On the western cliff of the Forest of Gloom, the wind howled, carrying withered grass debris, hitting the beast hide armor of Kurzadh with a "Crackle" sound.
He half-crouched on the edge of the cliff, his hand on the iron axe at his waist, his gaze, like an eagle, locked onto the team slowly moving along the path below the cliff—that hundred-man slaver Squad was advancing along the winding dirt road, its black-bottomed eagle-head banner like a dull patch in the twilight, swaying slightly with the wind.
Behind him, over a hundred armed hobgoblin spearmen and archers spread out in a fan shape, their iron spear tips and sharply polished wooden arrows gleaming coldly in the setting sun.
Each of these hobgoblins had a cunning and ferocious look, their beady eyes fixed on the humans below the cliff, muttering in a chattering voice, occasionally poking their companions with their spear shafts, their eyes full of eager restlessness.
Some hobgoblins had even nocked their arrows, the arrowheads aimed at the cavalry below, just waiting for their boss's command to shoot.
"All of you, shut up!" Kurzadh turned and growled in a low voice, extremely deep but carrying an undeniable authority.
The hobgoblins instantly fell silent; although they still stared below, no one dared to make a sound—they knew that when their boss was strategizing, he hated noise the most.
Kurzadh refocused his gaze on the slaver Squad, his eyes scanning the equipment of the soldiers, his brow furrowing slightly.
The spearmen in the front wore chainmail, with feathers stuck in their helmets; the archers on both sides carried finely crafted horn bows, and the arrow shafts in their quivers gleamed with tung oil; the cavalry in the center of the team were even clad in heavy armor, their warhorses tall and magnificent, their hooves striking the ground steadily and powerfully.
Most striking was the blond middle-aged man at the front of the team; his heavy armor was carved with intricate patterns, and the eagle-head emblem on his chest was larger and brighter than those of the other soldiers, clearly indicating he was the leader of this team.
"A noble's slaver Squad, and not just any noble's," Kurzadh mused inwardly.
The private soldiers of ordinary nobles wouldn't have such fine equipment; chainmail, horn bows, heavy cavalry—these configurations could only be afforded by forces of at least an Earl's rank.
He stroked his chin, his fingers unconsciously tracing the patterns on the iron axe—with just their hundred-odd hobgoblins, if they rushed down recklessly to fight head-on with this well-equipped human force, it would be suicide.
Human soldiers' discipline was far superior to that of the orcs; spearmen forming ranks, archers firing volleys, plus cavalry charges—these hobgoblins wouldn't last even an incense stick's time before being counter-killed.
His gaze swept over the surrounding terrain—the path below the cliff was flanked by dense woods, and the middle ground was flat, with no natural ravines or boulders to rely on.
Finding an easily defensible ambush location was highly unlikely.
Since the leader of that human team dared to take this path with prisoner carts, they must have scouted the terrain in advance; if there were suitable ambush spots, they would have sent people to occupy them long ago, never giving the hobgoblins an opportunity.
"A head-on fight won't work, no chance for an ambush..." Kurzadh's fingers lightly tapped the cliffside rock, his gaze suddenly falling on the prisoner carts in the center of the team.
Those prisoner carts were made of heavy wooden planks, with iron chains wrapped around the wheels, and each cart was packed with tall figures—they were orcs!
He narrowed his eyes, counting carefully—a total of 18 prisoner carts, with about 10 to 15 orcs squeezed into each.
Although these orcs were bound by iron chains, their sturdy physiques were still evident; some orcs were even as tall as two hobgoblins, and the muscles on their arms exuded a heart-stopping power even in the dim light.
A thought suddenly exploded in Kurzadh's mind: release these orcs!
As long as the orcs in the prisoner carts could be released, these orcs, captured by humans and suppressing their rage, would instantly become the fiercest fighting force.
They hated humans, hated being imprisoned; once free, they would surely launch a furious retaliation against the slaver Squad.
And the Blackrock Clan currently only had hobgoblins and goblin, so they just happened to need a batch of orcs who could fight Hard Bones as subordinates—these orcs had experienced battle and were strong; as long as they were subdued, the tribe's strength would instantly increase by a notch!
