The late autumn wind, carrying a chill, made the wooden windows of the Dragu's hut creak.
Kurzadh stood on the steps of the doorway, shielding his eyes with his hand as he looked towards the center of the tribe—it was bustling there, livelier than a marketplace.
Dragu, wearing a comical goatskin hat—it was made from the hide of a wild wolf he'd butchered last month, crookedly sewn into a hat with a brim that drooped, covering half his face—was darting around, brandishing a thick wooden club.
"Move that pile of stones on the left further in! Don't block the path!" "goblins! Carry those pieces of wood over here! The straight ones!" He shouted until his voice was hoarse, occasionally kicking a slow-moving goblin, scaring the little fellows into squeaking, but they didn't dare to slack off, their short legs scrambling quickly.
In the open space at the center of the tribe, the frameworks for the hobgoblin Spearman Camp and the hobgoblin Archer Camp were already set up.
The Spearman Camp was a square wooden shed, with posts made of hard wood as thick as a bowl, resting on bluestone slabs, looking much sturdier than a lean-to; the Archer Camp was next to the Spearman Camp, with an additional elevated target platform, its wooden frame crooked but standing firm.
Many pieces of wood and stones were scattered around; some had been split into planks, others were still rough blocks. The goblins were laboriously dragging them to the construction site, while the hobgoblins used axes to chisel stones, their "ding-ding-dang-dang" sounds mixing with the shouts of the green-skins, echoing through the tribe.
"Dragu, this kid, actually has some method to his madness," Kurzadh grinned.
Ever since they dealt with the Giant Wood tribe, the Blackrock Clan's manpower had suddenly increased—the more than thirty captured hobgoblins were dispersed and integrated into the ranks, and nearly a hundred goblins were assigned to Scarface. Now, including him, the tribe had eighty-seven hobgoblins and one hundred sixty-five goblins, ten times livelier than when he first arrived.
What he cared about most were these two camps.
The blueprint provided by the system stated that the Spearman Camp could train hobgoblins to use long spears, and the Archer Camp could teach hobgoblins to shoot arrows.
Although hobgoblin Spearmen and archers were considered the lowest-tier soldiers among the green-skins—not as fierce as orcs, nor as good at fighting as Black orcs—for the current Blackrock Clan, they were sufficient.
Previously, the green-skins fought purely on brute force, blindly thrusting stone spears. With proper training, they could at least get beaten less.
"Once the camps are built, I'll first let Wreelx and a few other clever ones train," Kurzadh mused, stroking his chin. Wreelx had steady hands, suitable for archery; Zaggur was strong, perfect for a long spear; and there was a hobgoblin named Iron Claw, who surrendered from the Giant Wood tribe, and had used iron spears before, so he could be the drillmaster.
Then, distribute the iron spears and iron axes taken from the Giant Wood tribe, and the Blackrock Clan would have a decent force.
As he was thinking, something suddenly drifted down from the sky, coolly landing on his face.
Kurzadh looked up—it was snow! Rice-grain-sized white flecks drifted down from the grey sky, slowly falling into the grass, melting instantly.
"It's snowing?" Kurzadh was momentarily stunned. This snow came earlier than last year; it seemed winter would arrive ahead of schedule.
His heart sank, and he immediately bellowed: "Scarface! Scarface!"
No sooner had he shouted than a short, sturdy figure scrambled over from the construction site.
Scarface was now the "Squig Chief," not only managing the goblins but also overseeing the construction site. His greenskin was covered in mud and wood chips. Hearing Kurzadh's call, he immediately stood at attention, squeaking, waiting for orders.
"Don't just stand there!" Kurzadh pointed to the mushroom field to the east, "Quickly get the goblins to grab the burlap! Set up shelters over the mushroom field! Heavy snow will freeze the mushrooms!"
The mushroom field was the lifeblood of the tribe.
Chik and Zaggur tended it well; the "mushroom caps" in the field grew white and plump. Dried, they could serve as emergency rations; fresh, they could be boiled into mushroom soup. If they were frozen by snow, they would go hungry in winter.
"And!" Kurzadh shouted again, "Go to the goat pen and find Chik and Zaggur! Tell them to herd the goats into the sheltered cave, and check if there's enough fodder! If not, use the dried grass taken from the Giant Wood tribe too!"
There were now fifty-six goats in the pen, and seven new lambs were born last month, all treasures of the tribe.
Fodder was scarce in winter; if they froze or starved, the losses would be significant.
