Chương 101: 101：Master Artisan: The Dual-Talent Hobgoblin

"Good." Soren stood up, his gaze sweeping across the cavern. He dispensed with any hypocritical pleasantries.

"Listen well."

"Once you enter Greywater Village, you will submit entirely to my military discipline. Those who desert without orders—death! Those who betray or leak secrets—death! Those who shirk duty or flee in battle—death!" Soren's three consecutive decrees of death swept through the hall with palpable killing intent, instantly freezing the festive atmosphere. But he immediately raised his voice, his words striking like thunderbolts:"However! If you accept me as your Lord and Commander..."

"I, Soren, swear this oath here and now: In my territory, no goblin's bowl will ever lack porridge or stew! There will always be steaming Swamp Tubers and hot, roasted meat!"

"Any goblin who bleeds or is crippled in my service will be provided for by the territory until the end of their days!"

"Whoever steps into Greywater Village is under my absolute protection!"

"If anyone dares to touch my soldiers, I will slaughter their entire bloodline and use their heads as a sacrifice to our banners!" A stunned, earth-shattering silence followed. And then—"Long live the Lord!!"

"We swear our lives to Greywater Village!" A fanatical fervor was completely ignited by this fierce, tyrannical protectiveness and the unimaginable promise of a guaranteed pension. The emaciated, common goblins flushed red, screaming in ecstasy. Streams of muddy tears rolled down their faces. One hundred and twenty-three goblins, moving like a field of wheat cut by a scythe, fell to their knees in perfect unison.

They pressed their foreheads against the cold stone floor, offering their absolute loyalty in the highest form of submission. At this very moment, the Lone Cliff goblin camp was officially absorbed into Soren's command. With the grand matter of their submission settled, the air in the cavern felt as clear as a sky after a heavy storm. Luger shed the heavy burden of leadership entirely, slipping seamlessly into the role of a fiercely loyal subordinate.

Holding nothing back, he immediately grabbed a burning torch and respectfully guided Soren toward the deepest, most hidden corridors of the mountain.

"My Lord, since we are all family now, allow me to show you the bottom of our chest. The fortune Lone Cliff has hoarded over decades." Navigating the winding rocky tunnels and unlocking several layers of complex, gear-driven iron locks, a heavy ironwood door was finally pushed open. As the torchlight illuminated the first section of the stone chamber, Soren's eyes lit up. It was an armory! A dazzling array of weaponry and mechanisms, wiped utterly spotless, hung categorically on the walls and even the ceiling.

"Look here, My Lord." Luger proudly lifted a compact hand-crossbow crafted from dark silkworm-thorn wood, its body fitted with precisely cut metal gears.

"The Goblin Repeating Crossbow. It doesn't require immense arm strength; it uses mechanical levers to draw the string and can fire three consecutive shots. We have a full three hundred of them here!" Following Luger's pointing finger, Soren saw over two hundred oak barrels coated in waterproof paint. Prying one open at random, he found it packed to the brim with straw to prevent damage, filled entirely with perfectly fletched, deadly crossbow bolts.

Beyond that lay various precision mechanical trap components—absolute treasures for defensive warfare. There were polished, tripwire-triggered chained ground-spike mechanisms. There were massive quantities of compact winches made from high-tension animal sinew, designed to function like giant bear traps that could snap an orc's ankle clean off. And in the deepest corner, resting silently in the dark, were four small torsion catapults!

Placed on a high wall, these machines could easily crush a heavily armored Blacksteel Orc with hurled stones! It was no exaggeration to say that once these precision machines were transported back to Greywater Village and deployed along the perimeter, the settlement's defense line would be massively fortified. Add in the three hundred repeating crossbows, and even the old, weak, and reservists who lacked the strength to draw a longbow could instantly be formed into a lethal crossbow company!

This was a monumental haul! However... When Luger, looking somewhat embarrassed, pushed open the second wooden door at the back of the armory leading to the food stores, the overwhelming stench that wafted out almost made Soren gag. Soon after, his mood grew incredibly complicated. The surprisingly large pantry was so empty that it echoed. There were no mountains of grain, no stacked strips of cured meat. Only a few filthy clay vats. Soren walked over and glanced inside.

The vats contained lumps of a dark green, paste-like substance that looked like fermented vomit. This was the vile, low-grade gruel the goblins made to survive—a boiled and fermented mash of toxic swamp weeds, rotting bark, and various crushed insect pupae. Scattered nearby were a few small baskets of shriveled, wrinkled subterranean poison fungi. As for fresh meat? Fruit? There wasn't a single scrap.

