Chương 168: Trolls and the King of Gluttony

Li Qinwu raised his musket, aimed directly at a towering monster charging toward him with a ferocious howl, and pulled the trigger. BANG! A massive hole blew through the monster's bare chest. Though the creature let out a pained roar, its extraordinary physical resilience allowed it to hurl the stone spear in its hand directly at Li Qinwu before finally collapsing. Li Qinwu casually slapped the stone spear out of the air, pulled a fresh musket from his storage space, and opened fire on another oncoming giant.

From the surrounding forest of the landing zone, several hundred tall monsters swarmed out. Bare-chested and armed with crude, primitive weapons, they launched a reckless assault against the goblins. Just moments ago, Li Qinwu had located a suitable clearing on this small hill and landed the flight vessel. Half of the personnel had barely disembarked when these massive creatures rushed from the tree line. Without a word of communication or negotiation, they engaged in an immediate, bloodthirsty attack.

These monsters were remarkably tall, averaging anywhere from 2. 5 to 3 meters in height. They possessed long, slender limbs that gave them the build of long-distance runners. Their faces featured broad noses, long pointed ears, and sharp, protruding tusks set against dark-red skin. Dressed only in crude animal pelts, most of their upper bodies were left exposed, revealing intricate networks of complex black tattoos across their flesh—symbols that seemed to carry some dark, esoteric significance.

Armed mostly with heavy spears, their primary tactic was to hurl these weapons with tremendous force. Their towering physiques and long arm spans made their thrown spears remarkably fast and lethal. Unfortunately for them, such primitive weapons proved laughably ineffective in the face of concentrated firearm salvos. BANG! BANG! BANG! Gunfire echoed continuously across the hillside.

The goblins of the 1st Guard Regiment formed a tight defensive perimeter around the flight vessel, leveling their muskets and firing methodically into the charging horde. Every volley brought down a target with precise, lethal efficiency. Despite the monsters' robust health, the heavy stopping power of the 20mm round proved devastating, dropping them with a single hit. Meanwhile, the stone spears hurled in their dying breath failed to even pierce the horn-crocodile leather armor worn by the goblins.

The skirmish lasted barely over two minutes before the forest fell silent once more, leaving behind over a hundred corpses. Realizing the goblins were a hard nut to crack, the remaining attackers broke off and retreated back into the dense canopy as the gunfire died down. Li Qinwu ordered the goblins to reform their lines before walking over to inspect the towering corpses scattered across the field. He recalled a book on magical beasts he had seized during the Poloya Campaign.

One of the chapters described these precise creatures: Trolls. Trolls were defined by their towering stature, long limbs, massive facial tusks, and inherently barbaric nature. They preferred eating their prey alive and practiced brutal live-sacrifice rituals. Most trolls worshipped the God of Devouring—an entity widely recognized across the realm as an evil god. Those who followed this deity were driven to violent gluttony, their temperaments becoming wildly unstable and unpredictable.

The God of Devouring granted dark blessings to his followers, allowing them to derive intense pleasure from eating and granting them a random chance to absorb the raw physical strength of whatever they consumed. Naturally, this blessing came with a horrific price. Once a follower gorged themselves into immense obesity, they themselves would transform into the god's ultimate prey.

Whenever the God of Devouring deemed a follower sufficiently fat and delicious, he would possess a wild beast or another follower, using their jaws to devour the blessed subject alive. Li Qinwu finished off an injured troll with his greatsword, dragged two heavy troll corpses into a stack, and sat down on them like a makeshift throne to ponder his next move. He hadn't anticipated the political landscape on the northern bank to be so complicated.

With Aquatic Dragons occupying the river marshlands and Trolls holding the forests, he was dealing with two distinct, high-intelligence social species—a factor that made his expansion plans considerably more complex. As a ruler, calculating how to secure maximum profit at the absolute minimum cost was a primary mathematical challenge. In his eyes, war was merely one tool to gain resources—a costly one with uncertain returns that he preferred not to use unless forced.

He much preferred leveraging trade and cultural assimilation to integrate different races. In a primitive wilderness where most species had yet to develop a sense of national consciousness, hacking at them with a blade would provoke intense, desperate resistance; but if you boiled the frog in warm water, they might actually enjoy the process and jump into your pot voluntarily.

