Chương 171: Sniper Company

Deep inside the Aquatic Dragon settlement, Mengli gazed at his working clansmen in the marsh, his expression laden with anxiety. The Elder had departed for the goblin base a full day ago and had yet to return. His fate remained unknown. In the past, Mengli could rely on the Elder's counsel whenever trouble arose, but now the entire weight of the tribe rested squarely on his shoulders. Having to make every call alone made him thoroughly nervous.

"Elder... may the Lord of the Sacred River watch over you," Mengli prayed devoutly. In his eyes, however, the Elder and his escort were as good as dead. After all, they had gone to face goblins—a noisy, chattering, chaotic species that knew nothing beyond squabbling and slaughter. Yet in the very next moment, his eyes caught sight of several elderly Aquatic Dragons swimming through the distant marshlands.

The one leading the group balanced a leather pack atop a long tree branch, seemingly terrified that its contents might be contaminated by the water.

"El... Elder?!" Mengli stared in utter disbelief. The Elder he had presumed dead was returning alive and well! The Elder hauled himself onto a wooden platform above the water, shook the mud from his tail, and flicked his tongue to lick his eyes. Mengli rushed forward to meet him.

"Elder! You... you're alright?!" The Elder gave a firm nod.

"Mmh, I am fine. Those goblins are entirely different from the ones we've encountered in the past." The Elder recounted everything he had witnessed the previous night. Mengli's mouth hung open wider with every word.

"This... if these goblins are so overwhelmingly powerful, what is to become of our Aquatic Dragon tribe?" The Elder patted Mengli on the shoulder with a serious look.

"What do you mean, 'our Aquatic Dragon tribe'? From now on, call us the Aquatic Dragon Branch of the Alliance!

"Now go—find a sturdy pole and raise this flag high!" Meanwhile, in the troll territory. Gulush ran frantically through the dense woods at the head of his remaining forces, fleeing as if a nightmarish monster were snapping at his heels. They ran straight from nightfall until daybreak, halting only when their bodies reached the absolute limit of exhaustion. Last night, Gulush had led 1, 000 elite troll warriors to wipe out the goblins in their hunting grounds. Instead, the sky itself had seemed to fall.

Before they could even breach the perimeter of the goblin camp—before they could even discern how many goblins were inside—more than half their force had been wiped out! The goblins possessed strange weapons that emitted thunderous roars, unleashing terrifying clouds of smoke before bringing strong troll warriors crashing to the ground. Panic gripped Gulush's heart. He had never imagined that mighty warriors could be slaughtered so effortlessly. As he ran, a sharp pain shot through his abdomen.

Looking down, he discovered a deep hole in his bloated belly, oozing dark blood. Gulush dug his claw into the wound, probing around until he extracted a heavy iron pellet.

"This is... iron? The goblin weapons fire iron?!" Gulush held the pellet before his eyes, staring at it intently. His massive skull couldn't comprehend how such a thing was possible, but he knew one thing: he had to report this to the King of Gluttony immediately and have him send even stronger warriors to kill those creatures. Grabbing a handful of wild herbs, Gulush chewed them into a coarse paste and shoved the green pulp into the hole in his stomach to plug it.

Returning to the main troll village with his shattered warband, Gulush dismissed the surviving troops before grabbing a nearby warrior by the shoulder.

"You—go to the Palace of Gluttony this instant! Report everything that happened last night to the King!" Without a second thought, the warrior nodded and headed straight toward the Palace of Gluttony. A dark glimmer flashed in Gulush's eyes. He quietly slipped around to the side of the palace, taking cover in the shadows to wait in silence. Before long, agonized screams echoed from within the Palace of Gluttony, followed by the sickening sounds of tearing flesh and loud chewing.

Gulush waited for over twenty minutes until the wet crunching noises ceased, replaced by a massive, earth-shaking burp. Only then did he carefully step into the palace entries. A suffocating reek of blood and rot filled the air. In the corners of the hall lay massive piles of gnawed bones and scraps of fur, decomposing into liquified slop teeming with maggots. Even for the notoriously filthy trolls, the state of the room was appalling.

Stepping around the lower half of a half-eaten troll, Gulush approached the King of Gluttony with extreme caution. Seeing the King beaming with a cheerful grin, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief and immediately began reporting the previous night's encounter. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. The King of Gluttony's brow furrowed deeper as he listened.

"Gulush, my friend... are you telling me that a weak, pathetic species like goblins slaughtered 500 of my warriors in a single night?" Gulush nodded, steeling himself as he stepped closer to the ball-shaped King of Gluttony. Opening his palm, he presented the musket pellet.

"O King, this is the iron pellet fired by the goblin weapons. Its power is immense—it blasted a massive hole straight into my belly." The King of Gluttony froze.

"You were injured?" Gulush nodded, opening his mouth to explain that his hide was thick enough to prevent a fatal blow, but the King of Gluttony instantly flew into a violent frenzy.

"ROAARRRRR!! Damn those goblins!! How dare they harm my friend!! Assemble all warriors!! I will slaughter every last goblin!!" His furious roar rang so violently that Gulush's ears throbbed with pain, making the entire Palace of Gluttony tremble three times over. The King of Gluttony's temper was a volatile explosive that could ignite at the slightest spark—shifting from a jovial smile to apocalyptic rage in a single sentence. Reaching under his massive throne, he dragged out a rusted iron cleaver.

