Chương 45: Military Training

Dang-Dang sat by the anvil, a hammer in his hand. The heavy mallet used by humans felt like a toddler's rattle to him as he rhythmically struck the glowing iron blocks. Clang! Clang! Clang! Iron-Orc stood beside him, constantly adjusting the metal. Dang-Dang's only job was to strike. When the smith felt the quality was sufficient, he would call a halt and toss a potato to the giant.

Dang-Dang would munch on the potato and let out a booming laugh—to him, this was a game he had won, and he was delighted with the reward. The first items produced were oversized iron hammers and massive anvils specifically for the Ogres, allowing them to forge with much greater efficiency. Once the Ogres had hammered the iron into workable slabs, Iron-Orc would cut them into appropriate sizes and shape them into spearheads. Li Qinwu designed a specific type of small spearhead.

It was lightweight, and the total length including the shaft was only about 1. 5 meters—perfect for the short stature of a Goblin. Anything longer would make them clumsy and sluggish. When the first polished, gleaming spear was delivered to Li Qinwu, his emotions flared. He gathered everyone in the tribe and, under their confused gazes, hoisted the weapon high and roared:"This is a day to be remembered! From this moment on, we officially enter the Iron Age!!

Our productivity will soar, our soldiers will be armed with steel, and we have taken another giant leap toward civilization!!" After his speech, Li Qinwu ordered a feast. The Goblins erupted into a sea of joy. Though they didn't quite understand why the Boss was so worked up, they knew that a happy Boss meant full bellies, and that was reason enough to celebrate. Amidst the cheering crowd, Monde the butler found Hana and asked what Li Qinwu had said.

When he heard the "Civilization Manifesto" and looked at the raised iron spear, the unease in his eyes turned into genuine dread.

"This shouldn't be happening... Goblins are creatures of Chaos. Why are the Goblins here developing so peacefully?" He gnawed at his finger, tearing the skin until blood flowed.

"If... if he really manages to establish a monster nation, then humanity..." The Goblins were given a day off to celebrate the "Iron Festival." Every Goblin felt the Boss was "not half bad"—life was looking bright. However, the very next day, Li Qinwu launched a massive military training movement, and the freedom-loving Goblins plummeted straight into hell.

"STAND TIGHT!!!" Li Qinwu patrolled before five hundred-man squares, a greatsword slung over his shoulder and a wooden switch in his hand. The 500 Goblins stood in formation as straight as a knife-cut block of tofu. They held their chests high, right arms tucking wooden poles even heavier than spears. No one dared to move. Every eye was fixed on the back of the head in front of them. They were holding a military posture like true soldiers.

Those who had dared to fidget were already "restarting" their lives, hanging from the trees surrounding the camp. They had started with six squares, but over 100 Goblins had already been executed for insubordination. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Li Qinwu had no choice. Goblins were chaotic by nature; without ruthlessness, they couldn't be trained.

He had realized that in a group of ten Goblins, you'd find every kind of defect: the brain-dead, the communication-impaired, Khorne-like berserkers, Slaanesh-like deviants, and the pathologically lazy. To forge an army out of this lot, Li Qinwu had to become a literal butcher. The rule was simple: if a command wasn't corrected after three tries, you died. Regardless, the first wave of 300 Goblin infants had entered the nursery; they would reach adulthood in 15 days to fill the gaps.

Fortunately, the slaughter terrified the survivors into submission. Out of 600, 100 were killed, and the remaining 500 suddenly learned how to understand human speech. Goblins were actually quite smart—they were just usually too full of "base instincts" to focus. Li Qinwu walked through the ranks, his eyes glaring like a tiger's. The Goblins' pupils shrank, their bodies stiffening. They knew why the Boss's switch was stained white—that was the brain matter of Goblins who had their skulls cracked open.

Satisfied with the progress, Li Qinwu estimated they would be battle-ready in two months. Combined with the forge producing 30 spearheads a day, two months from now would be the day the Kobolds met their end.

"ALL UNITS!! THIRTY-MINUTE BREAK... DISMISSED!!!"

"DISMISSED!!!" the Goblins roared. Some collapsed instantly, gasping for air. Standing perfectly still for an hour was a psychological and physical torture for a chaotic species. It wasn't that no one thought of deserting to become a "Wild Goblin" again. But the one "hero" who tried was chased by Li Qinwu and the Kobold trackers for 30 kilometers. He was brought back for "Punching Execution"—every Goblin in the tribe had to hit him ten times. With over 500 Goblins, the later ones were basically punching meat paste.

Then, Li Qinwu made them urinate on the remains. The sheer humiliation was a massive shock to their budding collective consciousness. None of them wanted to end up as meat paste mixed with excrement. To a Goblin, that was a fate worse than death. Desertion never happened again. As the Goblins rested, Li Qinwu called Goblin-Spear over.

"Take four warriors, assign one to each square, and teach them spear forms until dinner." Li Qinwu then continued his inspection. He visited the system troops—the Hobgoblins—who were being trained by Knight Leo. Leo was teaching them proper shield-and-axe techniques to maximize their combat efficiency. The other human soldiers, all professionals, were doing one-on-one tutoring. Despite the language barrier, through gestures and sparring, the Hobgoblins' skill levels were rising rapidly.

Finally, he inspected the farmland. This area was managed by humans and Kobolds. One human could lead a dozen Kobolds and manage a plot of land quite well. On a side note, Young Master Lance and Butler Monde were useless; the former elites were now reduced to digging in the dirt for food, their faces perpetually sour from the fall in status. Li Qinwu chatted with an old farmer using a mix of broken human speech and gestures.

The farmer told him the forest soil was incredibly fertile and the climate was perfect—they could harvest wheat three times a year. However, to maximize yield, they needed irrigation canals like in Gobu-Fort and deeper plowing. Li Qinwu rewarded the old man with ten pieces of dried meat. He promised to send labor for the canals later. As for deep plowing? He had Ogres. He'd just build them a massive plow—like a giant Nautilus anchor—and have them drag it through the earth.

One Ogre could probably plow 10 acres a day without breaking a sweat.