Chương 51: On the March

Butler Monde stood by the fields, watching Young Master Lance flip soil with practiced ease. The sight of a former human noble finding inner peace as a peasant under a Goblin warlord was utterly surreal.

"Master!!" Monde wailed in despair.

"Do you not realize what a threat that Goblin leader is? Goblins are chaotic by nature—they usually self-destruct before reaching 400 members. But look here! Over a thousand people, no civil war, no split! If he can raise 500 professional soldiers today, he'll raise 50, 000 tomorrow! We must return to the human kingdoms and warn them!" Lance didn't even look up. He swung his hoe with a dull thud.

"The kingdom killed my family; the Goblins gave me land. I don't care about the world, Monde. I just want this plot to yield more wheat next year. If you want to leave, leave. I won't stop you, and I won't snitch." Monde stood frozen, looking at Lance's broad, sun-darkened back. He realized his master was a lost cause. For the sake of humanity, he straightened his tattered coat, his eyes as firm as a martyr's. He decided to head west alone, braving the forest to sound the alarm.

Meanwhile, The Retribution Legion entered the Kobold outskirts. Li Qinwu rode at the front, having detoured to avoid the rotting, plague-prone remains of the last battlefield. Whiz! Whiz! The sharp sound of bowstrings echoed. Gobu-Bow was using his Noble Bow to pick off Dragon-Fang's scouts. Most fell, but a few clever ones vanished into the deep shadows to report back. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"Boss, a few got away," Gobu-Bow said, frustrated.

"It doesn't matter," Li Qinwu replied calmly.

"You can't hide an army this size. We're here for a crushing victory, not a sneak attack." They moved along the narrow hunting trails. Soon, Dog-Witch stopped, his wet nose twitching.

"Boss! There's a small Kobold camp ahead. Strong scent, less than a hundred people!" Li Qinwu drew his sword. The phalanx surged forward, spears leveled, eyes gleaming with the hunger for merit. But when they burst into the clearing, they stopped dead. There were no warriors—only a dozen elderly Kobolds, so old their fur was falling out. Seeing the murderous Goblins, the old dogs simply rolled over on their backs, exposing their bellies—the submissive gesture of a canine ready for death.

The young had fled to the main base, leaving the weak behind to die, as per the law of the forest.

"Boss, do we kill them?" Gobu-Spear asked. Li Qinwu looked at the dying creatures and waved a hand.

"Sheathe your weapons. Killing toothless dogs earns no merit. Set up camp, start the fires. We rest tonight and finish this tomorrow!" Hana watched the elders, her heart aching. She approached Li Qinwu as he tossed salt meat into a pot.

"What will you do with them? Let them starve?"

"Hana, I'm here to rule, not commit genocide," Li Qinwu said without looking up.

"But I only have 15 days of rations. If you want to feed them, use your own share. Go ahead." Hana hesitated. She was kind, but not foolish. She knew her personal rations wouldn't last. She thought for a moment and shifted her approach.

"Chief, slaughter alone doesn't build a kingdom. If you show a little mercy now, the Kobolds will submit much faster once you've won. Think of it as a political investment." Li Qinwu snickered, glancing at her.

"Using the fancy words now, are we? Fine, I'll give you this one." He stood up and shouted to the troops: " Listen up! Don't throw away the water used to wash the meat pots! Toss in some wild greens and roots, boil it hot, and give it to these old dogs. Tell them it's a gift from their merciful Master!" Hana was speechless. It was just dishwater, but it had grease and warmth—enough to keep them alive a bit longer. Li Qinwu was truly a pragmatist to the core.