Chương 100: 100：Total Submission

Water dripped steadily from the inverted stalactites clinging to the vaulted ceiling of Lone Cliff's deepest cavern. In the center of the expansive stone platform, roaring fires blazed, driving back the pervasive, bone-deep chill. Over a dozen bonfires—fueled by the dried stalks of subterranean mushrooms and rotting deadwood—cast a fierce red glow against the cavern walls. On wooden spits, the skinned carcasses of several blind cave bears roasted over the flames, their fat sizzling and popping.

Handfuls of coarse salt and pungent herbs were generously slapped onto the meat. In a cavern that perpetually reeked of stale mud and damp rot, the mouth-watering aroma of seared fat now drifted heavily through the air. For a tribe of goblins who spent their days scraping by in the crevices of the world—sometimes forced to swallow venomous insects raw just to stave off starvation—this was a luxurious spread rivaling a royal banquet.

"Drink!" Luger, the hobgoblin chieftain, hoisted a black clay jug filled to the brim with rough, home-brewed sour-berry wine. Tilting his head back, he guzzled the harsh liquid like a whale swallowing the sea. He let out a loud, satisfied gasp, exhaling a cloud of alcohol fumes before roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Around him, over a hundred goblins of all sizes raised their vessels—be it wooden cups, chipped clay bowls, or hollowed-out beast bones—and offered a fanatical toast to the black-haired man seated at the head of the gathering. Soren sat comfortably in the guest of honor's seat. This was a rare moment of relaxation since he had first set foot in the Misty Swamp. He didn't reject the respect of these demihumans. Picking up the clay bowl of berry wine placed before him, he tilted his head and drained it in one gulp.

The liquid was spicy and abrasive, burning the back of his throat like a handful of crushed, flaming glass. But the moment it hit his stomach, the fiery heat effectively banished the lingering dampness brought on by days of torrential rain.

"Good capacity, Lord Soren!" Luger plopped heavily onto a stone seat next to him. The hobgoblin's yellow-brown, slitted eyes gleamed with unconcealed awe. He grabbed a skinning knife, carved off a rack of the fattest, juiciest blind bear ribs, and presented it to Soren on a stone platter with both hands.

"Honestly, My Lord. I've seen capable human generals in this swamp. I've even caught glimpses of the Silvermoon Kingdom's heavy knights charging from afar. But a commander like you, who can calculate a battlefield down to such terrifying margins? You are the first!" Luger pointed at the lead box resting on the floor, which contained the spatial storage ring. A profound, lingering dread still colored his voice.

"That's a spatial ring! Yet you actually dared to use Warchief Blackstone's absolute lifeline as bait, ruthlessly burying dozens of Blacksteel Orcs and a Shaman into the dirt of Severed Head Valley!" As Luger spoke, his excitement grew. He gestured wildly, mimicking the devastating rockfall.

"What kind of monstrous audacity does that take? Any other human noble or high-ranking officer would have hugged that ring to their chest the moment they saw it, tracking mark be damned! But you? You tossed it away like a slab of rotten meat, using it to lure those orcs straight into a death trap!" All around the cavern, the goblins attending the feast nodded vehemently, their eyes filled with utter submission.

Demihumans were naturally xenophobic, and goblins were especially notorious for their paranoia and cunning. On this continent, it was standard practice for humans to hunt goblins and enslave them, which was why they had been hyper-vigilant when Soren first arrived. But Soren's actions today had completely shattered their psychological defenses. A man who dared to walk into their lair completely alone, without a bow or a crossbow, clad only in iron armor.

That fearless disregard for death, coupled with the casual, backhanded way he saved Lone Cliff from extermination by wiping out the invincible Blacksteel Orcs—it was like watching a God of War descend. It genuinely terrified and awed every green-skinned creature present.

"To the great tactician! To the Lord!" Several flushed, elderly goblins staggered forward, continuously offering toasts to Soren. One cup. Five cups. Ten cups. As the number of empty clay jugs multiplied, Luger and the surrounding goblins watched with growing horror. The goblin-brewed berry wine was notoriously potent. Even Luger's breathing was growing heavy. Yet Soren, who had a small mountain of empty clay bowls stacked in front of him, still had eyes as clear as pristine glass.

In fact, his cheeks hadn't even flushed with a hint of red! How could they possibly know that Soren's body had assimilated a trace of the Son of Titan bloodline? This ancient lineage, legendary for its ability to shrug off dragon's breath, granted his body a monstrously overpowered metabolism. The moment this cheap, low-grade alcohol entered his bloodstream, his genetics instantly vaporized it into harmless sweat. To the goblins, this was just further proof that the man sitting before them was not a normal human.

