War (Part 3)

The coalition vanguard marched into the hills before Trier Valley. "Damn it, where on earth are the enemies...?" The knight on horseback gazed into the distance. He had caught no trace of the monsters, yet the traps scattered throughout Trier Valley were already driving him out of his mind. Pitfalls, poisoned arrows, snares, and tripwires had claimed only several dozen lives, but they had reduced the leading ranks to a terrified crawl. After all, fighting was never their trade. Before the war, they had merely been cowardly laborers, or even serfs without personal freedom. The commander of the "Honor Legion" was named Joseph, a mere baron. Yet he did not even possess a fief of his own; this so-called "baron" was little more than an honorary title. Joseph had once been nothing more than the son of a lowly carpenter. Blessed with sheer good fortune, he had been chosen by House Lakeman to receive the purest education in chivalry, ultimately leaping across class lines to become a titular noble and the commander of this so-called "Honor Legion." He had always harbored deep gratitude toward House Lakeman, often daydreaming of dying a glorious death on the battlefield, repaying the family's kindness with the noble end befitting a knight. Looking down at the timid, hesitant militiamen, Joseph felt an uncontrollable surge of fury. *How dare these vermin even stand in my presence!* *I am a knight!* *An exalted noble!* At the thought, he spurred his horse straight to the front of the column. *Crack!* His whip struck across the soldiers who hesitated to advance, tearing their flesh and drawing screams of agony. Joseph bellowed in rage, "Forward, march!" "No one hides in the back!" "Did His Grace the Duke bestow his boundless charity to feed you lowborn mongrels and promise pensions just so you could waste time here?" "If petty little traps like these can stop you in your tracks, where is your courage? How can you face the title of the Honor Legion granted by the Duke!" Under Joseph's harsh commands, the hundred-odd provosts also resorted to violent beatings to drive the soldiers forward, finally prodding the entire Honor Legion into a regular march. Though this ten-thousand-strong army still suffered frequent stampedes, at least it no longer froze in terror over a trap or two. At last, the path ahead opened wide into flat, expansive terrain. They had finally set foot inside Trier Valley. "We made it at last." Joseph let out a sigh of relief. Marching through the rugged hills with their myriad traps had nearly driven him mad. Before the fighting had even begun, this militia of over ten thousand had already lost more than a hundred men, and the sight of the dead had sent panic through the survivors. He had been forced to execute several deserters in succession just to keep the situation barely under control. *These vile brutes aren't worthy of being called an 'Honor Legion.'* *A mob completely ignorant of noble honor... They should have been starved to death!* Joseph cursed silently from the saddle. "My lord..." A messenger's voice trembled slightly. "What is it?" "Did more cowards desert at the front, was there another stampede, or did someone stumble into another trap? Don't dump every trivial matter on me! I came to fight for honor, not to play wet nurse to you lot!" Joseph snapped in sheer impatience. "No, n-neither, none of that..." "Then what is it?" "My lord, please... please come and see for yourself." The messenger's voice shook even more violently. Joseph rode forward to take a look, but froze in stunned silence the moment he laid eyes on the scene. Across the flat, open wilderness stretched a mottled torrent of goblins and kobolds. Their march kicked up clouds of churning dust. The tide stretched beyond the horizon, rolling in from all directions—easily tens of thousands strong. The monsters' eyes gleamed with an eerie light, and a chorus of low, chaotic growls rose from their throats. Many among them bore sparse patches of scales, the bloodline bestowed by the red dragon filling their veins with a voracious craving for slaughter and destruction. In the sky above, dozens of winged kobolds—urds—darted about in erratic flight. "What... what is this...?" Joseph's hand shook as he gripped the reins. Countless times he had pictured himself charging across the battlefield on horseback, heroically cutting down foes until his strength gave out, giving his life for the family. Every time, the fantasy had moved him to tears, cementing his resolve to embrace a glorious martyrdom whenever the chance arose. Yet he had never imagined a real battlefield would look like this. If he charged into this sea of monsters, he would be torn to shreds in seconds, devoid of any honor or dignity. "No, it shouldn't be like this..." Joseph muttered to himself. For a fleeting moment, he even wanted to wheel his horse around and flee back to the main camp. Yet the monsters were already closing in from every side, crashing into the front ranks of the militiamen. Only then did Joseph snap out of his dazed terror. His voice trembled as he shouted, "Engage! Meet them and kill the enemy!" In truth, the tactics chosen by Cinder Nest's chieftains, Duoluo and Langpu, were remarkably similar to those of Robert on the coalition's side—send the cannon fodder ahead to clear the path, with the elite troops following behind. This monster army numbered over twenty thousand kobolds and goblins, mustered from across Storm Heights, though only thirty percent carried a faint trace of red dragon blood. Due to their smaller stature, goblins and kobolds possessed even less combat capability than ordinary human peasants. However, soaked in the red dragon's aura, they had grown cruel and bloodthirsty, fighting with a ferocity that far surpassed the serfs of the "Honor Legion." "For Cinder Nest!" "For the Great Red Dragon!" Wave after wave of furious roars erupted from the monster army. On the Honor Legion's side, horns blew the order to attack under Joseph's command. And so, the two massive hordes of cannon fodder collided, signaling the official start of the war. The kobolds and goblins hurled themselves forward in a frenzy, charging their foes with utter disregard for their own lives, even though their opponents were merely terrified farmers. Several kobolds swarmed a single human, clawing at his crude leather armor, bashing his head with rocks, and plunging jagged daggers into his body again and again. "For Cinder Nest!" A dragonblood goblin hurled a short spear into a soldier's chest. Stripped of its weapon, it clawed frantically before leaping straight onto the man to bite, ripping his face to bloody ribbons as he shrieked in agony. Urds unleashed bolts of flame from midair, igniting the cotton tunics of many soldiers and turning each into a blazing "human torch." Flames, blood, and dust. There was no tactic to speak of on this field—only the rawest, most primitive butchery in utter chaos. Within the opening minutes of the clash, the Honor Legion had already lost over a hundred men. Amid panicked shrieks, wails, and desperate sobs, this army of cannon fodder was inevitably spiraling toward complete collapse.