Snowflakes drifted onto his face, cool and refreshing.
Kurzadh hunched over, treading through the thick snow towards the top of the canyon.
Behind him followed Wreelx, Dragu, and five hobgoblins, all with shining eyes, staring at the several flintlocks stuck diagonally in the snow on the slope—their dark barrels still emitting a bit of white smoke, looking much more formidable than stone spears.
"Quiet! Don't snap any branches!" Kurzadh whispered, using his axe to push aside the obstructing bushes.
Just now, the dwarves and beastmen had fought to a mutual defeat; now the dwarves were busy carrying the wounded and collecting the dead, so no one noticed the movement below the slope.
He calculated in his mind: grab two flintlocks and run. Even if the dwarves discovered it, they might not be able to catch them.
Wreelx was the most nimble, climbing at the front using both hands and feet. He was only two steps away from the nearest flintlock, close enough to touch the barrel with an outstretched hand.
Kurzadh's heart filled with joy, and he was about to tell him to hurry when suddenly he heard a "Bang" of a gunshot!
A lead bullet whizzed past Kurzadh's feet, hitting the snow and splashing up a burst of snow.
"Damn it! We've been spotted!" Kurzadh's heart sank, and he looked up at the top of the slope—he saw a red-bearded dwarf holding a flintlock, smoke still rising from its muzzle, glaring fiercely at them.
The other dwarves on the slope also noticed, picking up the battle axes and flintlocks on the ground and shouting down the slope.
"It's the greenskins ! These bastards want to steal things!"
"Shoot them! Don't let them escape!"
"Run!" Kurzadh yelled, turning and diving into the forest.
The hobgoblins were also scared out of their wits, following Kurzadh into the woods.
Gunshots echoed "Bang bang" behind them, lead bullets hitting tree trunks and sending splinters flying, making them run even faster, scrambling into the dense forest.
Only after running a long distance, out of earshot of the gunshots, did Kurzadh dare to stop and catch his breath.
He leaned against a pine tree, looking at the hobgoblins behind him—Wreelx's sheepskin hat was lost, his head covered in snow; Dragu's arm had a gash from a branch, dripping blood; the other hobgoblins were also in a sorry state, their faces a mix of shock and fear.
"Damn it, that dwarf has sharp eyes," Kurzadh spat, feeling a bit frustrated.
He was so close to getting the flintlocks, but they were discovered; it was like a duck flying away just as it was within reach.
He looked up towards the canyon, and through the gaps in the branches, he could see the dwarves busy on the slope.
Some were digging snow pits, seemingly to bury their fallen comrades; some were collecting scattered weapons, flintlocks, battle axes, and iron armor piled into a heap; and several dwarves were pouring something onto the beastmen's corpses, probably kerosene, preparing to burn them.
"Looks like we won't be getting anything today," Kurzadh sighed.
The beastmen's bodies were to be burned, and the dwarves were watching closely; let alone flintlocks, he probably wouldn't even find a single strand of beast fur.
But then he thought, it wasn't a total loss—at least the beastmen were driven away and wouldn't return to the Forest of Gloom for a while, allowing the Blackrock Clan to have a peaceful winter.
"Let's go, back to the tribe," Kurzadh patted the snow off himself. "Don't stay here, be careful the dwarves chase after us."
The hobgoblins responded and followed Kurzadh towards the tribe.
A string of deep footprints was left in the snow, quickly covered by new snowfall.
By the time they returned to the tribe, it was already getting dark.
Scarface was leading the goblins in adding firewood to the bonfire. Seeing Kurzadh return, he immediately ran over, squeaking, holding a piece of roasted mutton sizzling with oil.
Kurzadh took the mutton and took a couple of bites, feeling much less frustrated. "Tell everyone not to go out. Stay in the tribe for the winter and build up the camp," he told Scarface.
For the next two weeks, the Blackrock Clan was a hive of activity.
Dragu, wearing that comical sheepskin hat, daily directed the goblins to plaster mud and reinforce the wooden frames of the hobgoblin spearman Camp and the archer Camp.
Timber and Kurzadh were piled up like small mountains in the open space. The goblins carried wood and moved stones, their short legs moving quickly, humming out-of-tune songs; the hobgoblins, meanwhile, chiseled stones and split planks with their axes, the "clink-clank" sounds continuing from morning till night.
Kurzadh visited the construction site every day.
