The air in the cave was damp and cold. The greenskins , panting heavily, shuffled towards the entrance, carrying the junk they had scavenged.
Kurzadh walked in the middle of the group, fiddling with the short spear made of a beast's tooth , its tip gleaming coldly in the dim light.
After rummaging through the ruins for a long time, although he hadn't found any iron spears or axes, he had gathered plenty of scrap iron and wood, enough to keep the tribe's goblins busy for several days.
"Boss, it's really stuffy inside this cave. It's much brighter outside," Wreelx said, carrying a bundle of tattered cloth. He sidled up to Kurzadh, his green face smeared with ash, looking like a dirty rag.
Kurzadh didn't reply, simply quickening his pace.
He felt that something was wrong with this cave. While they were in the ruins earlier, he kept getting a chilly feeling down his back, as if eyes were watching him.
But he had turned around several times, and there was nothing there except collapsed wooden huts and scattered bones.
"Maybe I was just overthinking it," Kurzadh muttered, reaching out to shove aside a hobgoblin Boys blocking his path.
They were only a few dozen steps from the entrance. Sunlight from the snowy ground outside shone through the opening, casting a bright patch on the floor that looked especially warm.
Just then, a flurry of "squeaking" cries suddenly came from deep inside the cave.
The sound was sharp and dense, like countless rats screaming at once, traveling down the cavern passage and making the listeners' skin crawl.
The greenskins immediately stopped. The junk in their hands clattered to the ground, and they froze in place, eyes wide, staring toward the source of the noise.
"Damn it! skaven!" Kurzadh's heart sank, and he spun around abruptly.
His earlier premonition was correct. These scum hadn't cleared out completely!
The greenskins were thrown into complete panic.
The hobgoblin spearmen raised their spears but didn't know where to point them. The archers fumbled desperately to nock arrows, some dropping their missiles before they were ready. The hobgoblin Boys were even worse off; some threw away their wooden clubs and squatted on the ground, covering their heads and howling, as if scared senseless.
In the chaos, the group compressed into a tight knot.
Kurzadh had been walking in the middle, but now that he had turned around, he was squeezed to the rear of the formation, blocked by panicking greenskins , making it hard even to move his feet.
"Everyone stop! What are you panicking about?" Kurzadh roared, reaching out to push aside the hobgoblin Boys in front of him.
The boy stumbled from the shove but didn't dare make a sound, quickly scrambling to the side.
"Goblins! All retreat! Fall back to the entrance!"
The 150 goblins at the entrance, who had been peering curiously into the cave, immediately squeaked and scrambled backward when they heard Kurzadh's shout. Their short legs churned furiously, and within moments, they had retreated into the snow outside the entrance, huddled together, though none dared to run.
"Hobgoblin spearmen! Step forward! Form ranks!" Kurzadh shouted again.
The thirty hobgoblin spearmen finally reacted, raising their scrap iron spears, pushing past the chaotic hobgoblin Boys, and forming three rows in the middle of the passage.
Although the formation was crooked and some spear tips were pointing at their own comrades, it at least resembled a line.
"Archers! Get behind the spearmen! Ten paces back! Nock arrows!" Kurzadh continued to command.
Thirty archers quickly ran behind the spearmen, drawing their wooden bows. Iron arrows were placed on the strings; although their hands were still shaking, the arrow tips were finally aimed toward the depths of the cave.
"Hobgoblin Boys! Bring all the wooden planks we just salvaged! Block the front of the spearmen!" Kurzadh pointed at the scattered planks on the ground—the ones the greenskins had torn from the ruins, originally intending to take them back for firewood.
Fifty hobgoblin Boys immediately rushed forward, picking up the planks and piling them up in front of the spearmen.
Some planks were long, some were short, some thick, some thin. They hastily set the planks upright, pressing the bottoms down with stones, and quickly erected a rudimentary wooden wall in front of the spearmen.
Although there were many gaps, it was enough to block the first wave of the skaven charge.
In just a few breaths, the previously chaotic group gradually became orderly.
The hobgoblin spearmen hid behind the wooden wall, their spear tips poking out through the gaps like the quills of a hedgehog. The archers stood behind them, bows drawn and arrows nocked, their eyes fixed on the depths of the cave.
The hobgoblin Boys held their wooden clubs and crouched beside the archers; though their legs were shaking with fear, none dared to move.
Kurzadh stood on the flank of the formation, catching his breath.
Those few moments of commanding had been more exhausting than fighting a battle.
He peered through the gaps in the planks toward the depths of the cave—it was pitch black inside. He could only see shadows flickering at the end of the passage. The "squeaking" cries grew closer, mixed with the rustling sound of claws scratching Kurzadh.
Soon, the first skaven appeared at the passage entrance.
The creature was about 1.2 meters tall, covered in gray-black fur, and Zaggur as a rail, yet its belly was distended, as if it had just eaten.
It wore tattered scraps of burlap and held a sharpened bone club. Its small eyes were blood red, glaring viciously at the greenskins by the entrance.
"It's a slave rat!" Kurzadh knew what he was facing. The lowest-ranking fodder among the skaven, mindless, knowing only how to charge forward.
But right after, the second, the third... more and more slave rat poured out of the passage.
They pressed together, like a black tide, their eyes filled with bloodthirsty light, squeaking loudly, and wielding a variety of makeshift weapons—bone clubs, rusty iron scraps, and even stones sharpened by gnawing.
Kurzadh quickly counted. Just those currently visible numbered over two hundred.
And shadows were still flickering deep in the passage; conservatively estimated, there were five or six hundred in total!
What was worse, behind the slave rat stood dozens of taller skaven. They were about 1.5 meters high, wore crude leather armor, and held short spears or scimitars. Their fur was dark brown, and their eyes held a cunning glint.
"Clanrat!" Kurzadh's expression darkened.
These creatures were the backbone of the skaven, smarter and stronger than the slave rat, serving as the regular troops of the skaven clans.
They were standing at the back, clearly directing the slave rat charge.
Fortunately, there were no Stormvermin.
Five or six hundred slave rat, dozens of clanrats... Kurzadh licked his cracked lips and tightened his grip on the iron axe.
Although the greenskins had formed a defensive line, they were still at a disadvantage in numbers.
But it didn't matter. greenskins were never afraid of large numbers—the more, the more fun the fight!
"Greenskins !" Kurzadh suddenly raised his iron axe and roared at the skaven deep in the cave, "Let these rats know who is the boss of this forest!"
He took a deep breath, using all his strength to let out the most primal and savage battle cry of the greenskins :
"WAAAAGH!"
"WAAAAGH!"
The fighting spirit of the greenskins in the cave was instantly ignited.
The hobgoblin spearmen raised their spears and howled at the skaven. The archers' hands stopped shaking, their iron arrows pulled taut on the strings. Even the hobgoblin Boys who had been crouching stood up, holding their wooden clubs, their eyes gleaming with madness.
The war cry echoed through the cavern, drowning out the skaven's squeaking and shaking the stalactites on the ceiling, causing droplets of water to fall.
The slave rat at the passage entrance were startled by the battle cry, and their charge momentarily stalled.
But the clanrat behind them immediately let out sharp cries, prodding the backs of the slave rat with short spears.
The slave rat instantly went wild again, raising their weapons and surging toward the greenskins' shield wall like a tide.
Kurzadh stared intently at the foremost slave rat, raising the iron axe in his hand.