Moreover, the scale of this slaver Squad was not large, just within their capabilities; as for difficulty, it would certainly be very difficult.
But easy battles never fell to them; only these Hard Bones would be left behind.
However... orcs have very good teeth!
This idea, like a fire, burned brighter and brighter in Kurzadh's heart.
He looked up at the sky; the setting sun had already sunk behind the mountains, and night was spreading from the edge of the forest, dyeing the woods on both sides of the path pitch black.
In another half an hour, the entire path would be shrouded in night, and that would be the best time for them to act.
"Listen up, everyone!" Kurzadh suddenly stood up, turning to face the hobgoblins behind him, his voice filled with suppressed excitement, "Later, follow me, go around to the woods behind the slaver Squad, stay silent, don't expose yourselves! We won't fight the humans head-on; what we need to do is release those orcs from the prisoner carts!"
The hobgoblins were startled at first, then reacted, their eyes instantly bursting with fanatical light.
Release the orcs? Let those big guys beat up the humans? This idea was simply brilliant! They all raised their spears and bows, shouting "ooh-ooh" in low voices, their faces even more cunning and ferocious.
"Wreelx!" Kurzadh called out.
"I'm here!" Wreelx immediately darted out from the archer team, still clutching his favorite horn bow.
"You take 20 archers, go around to the woods in front of the slaver Squad, and later, listen for my signal, shoot arrows into the sky to attract the humans' attention!" Kurzadh ordered.
"Got it!" Wreelx grinned, then turned and signaled to 20 archers, crouching low and slipping into the woods behind him.
"Dragu!" Kurzadh called again.
"Boss, I'm here!" Dragu, carrying his stone spear wrapped in iron, responded in a booming voice.
"You take 50 spearmen and follow me around to the back of the slaver Squad; when Wreelx shoots his arrows, we'll charge over and smash open the locks on the prisoner carts! The remaining archers will follow Scarface, providing cover from the side, don't let the human archers ambush us!"
"Understood!" Dragu and Scarface responded simultaneously, their eyes full of excitement.
Kurzadh took one last look at the slaver Squad below the cliff—they were still advancing slowly, the soldiers chatting and laughing, some even passing around wineskins, completely unaware that danger was approaching.
The orcs in the prisoner carts were still growling lowly, but they were firmly locked by chains, only able to futilely crash against the wooden planks of the carts.
"Go!" Kurzadh waved his iron axe, leading the way into the woods behind him.
Over a hundred hobgoblins followed closely, like a group of agile shadows, silently disappearing into the night-shrouded forest.
Their footsteps were light, treading on thick fallen leaves, almost inaudible; their weapons were tightly clutched, yet made no sound of collision.
orcs are naturally skilled at ambushing; they are cunning hobgoblins, especially in a familiar forest, they are like lurking hunters, patiently waiting for the moment to strike.
On the path below the cliff, the slaver Squad was still slowly advancing. The blond middle-aged man, riding his warhorse, was chatting and laughing with the cavalry beside him, discussing how they would squander the gold earned from selling orcs once they reached Katushir.
The laughter of the soldiers, the sound of hooves, and the "Creaking" of the prisoner carts blended together, sounding exceptionally clear in the silent twilight.
They were completely unaware that in the woods on both sides of the path, pairs of cruel and cunning eyes were silently watching them.
Those eyes gleamed with a faint green light, like the eyes of wolves in the dark night, filled with a hunger for prey.
The night grew thicker, and the wind gradually died down; the entire forest seemed to hold its breath, awaiting a bloody battle about to erupt.
Kurzadh led Dragu and the spearmen, moving swiftly through the woods.
He could hear the sounds of the slaver Squad ahead growing closer, could smell the humans' sweat and horse manure, and could hear the increasingly violent low growls of the orcs in the prisoner carts.
He tightened his grip on the iron axe, his knuckles turning white from the effort—in a little while, this "Good show" he was orchestrating was about to begin!