When he first spotted the Aquatic Dragons, Li Qinwu's idea was simple: build a settlement on the outer edges of their territory, then entice them with food, liquor, and iron tools to work as laborers and help clear the land. The moment you mobilized their labor force through shared interest, assimilation had begun. Following up with a few gentle policies and a casual show of military force nearby would complete a low-cost integration. This strategy had already been successfully proven with the Kobold tribes.

By now, the Alliance had established three naturalized Kobold villages, with more in the pipeline. However, he hadn't expected two distinct intelligent races to appear at once on the northern bank—let alone one that launched a brainless assault the moment they made contact. It was certainly an unpleasant start. Then again, who cares? Li Qinwu thought. These trolls essentially handed me a free justification. You bastards struck first, so don't you dare cry when I hit back!

Rising to his feet, Li Qinwu ordered his soldiers to pitch tents, dig trenches, and fell trees to construct basic defensive fortifications. The forest here was dense, with few clearings suitable for landing the flight vessel. Having searched extensively just to find this small hilltop, they had to firmly hold this location at all costs.

Li Qinwu directed Pusha to immediately return south on the flight vessel's second run to transport a goblin engineering crew, as well as Gob-Dead, so he could convert these fresh troll corpses into undead workers. Trolls possessed such tall physiques and strong bodies—they would make exceptionally efficient labor tools. As the flight vessel slowly rose into the sky heading back to the southern bank, Li Qinwu grabbed a heavy wood-cleaving axe and joined in felling trees.

Good old Li was nothing if not diligent, working shoulder-to-shoulder with his beloved subjects! Holding a heavy axe infused with a +10 Sharpness enchantment, Li Qinwu walked up to a massive tree that would take two men to encircle. With a single, mighty swing, he severed the trunk cleanly in half! He couldn't help but sigh with emotion. Looking back to when he faced the Hero Crisis, he hadn't possessed the raw power to fell a tree with a single casual blow.

Now he had grown infinitely stronger—and his skull considerably sharper—allowing him to sever thick trunks repeatedly without breaking a sweat. He single-handedly took charge of clearing an entire quadrant of the perimeter. Every swing brought down another giant tree with terrifying efficiency, quickly clearing a 300-square-meter open area in no time.

Meanwhile, half of the guard goblins stood watch on high alert while the other half dug trenches with pickaxes, sharpening sturdy wooden stakes on both ends to plant along the ditch walls. Their work rate was exceptionally fast. Every soldier here belonged to the 1st Guard Regiment, whom Li Qinwu had brought to the Nether World Tree multiple times to grind levels; by now, every single one of them was a Tier 3 unit. Possessing remarkable physical endurance, they worked with incredible speed and coordination.

In just over an hour, a complete defensive trench was excavated around the vessel's landing zone. All that remained was to plant sharpened stakes behind the ditch to complete a basic perimeter defense system. Three hours later, the flight vessel returned, touching down softly to unload a 500-man goblin engineering crew. Equipped with a vast array of specialized tools, the engineering crew accelerated the clearing work even further.

To handle the most difficult task—removing stubborn tree stumps embedded deep in the soil—the engineers utilized a highly effective technique. Using pickaxes, they hollowed out a bowl-sized hole in the center of a stump, shoved a stick of dynamite inside, and set off the charge. The explosion instantly shattered the dense stump alongside the surrounding soil. Afterward, they simply dug out the shattered wood fragments with shovels and backfilled the hole with dirt, eliminating a stubborn stump in minutes.

Explosions boomed continuously across the hill as stump after stump was systematically blasted out. The engineering crew worked at a rapid pace, yet their efficiency was about to be turned up another notch! Carried on a litter by his undead attendants, Gob-Dead arrived beside the stack of troll corpses.

He first grabbed a handful of bone dust from his pouch and stuffed it into the musket wounds on the bodies, then ordered a ruined troll corpse to be chopped up so its raw flesh could be packed into the open cavities. Activating his Reconstruction Fusion skill, he sealed up the bullet wounds on the troll corpses before casting dark necromancy spells over them. One by one, the trolls rose to their feet as mindless, dull-eyed zombies. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road.

