Chapter 74: The Border of the Kadro Province—The Hopes of the Rank-and-File Soldiers

The next morning, Verin received a written order from Flora.

According to the command, for the next half month, he was to lead the Seventh Thousand to eradicate three goblin tribes of over three hundred members each, three kobold tribes of similar size, and more than twenty other smaller tribes scattered throughout the region.

“Kyle, send someone to logistics to collect rations, and have everyone prepare themselves. There’s no training today—let them rest well.”

Standing guard outside the tent, Kyle heard Verin’s voice and replied loudly, “Yes, my lord.”

Afterward, Verin found a map and, following the locations outlined in the order, marked each monster clan that needed to be wiped out.

His Seventh Thousand was responsible for the upper left sector of the camp’s territory, covering an area of more than three thousand square kilometers. Two tributaries of the Yellow Sand River system flowed through it, resulting in a high concentration of monster tribes.

“A land blessed by fortune,” Verin mused, convinced that this place would one day belong to him, untouchable by anyone else.

After a day’s rest, Verin led the one thousand one hundred men of the Seventh Thousand out of the camp, beginning the campaign in earnest.

Flora rose early and stood atop a makeshift watchtower, watching as the Seventh Thousand departed. She instructed Miller, who stood by her side, “Keep track of Verin’s every move. I don’t want him exposed to any danger.”

“Yes, Captain.” Miller obeyed without hesitation, for his life itself was a gift from his captain.

Blazing a trail across the steppe was a grueling endeavor. After three hours, Verin saw that they had made only twenty kilometers and could not help but show his exasperation.

“My lord, the path is terribly difficult,” Kyle reported, clearing branches from his mount. “The thorns and brush are everywhere. If not for our armor, we’d be covered in wounds by now.”

“Have the troops stop and rest here. I’ll reconsider our route,” Verin replied, realizing he had underestimated the challenge. As commander, he had failed to anticipate the terrain’s severity.

Spreading the map on a nearby boulder, Verin marked their current position and began to devise a new plan.

“A tributary of the Yellow Sand River is just five or six kilometers north. If we move that way, we should reach it easily,” he reasoned. Traveling along the riverbank, he guessed, would be much easier than forcing a path through the thickets, though he couldn't be certain, never having seen the route himself.

“It’s worth the risk. If it doesn’t work, we’ll have no choice but to spend the time and effort to cut a road through.”

Fortunately, the eastern reaches of the Ashen Plains were thin in magical power; otherwise, they would face not only the thorny undergrowth but also the threat of prowling magical beasts.

That afternoon, Verin adjusted their course northward. After two hours, they finally reached an unnamed tributary of the Yellow Sand River, a stream five or six meters wide.

Standing at the water’s edge, Verin gazed upstream and downstream, his view unobstructed. He exclaimed in delight, “Excellent. I was right—this is far better than that cursed jungle.”

“My lord, it’s thanks to your wise decision that we’ve escaped that green prison,” Kyle praised him sincerely.

“Good. Let the soldiers rest for a while. We’ll move on soon. I want to eliminate the first goblin tribe by tomorrow afternoon,” Verin replied with a bright smile, pleased by his subordinate’s praise.

“Yes, sir.”

The thousand-strong force eagerly settled along the riverbank, enjoying the rare freshness. The stifling jungle had brought them nothing but misery, and as common soldiers under strict officers, their opinions mattered little.

“Blackhammer, your lord is generous, giving us time to rest.”

“Yes—unlike my baron, who rides alongside us, whip in hand, cursing us for not keeping pace.”

A small squad gathered by the river, speaking in hushed tones.

“I, Blackhammer, am blessed by the gods to have met Lord Verin. It is by his grace that I am who I am today,” Blackhammer declared with reverence.

The others had heard this many times and felt neither annoyance nor mockery—only sympathy and admiration for the sixteen-year-old youth. Unlike Blackhammer, who was born a serf, they were at least commoners with some hope of advancement.

“Ah, when I think of my own lord, I’d take my family and head for Lake of the Star’s Blessing, if I could,” grumbled a soldier in his thirties.

“Are you mad?” an older veteran gasped, quickly covering his comrade’s mouth and casting wary glances around for any officers before admonishing him. “If any of your lord’s officers overheard you, you’d be in for it when we return.”

“Old Mike, you’re right. If only… Never mind, I just wonder if there’s any way.”

The others sighed, then fell silent as an officer approached.

After the patrol passed, Blackhammer looked at his “comrades” and said awkwardly, “Perhaps I could ask my old commander if there’s anything that can be done.”

“Really, Blackhammer?”

“We’d be grateful.”

“Blackhammer, may the Lady of Life bless you.”

Their eyes shone with hope as they looked at Blackhammer.

At that moment, Verin had no idea what was transpiring among his soldiers. Instead, he pored over reconnaissance reports and considered the distance to the goblin tribe, seeking the best strategy.

“Twenty kilometers downstream lies the target goblin tribe, about four hundred strong.”

“According to the common estimate in this world, their fighting force should be about seventy percent—so, roughly two hundred eighty goblin warriors.”

“Sealing off information to prevent other tribes from catching wind will be a challenge, but not beyond me.”

He ordered the map packed away and gave the command to march, following the river downstream.

…

Farther downstream, at a crude goblin camp—a place they considered quite luxurious—a burly goblin lorded over the tribe. Since the chieftain and the elder had taken the elite warriors away, the camp was his domain.

“Acting Chieftain, there seems to be something happening upstream. There are more fish than usual,” a hideous goblin reported timidly, stepping into his wooden hut.

“More fish means our god favors us. Now get out!” The acting chieftain, rudely interrupted, glared at him with menace.

“Yes, yes!” The ugly goblin scurried out, only to be mocked by the others, blissfully unaware that doom was drawing near.