The snow at the entrance of the cave was largely stained red with blood. As soon as the roars of battle subsided, the Snotlings squeaked and rushed inside.
These little creatures, usually timid as mice, now had excited gleams in their eyes as they circled the corpses scattered across the ground.
Some poked the rigid faces of the skaven with their tiny claws, others picked up broken bone clubs from the ground and brandished them. A few bolder ones even jumped onto the piles of bodies, bouncing around as if celebrating a grand carnival.
"Damn it, these little goblins are happier than anyone," Kurzadh chuckled, leaning on his iron axe.
His arm was still bleeding, and the wound pierced by the clanrat stung fiercely, but watching the scene before him, his heart was burning with fervor.
The greenskins had already erupted into chaos.
The hobgoblin Boyz squatted by the corpse piles, struggling to hack off the skaven heads with their axes—some cut crookedly, mangling the skaven's necks; others simply yanked with their hands, tearing the heads straight off the bodies and hanging them on the rags around their waists like strings of grotesque bells.
Zaggur held up a clanrat's sharp tooth , threading a rope through it. "This tooth is sharp! Hanging it on a bow will definitely scare off the goblins!"
Dragu was even more direct. He pried a nail off a skavenslave's claw, bit it, and grinned. "It's really hard! Could be used as a stone scraper!" Seeing this, the surrounding hobgoblins followed suit. Some plucked the skaven's fur, others hammered at their bones, and one boy even tried wrapping a skaven tail around his arm, claiming it would "Bring good luck."
"Stop messing around, all of you!" Kurzadh banged his iron axe on the ground. "Haul all these rat corpses back! The mushroom patch needs fertilizer! And all the junk on the ground—scraps of iron, bones, wood—take everything you can!" He emphasized, "No one is allowed to chew on the skaven bodies! That stuff is filthy! If I catch anyone chewing, I'll break their legs!"
Although the greenskins were somewhat reluctant—in their view, a slain prey should always be tasted—they dared not disobey their boss.
The hobgoblin Boyz hoisted the skaven corpses; those who couldn't manage carried one between two of them. The Snotlings burrowed beneath the piles of bodies, laboriously dragging out the scattered iron scraps and wood.
Zaggur directed the archers to gather the broken spears and ruined bows on the ground, bundling them together with vines.
"Let's go! Back to the tribe for a drink!" A hobgoblin boy, carrying a skaven corpse, was the first to head toward the cave entrance.
His leather armor was soaked through with blood, but his face was beaming.
"Drink! Drink!" the greenskins shouted in unison. Carrying the bodies and loot, they marched boisterously toward the tribe.
The footprints in the snow were crooked and messy, mixed with blood and mud, yet they exuded an indescribable sense of excitement.
Started by who knows whom, the greenskins began to sing.
The song had no melody, just "WAAAGH" here and "WAAAGH" there, interspersed with phrases like "Bash the rats" and "Grab the loot," but they sang it loud enough to shake the heavens.
Zaggur's voice was the shrillest and off-key, making everyone burst into laughter. Dragu sang the hardest, shaking the skaven corpse he held. Kurzadh hummed along too; though his voice was hoarse, he felt that all the frustration and exhaustion in his heart were washed away by the song.
Iron boots stomp da grass— CRUNCH!Chipped-up axes bite in deeper!We greenskins, skulls are thicker than Kurzadh's,Don't agree? We'll club yer noggin steeper!
Whoosh-la-la, our flags still flap when shredded,Throats roar loud 'til sparks spit fire!"WAAAGH!"—that word rips straight from da belly,We krump 'til birds flee from the pyre!
Dwarfy forts? We headbutt 'em open!Humie knights? We'll yank their horses bald!Shiny magic? Dat's fer da softies—One hammer swing, and da wizard cries fer "DAAAD!"
Blood on da face—wipe it off when it tickles,Necklace o' bones jingles with every stride.If yer arm still swings, dere's no stoppin',Dis land bows low when greenskins ride!
Glug dat maggot-swamp brew—HIC!Villagers squeal when da blades go slicin'!Bones smashed down to mush for da totems—WAAAGH! If da sky falls, we'll stack da corpses nice 'n' tidy!
They were covered in wounds—some had broken arms, suspended by rags around their necks; others limped from bite injuries on their legs; some had fresh claw marks on their faces—yet no one cried out in pain, and no one complained.
greenskin happiness was that simple: they won the fight, grabbed the loot, and were still alive. That was enough.
By the time they returned to the tribe, the sun was already setting in the west.
The Snotlings outside the palisade had been waiting anxiously. Seeing the main force return, they immediately squeaked in greeting, helping to move the bodies and the spoils of war.
Kurzadh stood in the center of the tribe, looking at the greenskins who had fought alongside him in blood—some were missing a tooth , some an ear, and others still had blood-soaked rags wrapped around their arms.
He took a deep breath and walked to the most prominent spot in the tribe—the statue of Gork and Mork that he had ordered the Snotlings to pile up using stones.
The statue was crooked and disproportionate, with an oversized head, yet the greenskins revered it as a deity. A few gnawed bones were placed in front of it.
"Get over here, all of you!" Kurzadh roared at the top of his lungs.
The greenskins immediately quieted down, gathering around the statue and looking up at Kurzadh.
