Wreelx stumbled as Dragu pulled him, almost falling onto a stone by the palisade.
He looked up, about to curse, when his gaze swept across the center of the valley and met the green-skinned figure who had turned around. greenskin, short stature, a bit thin, but with that flat nose and small eyes, it was clearly a goblin!
"Pfft—" Wreelx couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing, laughing so hard he couldn't straighten his back. He pointed at Kurzadh and yelled at Dragu: "Your... your boss is a goblin? Yahahaha! Dragu, are you still asleep? You're actually hanging out with a goblin! Aren't you afraid of being laughed at by other hobgoblins if this gets out?"
He had been in the forest for so long, seen orcs as orc bosses, seen hobgoblin leaders with subordinates, but never seen a goblin as an boss—this was more absurd than seeing dwarves drinking with orcs!
Dragu's face darkened, and he raised his foot to kick him, but Kurzadh raised his hand to stop him.
Kurzadh ignored Wreelx's mockery, squatted down, and looked at him, asking, "Are there any other green-skins alive around here besides us?"
His voice was not loud, but it was clear and authentic green-skin language.
Wreelx's laughter abruptly stopped, the smile on his face frozen like a Kurzadh. He stared blankly at Kurzadh's mouth, then rubbed his own ears, as if he hadn't heard clearly: "You... you spoke?"
This small runt, actually spoke?
"What's wrong? Scared?" Dragu wagged his tail proudly beside him, poking Wreelx's arm with the spear handle, "I told you, our boss is a God's herald selected by Gork and Mork! What's so special about speaking? He can even make the shacks sturdy by themselves!"
Wreelx blinked, looked at Dragu, then at Kurzadh. He was also a hobgoblin, not stupid—who were Gork and Mork? They were the green-skin gods! What were God's herald like? Either an boss who could smash mountains with a single punch, or a Shaman who could summon wind and rain! How could a mere goblin be chosen as a God's herald? This yellow-skin must have been tricked by this goblin!
He pouted, his face full of disbelief: "God's herald? I think you've been drugged by this goblin! Him? A God's herald?"
Kurzadh frowned, not bothering to argue with him.
It was more concerned about whether there were other green-skins nearby—if there was a large tribe, it needed to be prepared early; if there were small remnants, it could recruit them as labor.
"Stop talking nonsense." Kurzadh gave Scarface a look, "Hold him down."
Scarface had been waiting, he sprang forward, and with two other goblins, held Wreelx's arms from left and right, pressing him to the ground with a "clang."
Wreelx was caught off guard, his face hitting the mud, making him cough.
"I'll ask again." Kurzadh squatted in front of him, playing with the spear in his hand, the spear tip glinting in the sunlight, "Are there any other green-skins around here?"
Wreelx stiffened his neck, spat out the mud in his mouth: "Why should I tell you? You stinking goblin! If you have the guts, kill me!"
That's how green-skins are, either they submit to fists or they stubbornly resist, especially someone like Wreelx, who was used to being wild in the forest. How could he easily bow to a goblin?
Kurzadh looked at his stubbornness and sighed helplessly. It found that these green-skins, whether goblins or hobgoblins, were all very single-minded—they wouldn't listen to reason and only became obedient after a beating.
"It seems you don't want to talk nicely." Kurzadh didn't waste any more words, gripping the wooden handle of the spear, and "smack" it hit Wreelx's butt.
The blow was solid, and Wreelx let out a "howl," trembling all over from the pain.
He didn't expect this goblin to actually dare to strike, and so fiercely!
"You dare to hit me?!" Wreelx was both shocked and angry, struggling hard, but held down by three goblins, he was like being nailed to the ground, unable to move.
Kurzadh ignored him, striking him repeatedly with the stick, slowly asking, "Will you speak? Are there other green-skins?"
"No! You stinking goblin! I'll die before I say!" Wreelx was very stubborn, but his voice already had a crying tone—this goblin was too vicious, specifically hitting the fleshy parts, making tears almost come out of his eyes.
The surrounding goblins gathered around, watching the spectacle with their arms crossed, some even "squeaking" as if cheering for Kurzadh.
Dragu stood by, arms crossed, laughing—let this guy be stubborn! If the boss didn't beat him into submission, he wouldn't know the power of the Blackrock Clan!
Kurzadh hit him more than ten times, seeing that Wreelx was still resisting, it simply threw away Kurzadh spear, squatted down and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, banging his head against the ground twice with a "thump-thump." This was even harsher, Wreelx's nose hit a Kurzadh, immediately bleeding, making him gasp in pain.
"Still not talking?" Kurzadh stared at him, his eyes very cold, "If you don't talk, I'll throw you to the wolves."
Wreelx was dizzy from the blows, his nose aching piercingly. Looking at Kurzadh's fierce eyes, he suddenly felt afraid.
He realized that this goblin was truly willing to kill—compared to stubbornly resisting until death, revealing some information didn't seem like much.