Its edge was jagged with terrifying, saw-like teeth that made one's skin crawl just looking at it. Grabbing the massive blade, the King of Gluttony leaped straight off his seat, bounded out of the palace, and charged into the center of the troll village. Trolls passing by stared in utter bewilderment at the rolling, heavily tattooed mountain of meat before them. Was that their King? They hadn't seen him in ages! Slowly, a crowd began to gather around him.

The King of Gluttony took a deep breath and let out a roar like a striking bronze bell:"Warriors, assemble!! Follow me!! Kill our enemies!! Devour their flesh and blood!! Mwahahaha!! Kill!! Eat!! Mwahahahaha!!" The surrounding trolls had no idea what was going on, but the King of Gluttony still held absolute authority in their eyes. One after another, they raised their stone weapons and echoed his battle cry.

Among them were over 500 war-marked trolls—monstrously bloated figures resembling giant meat-balls, covered in far more ritual tattoos than ordinary trolls and wielding heavy iron weapons of their own. Without caring how many troops had actually gathered, the King of Gluttony waved his massive arm and led the horde straight toward the goblin encampment. However, this King of Gluttony was truly a unique piece of work.

After charging a mere few hundred meters out of the village, he collapsed straight onto the ground and fell sound asleep—snoring so loudly it shook the tree canopy. The troll horde caught up to him, exchanging baffled glances. What kind of joke was this? Everyone had grabbed their gear, ready for war, only for him to gloriously pass out in the middle of the road? Catching up from behind, Gulush saw the King snoring like a mountain of lard and slapped his forehead in exasperation.

The King's temper and bodily state were becoming increasingly unstable. He could no longer even control when he fell asleep. It wouldn't be long before he returned to the embrace of the God of Gluttony. Recalling the King of Gluttony's former glory and contrasting it with the hill of flesh before him, a wave of bitterness welled up in Gulush's chest. How had that heroic sovereign been reduced to such a tragic state? Did those who served the King of Gluttony truly have a future?

"Lord Gulush, what should we do?" a war-marked troll asked. Gulush quickly composed himself and commanded, "Bring the throne over. We'll carry the King as we march. The battlefield will wake him when the time comes." The trolls scrambled to hoist the mountain of meat onto the bone throne. Six war-marked trolls lifted the heavy load on their shoulders and marched forward, plunging into the dense forest. Yet their march was destined to be far from smooth.

Knowing such a formidable enemy existed nearby, how could Li Qinwu possibly sit idle? Over a hundred deadly hunters were already lying in wait throughout the jungle. Ahead of the marching troll warband, a figure draped entirely in foliage sprinted silently through the brush. He ducked into a small depression where a dozen other camouflaged figures were resting. Seeing him arrive, they immediately gathered around. Breathing heavily, the scout whispered, "They're coming.

Massive numbers—it looks like their entire force is mobilized." Gob-Bow picked up his rifle.

"All officers return to your squads. Initiate the operation according to our plan." The officers whispered their acknowledgments and scattered to rejoin their respective units. Gob-Bow opened a small iron tin, scooped out a dollop of dark-green sap, and smeared it across his neck, armpits, and groin. The mixture was crushed plant juice designed to mask human scent; even kobolds couldn't catch their wind when it was applied liberally.

Adjusting the artificial foliage pinned to his mesh suit, Gob-Bow lifted his rifle and placed a small whistle into his mouth, blowing softly. Chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp. The specialized whistle produced the convincing call of a wild bird. In the next instant, ten living bushes rose from the surrounding brush like phantom tanks. Gob-Bow kept his voice low.

"The troll army is heading straight for the camp. This is our Sniper Company's first live-fire engagement—make it clean! The Boss is waiting to hand me a medal after this, and if any of you mess up, I'll break your legs!"

"Understood," the snipers replied in low whispers. They were the newly formed Sniper Company trained personally by Gob-Bow—100 soldiers in total, split into 10 sniper squads. Stripped of all heavy armor, their mobility was maxed out. They wore net garments threaded with branches and leaves for complete camouflage, wielding the latest rifled flintlock muskets—equipped with enlarged powder pans and firing conical bullets.

Compared to Gob-Bow's oversized heavy rifle, this model was lightweight and manageable, allowing a single soldier to move freely through dense terrain. However, to ensure airtight compression, it was muzzle-loaded; the tight fit of the interior rifling made loading somewhat tedious, limiting the rate of fire to roughly one shot every 30 seconds. Yet the long reload process was well worth the trade-off.

An effective range of nearly 300 meters, combined with exceptional accuracy, ensured that every single pull of the trigger claimed an enemy life—especially in the hands of expert marksmen who practiced over 100 shots a day. Gob-Bow led his squad to a pre-selected firing position, directing his ten snipers to set up their rifles and aim toward the main trail—a game path beaten down by troll patrols.

Gob-Bow had deployed his Sniper Company into 10 separate fireteams along the trail in a leapfrog formation: Squad 1 would fire a volley and fall back to reload, drawing the trolls into Squad 2's line of fire, repeating the cycle to inflict maximum harassment. Before long, towering figures began to emerge along the shadowed trail ahead. The troll army was approaching in massive numbers, leaving the snipers temporarily unsure of which targets to prioritize.

Observing through the brush, Gob-Bow instructed softly, "Target the fat ones first—the ones covered in black tattoos and carrying iron weapons. They are high-value targets." As he spoke, he lined up his sights on the leading fat troll, slowly controlling his breathing while reciting silently in his heart: Headshots every time, good luck all around. I am Sniper Gob-Bow—let the show begin. He squeezed the trigger. BANG!

With a sharp crack, the head of the targeted war-marked troll exploded in a spray of blood and bone.