"Squeak! Squeak!" Scarface nodded repeatedly, then turned and ran into the pile of goblins, his short legs scrambling quickly, yelling "Waaagh! Waaagh!" as he directed the goblins to put down their work. Some carried burlap to the mushroom field, others carried dry grass to the goat pen. The chaotic construction site immediately split into two groups, surprisingly orderly.
Kurzadh stood on the steps, watching the busy figures of the goblins, and breathed a sigh of relief.
But after a while, he frowned again.
Look over there—a few goblins were setting up a burlap shelter; some were throwing burlap onto the frame, while others were pulling at the bottom, causing a ruckus for a long time, and only a corner of the shelter was set up; it was similar at the goat pen, where Chik and Zaggur were laboriously herding the goats. Several nannies stubbornly refused to enter the cave, and the goblins surrounded them, squeaking, which only startled the goats, making them scatter everywhere.
"Still not enough people to manage things," Kurzadh muttered under his breath. There were only a few key figures in the tribe: Dragu managed the construction site, Scarface managed the goblins, Wreelx managed hunting, Chik and Zaggur managed the livestock. The remaining hobgoblins were either too fool or newly surrendered, completely unable to take on responsibility.
Take the snow just now, for example. If it were an experienced tribe, he wouldn't even need to shout; someone would naturally go cover the mushroom fields and herd the goats. But the Blackrock Clan couldn't do that.
The green-skins had simple minds; they only knew how to work, fight, and steal. Without supervision, things would fall into chaos.
Last time, he sent the goblins to cut grass, but they ran to the river to catch fish and almost froze; another time, he told the hobgoblins to repair the palisade, but they found the stones too heavy and secretly used thatch, which was then blown down by the wind.
"I need to find a few more people who can manage things," Kurzadh pondered.
The snow was falling more densely, no longer rice-grain-sized white flecks, but goose-feather-like flakes, slowly descending, covering the grassland with a white blanket.
The green-skins on the construction site were still busy; some dragged stones under the shelters, others covered wood with thatch, exhaling white mist, but no one dared to stop—the Dragu was still watching from the doorway.
Kurzadh wrapped his animal hide around himself and walked inside.
It was warmer inside than out, and half a piece of roasted lamb, left over from the morning, lay on the council table.
He picked up the lamb and took two bites, but his mind was not idle.
Winter was coming, and the tribe's affairs would only increase: he had to watch the granary to prevent rats from stealing dried mushrooms; he had to reinforce the palisades to prevent wild wolves from ambushing in the snow; and he had to teach the green-skins how to hunt in the snow, otherwise, relying solely on stored food wouldn't last long.
"If only there was an orc who could manage things," Kurzadh mumbled. orcs, though simple-minded, were strong and could keep order. Unfortunately, the Blackrock Clan currently only had hobgoblins and goblins.
As he was thinking, "thump-thump" footsteps came from outside the door.
Dragu pushed aside the door curtain and walked in, his goatskin hat covered in a layer of snow, looking like a white Furball.
"Dragu," he rubbed his hands, red from the cold, "the stones and wood are all covered, and the goblins have gone to set up the mushroom shelters. Should we let everyone rest for a bit?"
"Rest my ass!" Kurzadh glared at him, "Tell the hobgoblins to keep chiseling stones! The Archer Camp's target platform isn't set up yet! And don't you be idle, go check the goat pen, make sure those two idiots Chik and Zaggur don't herd the goats into a ditch!"
"Alright!" Dragu dared not say more, tightened his goatskin hat, and ran out. He slipped as soon as he exited, making the goblins at the door squeak with laughter. He glared back at them, and they immediately fell silent.
Kurzadh walked to the window, watching the snow outside.
The snow was falling even harder; the entire tribe was enveloped in a vast expanse of white snow, only the green-skins on the construction site were still moving, like a group of busy little ants.
He sighed.
Being the Dragu was truly not easy; not only did he have to be able to fight, but he also had to manage the food , drink, and daily needs of these green-skin youngsters.
But then he thought, if he didn't manage them, the Blackrock Clan would have long since dispersed; how could it have its current scale?
"When spring comes, I need to build another granary and dig a cellar to store meat," Kurzadh clenched his fists.
He was Gork and Mork's God's herald; he had to make the Blackrock Clan stronger and stronger. Not only did it need more people, but it also needed rules, food , and weapons. Only then could it establish a foothold in this forest, only then could it have fights, eat meat, and live a more satisfying life.
The snow was still falling outside the window, but the warmth and activity of the tribe did not cease.
The "squeak-squeak" of the goblins, the "ding-ding-dang-dang" of the hobgoblins chiseling stone, and the distant "baa-baa" from the goat pen, all mixed together, exuding a vibrant energy in the snowy weather.