If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Gaining 100 tall, muscular undead laborers at once, the engineering crew immediately put them to work felling trees at the forest edge. It had to be said—a troll's natural strength made them terrifyingly fast lumberjacks. After reanimating every available body, Gob-Dead didn't rest. Finding an open patch of ground, he drew complex, malevolent runes on the dirt with bone powder and began chanting incantations.

As dark, malefic words spilled from his mouth, the concentration of dark mana surrounding the magic circle surged dramatically. He was channeling the Death Aura skill. Undead units consumed energy simply by remaining active, and their physical bodies rotted constantly over time. To replenish their energy and halt decay, they needed to be bathed in environments with high concentrations of dark mana.

Gob-Dead was establishing a low-pressure dark mana zone, drawing environmental dark energy toward this space to displace other elemental energies. Once this spell was fully established, he planned to construct a Tomb of the Fallen on top of it, corrupting the surrounding land with skeletons and corpses to transform the soil into Nether Earth. From there, he could produce undead units en masse and allow high-value undead to recharge inside the tomb.

To accelerate this process, the flight vessel had carried several hundred bags of Nether Soil excavated from around the Nether World Tree. These bags were dumped directly beside Gob-Dead to speed up the convergence of local dark mana. Hidden deep in the surrounding forest, Mengli's group watched everything unfold, utterly stunned by the scene. Those creatures equipped with refined iron weapons and matching leather armor... were actually goblins?! Hobgoblins, no less!

They had never seen so many Hobgoblins gathered in one place. Weren't these creatures supposed to be rare, chief-level figures in a typical goblin tribe? How had they become common foot soldiers here? Mengli stared unblinkingly as the goblins cleared the land, filled with intense wonder. How could weak, fragile goblins operate with such frightening efficiency?

Not only had they effortlessly slaughtered a warband of tall, powerful trolls, but they had even reanimated the corpses of their enemies to serve as mindless slaves! This group of goblins was beyond incredible! A smaller Aquatic Dragon beside Mengli asked softly, "Mengli, what should we do? Should we try to make contact with them?" Mengli shook his head.

"We don't know if they are friend or foe yet. We cannot act recklessly. We must return and ask the Elder—his wisdom will guide our path." The Aquatic Dragons silently slipped away, retreating back toward the marshlands. The moment they returned to their settlement, the remaining tribe members swarmed them, clicking and chattering with endless questions. Mengli let his companions satisfy the tribe's curiosity while he walked directly into the largest nest structure to report to the Elder.

The Elder—an aged, feeble Aquatic Dragon—lay resting on a woven vine bed with his eyes half-closed. As the former chief of this Aquatic Dragon tribe who had led them for decades, he had accumulated immense wisdom over his long life. Now advanced in age, he had begun grooming a successor, ultimately selecting Mengli. He chose Mengli not merely because he was the strongest warrior in the tribe, but because Mengli possessed a rare habit of thinking before acting—a true blend of brawn and brains.

Mengli knelt beside the vine bed, softly waking the old dragon before relaying everything he had witnessed in the forest. Having absorbed all this information, the Elder remained silent for a long moment before asking, "So you're saying... those goblins are actively felling trees and building permanent shelters?" Mengli nodded. The Elder fell into deep thought once more. This behavior sent a very concerning signal: the newcomers intended to settle here permanently.

Having a powerful, unknown neighbor build a base right on their doorstep was never good news.

"Elder, the flying object is bringing more and more goblins. Shouldn't we do something?" Mengli asked anxiously, eager to take action before the situation escalated. Goblins existed all over the world, and their tribe had suffered raids from primitive goblin packs in the past. Those pests seemed impossible to wipe out, constantly sprouting up from every dark corner. If these far superior goblins were left unchecked, their numbers might explode out of control until they were impossible to handle.

The Elder shook his head weakly.

"Mengli, how many capable warriors can our tribe rally right now?"

"Roughly 2, 000."

"And how many trolls do you think our 2, 000 warriors could defeat?" Mengli paused to calculate.

"If we fought on open land... it would take at least four of our warriors to slay a single troll." The Elder opened his clouded eyes, gazing helplessly at Mengli.

"Indeed. Four of our kin to kill one troll, costing us at least three fallen warriors in the process. Yet as you just said, when the trolls ambushed those unique goblins, the goblins slaughtered over a hundred trolls without suffering a single casualty. If even the mighty trolls suffered such a fate, what do you think would happen if our tribe engaged them?" A cold chill ran down Mengli's spine.

