The freezing wind howled, whipping up whirls of snowflakes.
A vast wilderness was steadily blanketed in white. Concealed by the wind and snow, the distant mountain peaks showed only faint outlines.
The Great Anzetta Waste, known as the "Land of Extreme Cold," had finally entered its long, brutal winter. At this time of year, every living creature upon this barren expanse struggled with all its might just to survive.
The northern climate was always fickle. Soon the blizzard dissipated, leaving behind only ground covered in frost and snow.
Along the snow-covered road, an army of several thousand trudged forward. Wrapped in thin, padded coats, they resembled a dark river flowing through a white world, leaving an elongated trail of tracks in the deep snow.
"Hurry up! Those in back, keep up!"
"Make good time while the weather holds!"
Mounted on his horse, Viscount Farouk Edson cracked his riding crop and shouted at his subordinates.
He was a noble sworn to the Principality of Bosque, and at Grand Duke Leo's summons, he was leading his family's private levy to the front.
However, he had not brought many knights, instead rounding up an assortment of serfs to serve as cannon fodder. Knights were the foundation of his family's power—how could he afford to throw them away lightly?
Looking down at the thick snow beneath his boots, Viscount Farouk spat and grumbled, "Damned cursed weather.
"What could Grand Duke Leo be thinking, starting a war at a time like this?"
Launching an offensive at the onset of winter had been a decision reached after repeated deliberation among the northern lords of the Anti-Red Dragon Alliance.
Many in the ranks of the Kingdom of Cinders had hot red dragon blood flowing in their veins. In the frigid climate of Anzeta, their vitality would be severely impaired, and they might even suffer attrition as a result. By contrast, the hardy Scanians were far better suited to enduring the bitter cold. Hence, Grand Duke Leo had dubbed this the "Winter Offensive."
Noble armies across the Northlands had mobilized, converging on the borders between the Principality of Bosque, the Principality of Fano, and the Kingdom of Cinders, preparing for a fight to the death against the realm of the evil red dragon. Yet while these nobles claimed to be "sparing no effort," how much strength they were actually committing remained anyone's guess.
Take the Edson family, for instance: they had dispatched an unvalued second son and saddled him with a motley rabble.
"What is that?"
Farouk looked up. Several indistinct black specks seemed to have appeared in the sky.
The squire knight beside him suddenly blanched, as if recalling certain dreadful rumors.
"My lord, it might be... Redscale Conquerors."
"How is that possible!"
Terror instantly gripped Farouk, and he began to tremble all over.
He had only wanted to muddle through and pick up some battle honors. If he could just reach the encampment and deliver this cannon fodder to the front line, his duty would be done. How could he have anticipated encountering such peril?
The dread reputation of the Redscale Conquerors had already spread across the Northlands. Rumors said they were monsters mounted on wyverns, arriving with terrifying draconic roars to bring fire and death to their foes.
The squire knight said, "My lord, they appear to be only scouts."
"Ah, yes, surely that is it! Those Redscale Conquerors aren't after us."
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Farouk forced an awkward smile.
The tiny black specks truly did pass overhead, merely circling in the air, allowing him to breathe a long sigh of relief.
"Whew, thank goodness.
"As long as I deliver this cannon fodder to the front, my task will be done...
"We're almost there."
Farouk muttered in a voice audible only to himself, offering continuous prayers to the gods in his heart.
Once they cleared the pass ahead, they would reach their destination shortly. Then he could hole up in the safest command tent and put his mind completely at ease.
Yet reality rarely played out as one hoped.
*Whirrr—*
A piercing shriek came from above.
Farouk looked up in panic, his eyes wide with fear of the unknown. He saw metallic spheres hurtling down from the sky.
"What are those?"
"They're falling!"
"Get out of the way! Don't block me!"
"Are you trying to get us killed?"
His "army" instantly descended into complete chaos. Driven by fear and cowardice, the men shoved and shouted in a frantic panic. A stampede broke out, and no one knew how many lives were crushed underfoot in the disorderly mob.
*Boom!*
Suddenly, accompanied by a thunderous roar, the metal spheres detonated in midair.
Plumes of flame cascaded from the sky like a divine punishment of raining fire.
Flames were reflected in Farouk's dilated pupils. He murmured blankly, "By the gods..."
As the spheres crashed down, a great conflagration consumed everything.
Wails and screams tore through the air everywhere. The padded coats on the soldiers caught fire, and even those fortunate enough to escape lost any will to fight.
This was the latest creation from the Kingdom of Cinders' ordnance bureau—incendiary bombs. They could inflict immense casualties on enemy forces, though such brutal methods had drawn condemnation from some scholars within the kingdom.
After a single wave of bombing, the soldiers routed in every direction.
Farouk's luck held out: he managed to shed his burning garments in time and cast them aside, surviving the fiery deluge. Mounted atop his panicked steed, he fled toward his destination.
"C-cursed fiends...
"I have to get out of here!"
Yet just as he was about to make it through the mountain pass, a motley throng and countless murky eyes materialized before him. A cacophony of barking voices erupted—a kobold army.
"Awoo—!"
The largest and most draconic among them, the kobold chieftain, threw his head back and howled. He was Jinya's thirty-third child, though given Jinya's amorous exploits, his true rank might have been even lower. Clearly neglected, he had been assigned to lead a cannon fodder regiment.
"J-just some kobolds.
"They can't catch me."
Confronted by the oncoming kobolds, driven by sheer survival instinct, Farouk hauled hard on the reins. Displaying horsemanship far beyond his ordinary skill, he sharply wheeled his mount around.
Behind him, however, the kobolds let out sinister chuckles. They raised their battered muskets, licked the grease on the paper cartridges, and rammed the powder and ball home.
*Bang!*
*Bang! Bang!*
Amid the ragged volley, wisps of pale smoke drifted from the muzzles.
These kobolds had received little training, and the obsolete firearms lacked accuracy, sending bullets flying in all directions.
Yet numbers were on their side. When dozens of crude muskets fired at once, three or four shots miraculously found their mark from over a hundred yards away. Farouk's back was torn into a sieve, and he tumbled from the saddle, rolling across the ground several times.
Even in death, the viscount never understood how he had been killed by a band of kobolds from more than a hundred yards away.
"I killed him!" one kobold shouted excitedly.
"Piss off, I'm the one who got him! I shot him in the heart!" another shoved back, cursing disdainfully.
Just like that, the two kobolds brawled, snapping and snarling like dogs.
Finally, the tall, burly kobold chieftain stepped forward, hoisted both of them into the air by their scruffs with a single hand, and glared at them with a sneer.
"Now, do you know who killed this human noble?"
"Of course... it was you, Boss," the two kobolds squeaked meekly, curling up in submission.
Chapter 306