Overwhelming Firepower

During the night, the second wave finally appeared. Lucen was still unable to move, so he couldn't join the battle. He could only listen to the sounds of the battle that was about to happen.

Unlike the first wave, the second wave was not as diverse as it was simply a goblin army. There were the basic goblins equipped with crude weapons and armor.

Then there were the hobgoblins, larger, smarter goblins that had better equipment. There were even hobgoblins riding Froshorn wolves, which they made into a cavalry.

Of course, that wasn't all; there were also the goblin gladiators and goblin heroes. Two types of goblins were the truly powerful ones.

The goblin gladiators were like if a goblin mixed with a giant. They were ten meters tall and wielded heavy weapons like giant clubs and axes.

They had less intelligence than even the basic goblins, but what they lack in that area, they compensate for with their great strength and durability.

As for the goblin hero, it was only slightly bigger than the average-sized adult human, but unlike the other goblins, the goblin hero had better intelligence; in fact, some of them even knew how to communicate.

Not only that, among the goblins, the goblin hero was the best equipped, and they knew how to use sword techniques.

Finally, in the far back of the wave were the three most powerful goblins. Each one of those three were a rare breed of goblin that was so rare to find that seeing them altogether was incredible.

Among the three was the only goblin species that could harness the powers of mana, the goblin mage. Its power does not come from a mana core like a human, but from the mana in the environment.

The next one was the powerful goblin general, another highly intelligent goblin. It is similar to the goblin hero, but is not as good in direct battle. It's able to control the basic goblins and hobgoblins and coordinate them using a sort of spiritual link.

Finally, in the middle was the strongest and rarest species of goblin, the goblin king. This goblin has all the abilities of every other goblin species and has the added skill of being able to make any other goblin species submit to it.

The goblin king raised its jagged sword high, and a roar surged from the horde like a living wave.

The fortress walls shook with the sound. Thousands of shrill voices, the clash of crude drums, the howls of the Froshorn wolves, all of it blended into a single, deafening chorus of war.

Men flinched. Some clenched their jaws, others gripped their weapons tighter, the sound clawing at their hearts.

Vardon rose, his presence towering, his aura swelling until it pressed against the very air. He bellowed, his voice carried by steel will and aura together.

"For Norvaegard!"

"For Norvaegard!"

The soldiers answered, their fear burning away in the echo of his command. At the same time, the sound of their spells, bows, arquebuses, and Thunderspears.

Many arrows, metal balls, and spells rained down on the incoming goblin army.

The first volley tore through the front ranks, shredding shields and bodies alike, but the goblin tide did not break.

They howled and surged over their fallen; they counted with their own volley of arrows. Unfortunately, from this distance, only a few arrows barely reached the walls of the fortress.

The goblins pressed forward, their green tide writhing like a flood of vermin. The hobgoblin riders broke from the mass, wolves frothing as they bounded toward the fortress.

The soldiers who were outside before the wave came got into formation, pressing together as they formed a wall of shields with their spears sticking out.

The ground trembled as the Froshorn wolves closed in, their claws scraping sparks against the frozen earth. The riders shrieked, voices high and cruel, the sound carrying like knives in the dark.

The shield wall did not move. Boots dug into snow-packed stone, knuckles whitened on spear shafts.

The first impact came like a thunderclap. Wolves crashed against shields, jaws snapping over the rim, breath steaming hot against frozen steel. Spears punched forward, biting into fur and flesh, snapping bones. Men grunted, cried out, but the wall held.

"Hold the line!" someone roared, voice nearly lost beneath the frenzy of battle.

Steel rang. Wood splintered. The night erupted with the screams of men and beasts alike. It was at that moment that the gates of the fortress opened.

"Retreat!" Roderick roared from within the walls.

The men and women began to fall back toward the fortress gates, step by step, shields raised high, spears stabbing to keep the snapping wolves at bay.

The hobgoblin riders surged forward, thinking the line was breaking. Then thunder split the night.

Arquebuses roared from the walls, smoke billowing downward in rolling sheets. Lead ripped through the wolf cavalry, snapping spines, tearing through riders, bursting hot blood across the frozen ground.