He recalled the scene he had witnessed in the forest—those goblins holding long iron tubes that emitted white smoke and thunderous booms, dropping powerful troll warriors instantly. If his tribe fought them, the slaughter would be far worse. Just imagining the scenario left Mengli speechless. Seeing his reaction, the Elder nodded inwardly with quiet approval. One of the primary reasons he favored Mengli was that the young warrior knew how to feel fear.

Previous candidates he had considered were all brainless brutes who knew only how to charge, hack, and slash, obsessed with proving their raw courage. However, a tribal leader did not need blind bravery; he needed reverence and the ability to feel fear. Only a leader who understood danger could guide a tribe to survival.

That was why during a hunt against a giant beast, when the Elder saw the tall, imposing Mengli look at the prey with a flicker of instinctual fear in his eyes, he had selected him on the spot and kept him close for training. After another long silence as both dragons contemplated the future, the Elder spoke slowly.

"Mengli, a powerful, unknown force has just set up camp right next to us. Tell me—if you were the chief, what would you do?" Knowing this was a test of his leadership, Mengli thought carefully before replying earnestly.

"Elder, our Aquatic Dragon kin excel in water. So long as we remain within the wetlands, we hold an invincible advantage—at the very least, we cannot be wiped out. Under these conditions, I believe we should attempt to make contact with those goblins to gauge their true intentions toward us. If they show hostility, we abandon the outer settlements along the riverbanks, retreat deep into the marshes, and have the Gusulas carry our eggs to other wetlands.

That way, even if our main tribe is wiped out, the Gusulas can hatch the eggs and preserve our bloodline." The Elder nodded in agreement, then asked, "And what if they show no hostility toward us?" That question stumped Mengli. He had spent all his time preparing for the absolute worst-case scenario and hadn't considered what to do if the newcomers were friendly. Seeing him struggle for an answer, the Elder felt no disappointment—young leaders needed time to grow.

"If they are friendly," the Elder instructed, "then we maintain peaceful relations with them... and subtly manipulate them into waging war against the trolls!" Mengli's eyes lit up. An unexpected strategy! The trolls were their sworn enemies, while the unique goblins' alignment remained unknown. If they could incite conflict between these two forces, it would bring immense strategic benefits to their tribe's security! Seeing the realization dawn on Mengli's face, the Elder smiled with satisfaction.

"Mengli, trolls are inherently barbaric; they attacked the goblins without even attempting dialogue. The two factions are already hostile. With just a little nudging, we can ignite a full-scale war between them. No matter who dies, our tribe wins!" Mengli nodded repeatedly, absorbing every word. He felt profound gratitude toward the old dragon—how fortunate he was to have such a wise elder passing down decades of battle-tested wisdom.

"Elder! In that case, we must make contact with those goblins immediately! I will lead a squad of warriors right now!" As Mengli stood up to act, the Elder called out to stop him.

"No, you cannot go. I will go instead." Mengli froze, then protested vehemently.

"Elder! How can we allow that?! We still don't know if they are hostile! If you encounter disaster, how can our tribe survive without your wisdom?!" The Elder shook his head, reaching out with a thin, scale-shedding claw. Mengli hurriedly grasped the frail claw, helping the old dragon stand up from the vine bed.

"Mengli..." The Elder looked gently into the young warrior's eyes.

"I am far too old, with only a few years left to live. The future of our tribe does not rest on my shoulders—it rests on yours." He tapped a finger against Mengli's muscular chest.

"If you die, our tribe truly has no future. That is why you cannot go. Let me go instead. Let this broken body make one final contribution to our kin."

"Elder, this..."

"Listen to me, Mengli," the Elder interrupted softly.

"You must become a mature leader. Learn when to protect, and learn when to abandon. I know it is difficult, and it will weigh heavily on your conscience. But we live in a brutal world where an entire tribe can be wiped out over a single mistake. To survive, we must be prepared to do whatever it takes. Conscience is a luxury we cannot afford; you must learn to be cruel. Your heart must become as cold and smooth as a river-washed stone. Only then can the rushing waters of life flow around you without crushing you.