The Snotlings squeezed in at the edges, craning their necks to peek inside. The hobgoblin Boyz stood in the middle, still clutching the skaven teeth they had just looted. The archers and spear-hobgoblins stood at the front, tired but still holding themselves straight.
Kurzadh looked at them and declared loudly, "Today, we bashed the rats! We saved the tribe! But that's not enough!" He raised his injured arm. "I want every boy in the Blackrock Clan to become as strong as me! As good at fighting! I want everyone who dares mess with us to taste the iron axe!"
"Waaagh! The boss is right!" the greenskins roared in unison, their voices shaking the snow on the ground.
Just then, a cold voice suddenly sounded in Kurzadh's mind, clearer than usual:
[System Update Complete. Ritual Magic Module newly added.]
[Host leveled up to LV5, consuming 150 Waaagh! points.]
[Congratulations to the Host for completing the "Outnumbered Victory" achievement. The Host will evolve from a goblin into a hobgoblin.]
[Evolution commencing.]
[Evolution complete. Host is now a greenskin hobgoblin, gaining the Trait "Novice Shaman."]
[Trait "Novice Shaman": You can use Waaagh! energy to unleash Minor Waaagh! spells.]
Kurzadh was stunned. Before he could react, his body was enveloped in a ball of green light.
The green light was warm, like soaking in hot water. The wound on his arm stopped hurting, and all the fatigue in his body vanished.
He could feel his body growing—his bones crackled, his muscles bulged, and his already sturdy physique, which was bigger than an average Snotling's, expanded upwards like an inflating balloon.
The greenskins stared in awe, mouths agape, forgetting how to speak.
The Snotlings squeaked and retreated, yet couldn't help but inch closer again. The hobgoblin Boyz' eyes widened, and the skaven teeth in their hands clattered onto the ground.
After only a moment, the green light dissipated.
Kurzadh stood in place and looked down at himself—he was no longer a Snotling.
His height had increased by nearly half, making him roughly the size of a regular hobgoblin. His shoulders were wide enough to carry two logs, his arms were corded with muscle, and his greenskin, though still smeared with blood, had a healthy sheen.
The iron axe in his hand now felt perfectly sized.
"B-boss... the boss turned into a hobgoblin!" Zaggur was the first to react, stammering incoherently with excitement.
"The boss got stronger! He's even better at fighting than before!" Dragu yelled, pumping his fists.
Just then, Scarface, who was standing nearby, was also enveloped in a ball of green light.
This Snotling, who had always stuck close to Kurzadh, rapidly increased in size as well. Though not as sturdy as Kurzadh, he was significantly taller than an average Snotling, and his eyes held a spark of intelligence, shedding his former simpleminded look.
Kurzadh looked at his hand, then at the cheering greenskins , and suddenly raised his iron axe, roaring toward the statue of Gork and Mork: "Gork and Mork! Make all the Boyz who dare to fight even stronger!"
As soon as he finished speaking, countless beams of green light suddenly illuminated the tribe.
The hobgoblin Boyz who had fought the bravest—some who had clubbed clanrats to death in the cave, others who had held wooden shields without retreating—were covered in the green light.
Their bodies crackled. Some grew taller, some gained thicker arms, and the wooden clubs in their hands suddenly transformed into iron-tipped spears or wooden bows. They also gained crude leather armor—they had evolved into hobgoblin spearmen and archers!
Immediately after, the original hobgoblin archers and spearmen were also surrounded by green light.
Their physiques grew another size larger. The tips of their iron spears became sharper, their wooden bows gained a layer of polish, and the ferocity in their eyes diminished slightly, replaced by more agility—they had become Elite archers and Elite spearmen!
The green light didn't stop.
Among the Snotlings outside the palisade, many were swept by the green light. Their size slightly increased, and their eyes became clearer—they turned into Snotling Laborers!
A few Snotling Laborers were enveloped in an even brighter green light. They not only became much sturdier but also showed a spark of cleverness in their eyes, and their tools transformed into more intricate chisels and the like—they had become Snotling Sappers!
The tribe erupted completely.
"I'm a spearman now! I have an iron spear!" a newly evolved hobgoblin boy shouted, jumping excitedly on the ground while holding his iron-tipped spear.
"My bow is stronger now!" an Elite archer exclaimed, plucking the bowstring, which vibrated with a 'buzz.'
"I can chisel stone now!" a Snotling Sapper announced, using his Kurzadh chisel to carve a crooked 'W' on the ground.
The greenskins who had received upgrades roared loudly, "Kurzadh! Kurzadh!"
Those greenskins not chosen by the green light also cheered along.
A hobgoblin boy rubbed his arm and muttered, "Damn it, I must not have bashed the rats hard enough just now! Next time, I'll hit them even harder!"
A Snotling shook his head, clenching his small claws tightly. "I'm going to the lumberyard to haul logs tomorrow! I'll definitely get stronger!"
Kurzadh stood before the statue of Gork and Mork, watching the cheering greenskins , his green eyes gleaming.
The snow was still falling, landing on his shoulders, but he didn't feel cold at all.
He knew that the good times for the Blackrock Clan were just beginning.
"WAAAGH!"
Kurzadh raised his iron axe and roared toward the sky.
"WAAAGH! WAAAGH! WAAAGH!"
"WAAAGH! WAAAGH! WAAAGH!"
The greenskins' shouts echoed throughout the valley, drowning out the sound of the wind and the snow, reverberating long in the Forest of Gloom.