Several wolves tumbled mid-leap, crashing into the shield wall. Soldiers grunted, shoved, then drove spears through twitching bodies before dragging them aside.

"Keep on moving!" Roderick roared at the soldiers running.

The soldiers pressed backward in tight formation, the arquebus fire covering them. Every volley punched holes in the charging riders, until what had seemed like a flood became a scattering of dying beasts and broken bodies.

By the time the first ranks stumbled through the gates, the cavalry charge was already collapsing, leaving behind nothing but corpses steaming in the snow.

***

The Goblin General, who was watching in the distance, felt the link he had with the hobgoblin riders disappear.

He had fought humans before and had seen their weapons, but this new weapon was something else entirely.

There was no need for mana; there were a few of the new weapons that could fire four times at once, and the others had a delay before the next shot.

The power it had and the distance it could kill were greater than any bow. There was also the fact that it made a loud noise that unnerved many of the goblins.

Then there was the bigger weapon that shot out larger pieces of metal, and everything it hits gets devoured.

The Goblin General was impressed by the ability of humans to create new things, but they the goblins will take that from them.

It doesn't matter if the humans had better weapons; they outnumber them greatly. They will eventually fall.

The Goblin General flexed his clawed hand, tightening the spiritual link that bound him to the horde. Thousands of lesser minds throbbed against his will, obedient, expendable.

But beyond that link were the goblins he could not control.

The Goblin Gladiators moved of their own accord, unshackled by his command. They were creatures of hunger and rage, their massive forms swaying as they roared, stomping forward without discipline. He could not rein them in, nor would he try.

Their madness was both a curse and a weapon. They were the very definition of what the original goblins were like before gaining any form of intelligence.

The Goblin Heroes were far worse. They stood apart from the tide, steel gleaming in their hands.

Not mindless brutes, but killers with thought in their eyes. A few barked orders in broken tongues, rallying nearby goblins through fear alone, their voices carrying over.

These Goblin Heroes were the goblins that wanted to be more human; they have great skill, and their martial prowess is unmatched among goblins.

They even gained the concept of honor and dignity, which was not something a goblin should have.

They were once hobgoblins that evolved into Goblin Heroes. The swords and armor they wore are from knights and warriors they have defeated in what they called honorable combat.

The Goblin General did not understand their concept of honor and dignity, but he did have some respect for the Goblin Heroes, who were able to face against humans who used aura and mana, which usually needed a horde of goblins and hobgoblins to do, they could do by themselves.

Let them indulge their fantasy of honor. Every corpse they left behind still fed the King's war.

His attention shifted to the Gladiators. Already, one of the towering brutes smashed its club into the earth, flattening goblins too slow to scatter.

The General did not flinch. The fodder were nothing. What mattered was that each earth-shaking step carried the giant closer to the fortress walls.

Yes. Let the Gladiators batter the stone. Let the Heroes carve through the disciplined lines. He would fill the gaps with the rest, swarms of green bodies, endless, unyielding. The fortress would drown, one crack at a time.

Still, his lip curled as his gaze flicked back to the walls, where thunder cracked and smoke drifted.

These humans were no longer the same prey. Their new weapons had broken his cavalry, turned strength into weakness.

Each blast gnawed at the horde's courage. Even through the link, he felt the unease of thousands, their fear dripping back into his mind like cold water.

The General's claws dug into his palm, drawing black blood. Fear was poison. And poison spread.

He looked to the rear, where the Goblin Mage and Goblin King stood. The Mage swayed, already pulling threads of mana from the frozen air, its eyes glowing faintly.

The King, unmoving, jagged sword resting on his shoulder, radiated authority so absolute that even the General felt the urge to bow.

The Goblin General shifted his focus back on the battlefield. Snarling, he sent another pulse through the link, his will crashing into the minds of every lesser goblin.

'Forward. Forward. Break their walls. Drown them in blood.'

Like a tide, the army of goblins surged forward. The humans had fire and thunder, but he had numbers. Their numbers will overwhelm even that fire and thunder. Then he would take that fire and thunder to continue the king's war.