Now, whether I return from this journey or not, you are officially the Chief of this tribe." With matters stated so clearly, Mengli could say nothing more. Reluctantly obeying the Elder's decree, he assigned several elderly Aquatic Dragons to accompany the former chief, carrying ceremonial gifts as they set off toward the goblin encampment. Watching the old dragons walk toward the unknown, Mengli felt a deep bitterness in his heart.

As an individual with a conscience, sending the tribe's elders into danger left him feeling deeply disturbed.

"So a guilty conscience... is a luxury?" Mengli murmured softly to himself. Meanwhile, deep within the primeval forests further north, vast populations of trolls existed in sprawling tribal networks. Numbering over 100, 000, they occupied almost the entire expanse of forest stretching from the great river to the borders of the Elven Empire.

Troll society was surprisingly advanced: they practiced basic agriculture, raised livestock, and possessed metallurgy, though their production outputs remained low, leaving the majority of their population reliant on stone weaponry. The troll tribes were loosely unified under a single ruler—the King of Gluttony—who reigned over all troll-kind. The King of Gluttony resided within the Palace of Gluttony, a massive structure constructed entirely from the towering rib cages and bones of colossal beasts.

At this moment, the King sat upon a throne carved from monstrous skulls, tearing violently into a freshly slaughtered Wind Deer, covered in blood as he gorged himself. Standing 3 meters tall, he differed drastically from the long-limbed, slender build of typical trolls. The King was grotesquely obese, shaped like a massive sphere with layer upon layer of thick fat folding over his body like a stacked pile of tires.

Across his bulging folds of flesh were countless black tattoos—sinister markings that served as the brand of an evil entity. They granted him immense, terrifying power, yet simultaneously tightened like a slow coil, waiting to harvest his life. As he ate with savage frenzy, another obese troll rushed into the grand hall.

"My King! News from the hunting party! They encountered goblins in the southern hunting grounds... and over 100 of our warriors were slain!" The King of Gluttony paused his eating mid-bite, then burst into roaring laughter.

"Gwahahaha!! Are you joking with me?! A bunch of tiny goblins killed a hundred of my warriors?! Gwahahaha!!" As he laughed, his expression suddenly twisted into monstrous rage. His tiny eyes, squeezed shut by folds of fat, glared dangerously at the messenger.

"Are you mocking me?! You MUST be mocking me!! I'M GOING TO EAT YOU!!" Without warning, the half-ton monstrosity leaped over two meters into the air, cleared the massive dining table, and grabbed the messenger by the head, biting off his entire neck in a single crunch! The reporting troll died before he could utter another word. The King of Gluttony dragged the lifeless body onto the table and began devouring his own kin on the spot.

After consuming half the corpse, he leaned back against his skull throne, letting out a massive burp as a look of bliss washed over his face. In a dark corner surrounded by mounds of bones, another fat troll watched the scene cautiously, letting out a quiet sigh. The King's temperament was growing increasingly unstable, and his life was rapidly approaching its end—the inevitable fate of all who served the God of Devouring. Stepping carefully out from the bone pile, the fat troll approached the throne.

"My King, our hunting party was indeed ambushed by goblins. Should we dispatch warriors to crush them?" Having filled his belly, the King's temper briefly stabilized. He rubbed his bloated stomach with a look of utter contentment, nodding with a lazy grin.

"Gulush... my friend... I need a nap... just a short nap. Take care of this little matter for me..." The King of Gluttony let out a massive yawn, closed his eyes, and fell fast asleep in less than five seconds, his thunderous snores echoing through the hall. The fat troll named Gulush sighed softly, turned, and walked out of the Palace of Gluttony to mobilize warriors against the invaders. His King had already been marked by the God of Devouring.

Gluttony, extreme obesity, black tattoos covering the entire body, violent mood swings, and sudden bouts of deep sleep—these were all the definitive signs. Before long, the God of Devouring would pay a visit to this delicious feast of flesh. The King would be consumed through some bizarre, horrifying manifestation—whether by wild beasts, swarms of birds, or a frenzy of his own crazed kin. No King could ever escape this fate.

And he, Gulush, would become the next King of Gluttony—only to walk down the exact same path as his friend before him. Such was the tragic destiny of those who chose to worship the God of Devouring.