black-furred gnoll at the head of the gathering.

“Commander, it’s now six in the morning,” the first gnoll quickly replied.

“In one hour, we march. We will seize the human stronghold and feast.”

“Yes, Commander.”

All the clan chiefs stood, bowed, and filed out of the tent.

At sunrise, the three thousand strong gnoll troop ran swiftly and silently across the wilderness toward Lake of the Wishing Stars.

Commander Rogs rode atop a massive gnoll, watching his army advance with iron determination to seize the first human territory.

The wind rushed past his ears, and he couldn’t help but recall the tale of the Battle of Rensa, as his father had told it.

A century ago, under the orders of the gods of more than ten wild monster tribes—including the gnolls—every monster clan near the borders of the human kingdom of Ilia mustered its full strength. A coalition of a million monsters, driving millions of goblins before them, pressed eastward.

At first, their momentum was unstoppable, shattering many human territories in a single sweep, capturing countless slaves and food.

But soon, the tide turned. The Goddess of Life, worshipped by Ilia, intervened personally. The gods of the monster tribes recoiled, daring not to act rashly.

Humans counterattacked, and at Rensa, the coalition’s supreme commander—the Red Dragon Sagus—was slain.

Thus, with the monsters routed, humanity claimed victory in the war, snatching vast tracts of land for themselves.

In recent years, humanity’s relentless expansion had further compressed the monsters’ space to survive. Another upheaval was looming.

Commander Rogs looked at the unfamiliar surroundings, clenching his fists. As a gnoll with some measure of status, he understood all too well that this operation was but a probe.

In fact, there would be many such probes; this was only the first.

As for the reason why, he did not know.

“Cannon fodder, nothing but cannon fodder.”

Though only a low-ranked Silver warrior, he had been made leader of a force not because of merit, but because as cannon fodder, the true heirs of nobility could not be risked. Only someone as inconspicuous and mediocre as he would be named commander.

Even the gnoll clans under his command were all destitute fools, tricked into joining this venture.

“Survive. Just survive.”

Reaching the human border, survival was all that mattered.

Atop the castle on the cliffs above Lake of the Wishing Stars, Veylin stood at the highest point, gazing out at the ever-nearing gnoll horde. He gritted his teeth. “There are at least three thousand gnolls—a formidable challenge.”

Beld soon approached and reported respectfully, “My lord, traps have been set throughout the village. Those gnolls will have a hard time.”

“How are stone supplies? Will they last through several battles?” Veylin turned to Beld with a grave inquiry.

“My lord, the castle yards are piled high with stones—enough for four bouts of fierce fighting.”

Veylin nodded. “Have everyone rest while they can. Soon, we may have no time at all.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Within the castle, aside from five hundred soldiers, another two thousand able-bodied men had been assembled, armed with spears. Some had been given leather armor and iron swords, serving as overseers and junior commanders.

Everyone else—men and women alike—had been organized for logistics: helping to move the wounded, resupplying stones, and ensuring ample iron bolts for the three ballistae.

Near noon, Commander Rogs stopped his force outside the village and shouted, “Halt!”

About five hundred gnolls responded immediately, maintaining a basic formation. These were the ones Rogs had drilled into shape during his long march.

The remaining twenty-five hundred gnolls fell into disarray, standing about uncertainly like a ragtag militia.

“Commander, why have we stopped? The human lands are right before us.”

A low-ranked Silver gnoll chieftain stepped forward, greed gleaming in his eyes as he stared at the distant village.

Rogs did not answer. He leapt from the back of his massive gnoll mount and walked up to the chieftain—then kicked him flying.

The dozen or so other Silver-ranked gnolls all lowered their heads, not daring to speak.

“My word is law,” Rogs declared coldly, sweeping his gaze across them. “Now, bypass the village. Our target is the castle on the hill. Take it.”

“Yes, Commander!” the gnolls chorused, not daring to hesitate.

On the castle walls, Veylin saw the gnolls begin to circle around and ordered, “Beld, sound the drums. Prepare for battle. Our enemy is upon us.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Beld’s face was grim—he hadn’t expected the enemy to bypass the village entirely. Was all their work last night for nothing?

The drums thundered.

“First platoon to the walls! Second platoon, stand ready!”

Across the castle, knights responsible for the defense relayed orders down the line.

The once-silent fortress burst into activity. In just ten minutes, over eight hundred defenders were in position atop the walls.

Veylin would have stationed more, but between the inner and outer walls, only so many could fight at once.

An hour later, the gnoll horde arrived within a kilometer of the castle.

“Those green reptiles dared to feed us false information. Roasting them would be too kind,” Rogs muttered darkly, gazing at the fortress. He recalled the goblin tribe they’d conquered days before. Their intelligence had claimed this place had only fallen to humans half a year ago.

“Damn those reptiles—could a castle like this be built in half a year?”

A gnoll, eyes full of fear, asked, “Commander, do we attack?”

“We attack. Third and fourth battalions will probe their strength.”

“Yes, Commander.”