Stolen novel; please report. After rounds of drinking, the atmosphere of the banquet hit its peak. Soren lightly tapped his clay bowl against the stone table. Clack. Miraculously, with that single, understated motion, the boisterous cavern instantly fell dead silent. Every goblin instinctively chewed softer and pricked up their long, pointed ears. Soren wiped the grease from his hands with a linen cloth and turned to look at Luger.

"Luger, we've had our fill of wine. Let's talk business."

"The skies over the Misty Swamp are about to change." Soren locked eyes with the hobgoblin chieftain, formally laying out his ultimate objective for this trip.

"Right now, Greywater Village has strong troops, fertile fields, and iron. The only thing we lack is a long-term, stable resource: fresh water."

"You, on the other hand, possess the purification methods to filter toxic water, not to mention exceptional mechanical trapping technology."

"Therefore, I officially extend an olive branch to the Lone Cliff faction."

"In my capacity as the Lord of Greywater Village, I propose a long-term, equal alliance between my village and your goblin camp. We will provide military protection and a steady supply of food. You will provide fresh water and engineering technology. How about it?" The empty cavern was silent save for the crackling of the bonfires. The goblins all turned to look at their chieftain, holding their breath. Soren watched Luger casually, waiting for his response. However.

To Soren's surprise, the flush of alcohol rapidly vanished from Luger's face. The burly hobgoblin showed no signs of ecstasy; instead, his expression turned incredibly solemn. He looked at Soren and firmly shook his head.

"I apologize, Lord Soren."

"I must refuse the alliance." Soren's eyes narrowed slightly. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind. Is he trying to hike up the price? Or is there some ancestral rule forbidding it? But as Soren rapidly ran through the tactical simulations in his head, a flash of realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. He understood. Barely half a day ago, the ambush at Severed Head Valley had indeed been a satisfying, total annihilation of an elite Blacksteel Orc unit.

But precisely because it was a total annihilation, they had essentially punched a hole in the heavens! That was a vanguard of a hundred elites from Warchief Blackstone's personal guard! Accompanied by an honored Shaman! These elite troops had died an unexplained death in the mud of Severed Head Valley.

Even without survivors returning to report, given Warchief Blackstone's tyrannical nature and the shattering of the Shaman's life crystal, it would take less than a week for the Orc Army to follow the tracks and encircle this place. When that time came, they wouldn't be facing a few dozen orcs. They would be facing thousands of regular Orcish troops! How could one isolated peak possibly withstand that? If this was merely an "alliance," Greywater Village would only be obligated to provide limited assistance.

As a qualified chieftain, Luger had to calculate for the survival of over a hundred of his kin.

"Then what exactly do you want?" Soren asked calmly, his gaze burning like a torch. He had already seen through Luger's hand. Thump! Luger suddenly dropped to his knees! The 1. 9-meter-tall behemoth slammed heavily onto the rock floor in front of Soren.

"Lord Soren... now that I have seen the sunlight, I can no longer tolerate living in the dark like a festering bug!" Luger raised his head. There was no probing in his eyes, no negotiation—only desperate, absolute resolve.

"Warchief Blackstone's army could flatten this isolated, helpless peak at any moment! Staying here is just waiting for death. Besides..." Luger pointed at the damp, miserable cave around them and the ragged leather armor clinging to his people.

"Hiding in this mountain is nothing more than surviving day by day. This damned swamp offers no future, no growth. We are sick and tired of living like sewer rats!"

"I don't want an equal alliance! My people don't need independent autonomy!" The hobgoblin chieftain pressed his hard forehead against the stone floor and let out a deafening roar:"I, Luger, beg to lead all one hundred and twenty-three goblins of Lone Cliff to completely submit to Greywater Village!"

"I only beg that you take us in completely! From this day forward, we are not your allies! We are the sledgehammers pumping the bellows in your territory! We are the combat engineers laying traps for your army!" This was what it meant to burn your boats. Aside from desperately clinging to Soren—a monstrous powerhouse capable of slaughtering a Son of Titan—and seeking absolute sanctuary within his territory, the Lone Cliff goblins had no other options. They needed to fundamentally become Soren's private property.

Because they knew that only by becoming his own people would this fiercely protective human lord actually risk his life to fight an entire Orc Army for a group of insignificant demihumans!