The memory of the feast just moments ago—the goblins tearing into fresh, roasted blind bear ribs and guzzling fragrant berry wine from large clay jugs—flashed vividly in his mind. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Soren turned his head, casting a deep, profound look at Luger, who was nervously rubbing his hands together in shame.

"The meat and wine tonight..." Luger scratched his fleshy, bald head and lowered his gaze.

"Er... forgive the pathetic display, My Lord."

"It's been raining heavily for the past two months, making foraging below the mountain impossible. Those two blind cave bears were emergency stock we managed to fish out using traps on the cliff edge."

"And that berry wine... it was originally meant to be saved to ward off the extreme winter cold..." He paused, then looked up at Soren with absolute earnestness.

"You saved the one hundred and twenty-three lives of Lone Cliff. We goblins have blood in our veins, too."

"You came to us, so naturally, we had to offer you the absolute best we had. Every last drop, without holding a single thing back." They had taken out the entire tribe's last reserves of luxury—risking starvation and freezing—just to entertain the human benefactor who had given them a path to survival. In this moment, this race that usually scraped by like vermin displayed a sincerity ten thousand times purer than many humans who paraded around calling themselves noble. Soren took a deep breath.

He clapped his hand heavily onto Luger's broad, sturdy shoulder, his voice resolute:"Smash the garbage in these broken vats! From now on, this disgusting filth is permanently banned from Greywater Village's menu."

"When we get back to the village," Soren grinned, revealing a fierce, genuine smile, "I'm treating every single brother in this camp to the richest, fattest meat stew they've ever tasted!" Soren had not forgotten his greatest trump card. Deep within his pupils, a faint layer of runic light flared to life. [Tier-2: Eye of Discernment!] In Soren's vision, a translucent status panel unfolded directly above Luger's head.

If he used this on an ordinary person or a common goblin, the text panel would be completely blank. But Luger's panel was shining with two brilliant clusters of light! [Name: Luger] [Race/Status: Hobgoblin] [Talent 1: Alchemy Mastery - Excels in purification, extraction, and Alchemist's Fire refinement. Possesses a powerful intuition for all alchemical and enchanted materials.] [Talent 2: Master Artisan - Capable of flawlessly mastering mechanical engineering and manufacturing, even without standardized measuring tools.] Dual Talents! Soren's heart skipped a beat. He had struck absolute gold! Compared to him, Old Cook... Soren shook his head inwardly, thinking of Greywater Village's current chief goblin blacksmith.

Although the village's geothermal forge roared day and night, and one couldn't fault Old Cook's work ethic—the goblin worked bare-chested all day, his skin literally burned by his own sweat—the reality was cruel. Soren had used the [Eye of Discernment] on him before. Old Cook's panel didn't even have the most basic [Pig Iron Smelting] talent! Without the system-like stat buffs of a talent, Greywater Village's forging suffered.

Despite recovering massive amounts of scrap iron from dead orcs, the process of melting it down and recasting it into black iron spears and armor had an abysmal failure rate and agonizingly slow efficiency. This was the insurmountable chasm between a common skilled laborer and a true Master. Plus, Old Cook was currently running around like a headless chicken, frantic over the lack of high-quality iron ore sources.

"Luger," Soren cut off his train of thought, his voice ringing with the majesty of a supreme commander.

"Listen well."

"Once we break camp, your first task is to take absolute control."

"When we return to Greywater Village, the management of the Blacksmith's Forge situated above the volcanic vent will be completely transferred to you."

"The original eighty-five goblins in the village, including Old Cook, will be drafted into your new Engineering Battalion. They are now your subordinates and apprentices!" Before Luger could even express his shock, Soren threw down an even heavier chip.

"I captured two massive Heavy Siege Catapults from the orcs."

"Those two siege engines have just been sitting in a corner of the village gathering dust."

"Now, I am completely entrusting those two catapults to you!"

"Furthermore, one hundred Geared Heavy Ballistas will be under your direct command." This string of appointments hit Luger like a ton of golden bricks, leaving him dizzy with disbelief. These weapons and siege engines were incredibly precious even within the Orc Alliance, yet now they were entirely his to command! The hobgoblin's breathing became as heavy as a bull's, his massive frame trembling violently.

"A warrior dies for the Lord who recognizes his worth... you have given me the grandest stage..."

"My Lord! Luger swears upon his life: as long as the fires in the blast furnace do not die, within three months, I will ensure every elite soldier under your command is clad in the finest armor, and I will build you a defensive trap line that reaps lives like wheat!" Soren smiled and nodded. Greywater Village was about to be turned upside down. Armament forging, mechanical traps, and fresh water purification—everything was about to undergo a true, unstoppable qualitative evolution.