In the green-skin rules, if you can't win, you admit it, there's nothing shameful about that.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!" Wreelx quickly shouted to stop, his voice trembling like a sieve, "There's... there's a tribe! Just one!"
Kurzadh released his grip, and let Scarface release him.
Wreelx collapsed on the ground, clutching his nose and gasping, blood streaming from his nose, his face covered in mud and tears, looking miserable. Where was his arrogant demeanor from before?
"Where is it? How many people?" Kurzadh pressed.
"It's in the rocky forest to the east." Wreelx sniffed, not daring to be stubborn anymore, "It's a remnant... it used to be the Rotten Tooth tribe, crippled by the dwarves, only seven or eight hobgoblins and over forty goblins left, just scraping by."
Kurzadh's eyes lit up—seven or eight hobgoblins, over forty goblins? That's a good number! If he could recruit this group, the Blackrock Clan would have enough labor!
Building palisades, setting up shacks, weaving fishing nets, everything would be much faster, and maybe they could even get some decent weapons.
It pondered silently, not speaking, just staring at Wreelx.
Wreelx felt uneasy under his gaze and quickly pledged loyalty: "Boss! I'm telling you the truth! I'm not lying!" He struggled to get up, not bothering to wipe the blood from his face, he scurried over to Kurzadh, bowing and nodding.
"Actually, I've long disliked that Rotten Tooth tribe! Their boss, Crooked Mouth, always bullies me and steals my fish! If you go deal with them, boss, I'll lead the way for you! I know it very well!"
He was also clever, knowing that if he didn't cling to the goblin boss's leg now, he might get another beating.
Who cares if it's a God's herald or not, as long as it can fight, make goblins obey, and speak, following it was better than stealing in the forest!
"I'm willing to follow the boss! I'll be at your command! If you tell me to go east, I'll never go west! If you tell me to hit someone, I'll never hold back!" Wreelx thumped his chest, speaking more eloquently than singing, afraid Kurzadh wouldn't believe him.
Dragu pouted beside him, muttering softly, "He was so stubborn just now."
Wreelx heard it, but didn't dare to retort, just kept smiling at Kurzadh, a smile uglier than a cry.
Kurzadh looked at him like this and was amused—this hobgoblin was quite sensible.
It didn't immediately agree or refuse, just said: "Stay for now. If you try any tricks, it won't be as simple as a butt-beating."
"No! Absolutely not!" Wreelx quickly nodded, his head bobbing like a garlic masher.
Kurzadh told Scarface to find a clean cloth and throw it to Wreelx to wipe his face, then told Dragu to take him to the shack area to stay with the new goblins—to observe for a couple of days first.
Wreelx, holding the cloth, trotted after Dragu, turning back to glance at Kurzadh every two steps, his eyes filled with both respect and fear.
The surrounding goblins, seeing their boss easily recruit a hobgoblin, immediately cheered "squeak, squeak," circling around Kurzadh, their admiration growing stronger—the boss was amazing! Even hobgoblins could be brought to heel!
Kurzadh ignored their cheers, squatted by the palisade, looking towards the east—the rocky forest, the remnants of the Rotten Tooth tribe... It touched the spear beside it, the spear tip cold.
Now the Blackrock Clan had twelve goblins, two hobgoblins, and a crude palisade. If they really fought that group, they might not be without a chance of winning.
In the green-skin world, the law of the jungle was the rule. Instead of waiting for others to seize their territory, it was better to strike first.
"Dragu." Kurzadh called out.
"Aye! boss!" Dragu immediately ran over.
"Go retrieve the fishing nets, and have all the goblins come back, so they can eat their fill and have strength." Kurzadh stood up, pointing towards the river, "Tomorrow, we'll go explore the rocky forest."
Dragu paused, then immediately understood, his eyes instantly brightening: "Boss! You're going to deal with that Rotten Tooth tribe?"
"Mm." Kurzadh nodded, a smile playing on his lips—since it had to survive in this place, it had to be ruthless.
This Blackrock Clan needed some decent territory and manpower after all.
Dragu excitedly rubbed his hands: "Alright! I'll go now! Make those goblins catch more fish! Tomorrow, after we're full, we'll beat all those bastards down!"
He scurried towards the river, still yelling: "Everyone, pull in the nets quickly! There's a tough fight tomorrow!"
Although the goblins didn't know what they were going to do, when they heard "tough fight," they immediately became energetic, following Dragu to the river, all of them flexing their muscles, waiting to show off tomorrow.
Kurzadh stood in the center of the valley, looking at the eastern sky. The setting sun dyed the clouds orange, and the wind blew through the palisade, making the wood creak.
It knew that after tomorrow, the Blackrock Clan might be different.
Whether it was a God's herald or just a goblin, it would build up the Blackrock Clan in this place—if the Gork and Mork, two warboss gods in warhammer fantasy were truly watching, they should be satisfied, right?