Watching the stone walls of the spearman Camp grow thicker day by day, and the archer targets being built up bit by bit, he felt delighted.
The system said that once these two camps were built, hobgoblin spearmen and hobgoblin archers could be trained.
Although these two were bottom-tier units among the greenskins , for the current Blackrock Clan, they were sufficient—at least the hobgoblins wouldn't have to blindly poke with broken stone spears anymore.
These two weeks were quite peaceful.
Snow fell continuously, covering the forest completely; let alone beastmen, even wild rabbits were rare.
The tribe's food reserves were plentiful; smoked fish, dried mushrooms, and dried mutton filled a granary. The goblins could have hot mushroom soup every day, and the hobgoblins could eat meat at every meal, all growing fat and strong.
Finally, on the last day of the second week, Dragu excitedly ran to Kurzadh: "Boss! It's done! The camps are built!"
Kurzadh quickly followed him, running towards the center of the tribe.
In the open space, two brand new buildings stood—the hobgoblin spearman Camp was a square stone house, its walls built of bluestone, its roof covered with thick thatch, and a wooden pole stuck in front of the entrance with a beast hide hanging from it; next to it, the hobgoblin archers Camp was a circular wooden shed, its roof built high, with a wooden archery target standing nearby, its bullseye wrapped in red cloth, visible from afar.
"Good! Good!" Kurzadh clapped Dragu's shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
Following the system's prompt, he placed a pile of dried mushrooms and a few pieces of dried mutton at the entrance of each camp—these were the "consumables" needed for training.
Then he sent a group of hobgoblins inside.
A day later, the camp gates creaked open, and a group of hobgoblins emerged from within.
Leading the way were thirty hobgoblin spearmen.
Each of them was half a head taller than an ordinary hobgoblin, wearing tanned beast-hide armor, sheepskin hats, and wielding a long spear—the shaft made of hardwood, the tip a gleaming iron blade, glinting coldly.
They stood in three rows; although their formation was crooked, each stood tall and proud, their eyes filled with spirit.
Following closely behind were thirty hobgoblin archers.
They wore thick beast-hide coats, carried a wooden bow and a quiver on their backs, the quiver holding thirty iron arrows—the shafts made of reeds, the arrowheads ground from iron, with a few feathers attached.
They also held wooden bows, curiously looking around.
"My goodness..." Wreelx leaned over, staring wide-eyed at these newly trained spearmen and archers. "They... they're much stronger than us!"
Kurzadh smiled proudly.
He walked up to the hobgoblin spearmen, picked up a long spear and weighed it—neither too light nor too heavy, just right for a hobgoblin to wield.
He then walked to the archers, pulled out an iron arrow and examined it—the arrowhead was sharp, and the feathers were firmly attached.
"Good! Very good!" Kurzadh declared loudly. "From today onwards, you are the spearmen and archers of the Blackrock Clan! The safety of the tribe will depend on you from now on!"
Though the hobgoblins didn't speak, they all puffed out their chests, gripping their weapons tighter.
Kurzadh looked at the sixty elites before him, a surge of excitement in his heart.
This was his army! The defense force of the Blackrock Clan! With them, let alone a few wild wolves or small tribes, even if they encountered another beastmen squad like last time, he would dare to confront them head-on!
Snow continued to fall, landing on the spearmen's and archers' sheepskin hats, like a dusting of sugar.
The other greenskins in the tribe also gathered around, the goblins squeaking, their eyes full of admiration; the hobgoblins, meanwhile, rubbed their fists together, wishing they too could wear beast-hide armor and wield iron weapons.
Kurzadh raised his axe and shouted to the sky: "Blackrock Clan! Grow ever stronger!"
"Waaagh! Blackrock Clan strong! boss strong!" The greenskins' cheers shook snow off the tree branches, making it dance in the open space.
[Race: Greenskin - Goblin]
[Level: LV3]
[Waaagh! energy: 78 / 100]
[Equipment: Iron spear (available)]
[Trait: Hard Bones]
[Racial Trait: Internal Strife]
[Followers: Loyal Hound · Scarface, hobgoblin × 87, goblins × 165]
Kurzadh looked at the cheering greenskins , then at the spearmen and archers before him, feeling very secure.
This winter, the Blackrock Clan would no longer live in fear as before.
When spring arrived, he would train more spearmen and archers, and he would build a Blacksmith Shop to forge iron weapons himself, making the Blackrock Clan the strongest greenskin tribe in the Forest of Gloom!