Chapter 13: The Kobold Attack

At the break of dawn the next day, Leo was still lost in dreams when he was shaken awake by the little mouse. Blinking open his eyes, the first thing he saw was her dark hair and bright, glowing eyes.

Seeing that Leo was awake, she said anxiously, “Let’s go catch fish!”

“It’s early yet, what’s the rush?” Leo muttered, trying to roll over and sleep a little longer, but then he noticed her sleeves were soaked and her small hands had turned blue from the cold.

Clearly, she had gone to the small fishpond by herself at first light.

She looked as if she might burst into tears, shaking Leo insistently. “Let’s catch fish! There are so many!”

Leo’s spirits rose at her words. He scrambled out of the tent, grabbed a spear and a bucket, and hurried with the little mouse toward the pond.

The riverbank was especially quiet in the early morning, a faint mist curling above the water. Across the river, the herd of horned deer Leo had seen the day before had crossed at some point, now lying on the upper banks, watching Leo and the little mouse from a distance, unmoving.

In the fishpond, the water teemed with fish, their dark backs crowding the shallow surface and shattering the rim of ice that had formed overnight.

Leo plunged his spear into the pond and brought up a four- or five-pound sturgeon. The wild fish, fierce and slippery as an eel, thrashed violently even after being skewered, shaking itself free from the barbless spear and flopping madly on the riverbank.

The little mouse gave a shout and pounced, wrestling with the fish in a fierce struggle.

Glancing around, Leo waved and called out loudly in one direction. A few patrolling militia, drawn by the commotion, hurried over. Their faces lit up with delight at the sight of the pond teeming with fish, and they quickly took up spears to join in.

Unfortunately, the pond was so small that despite appearances, they hauled up only a few dozen pounds in total. It was nowhere near enough to feed three hundred people, but together with yesterday’s large bucket of fish, it would at least improve the villagers’ meals.

Also, fishing this way was as easy as scooping from a market tank, requiring little time or manpower.

Leo quickly organized a group to bring the fish back to camp, then, with several militiamen, built seven or eight more small ponds along the shore, scattering breadcrumbs as bait.

He didn’t expect every day to yield such a catch, but it was a hope, at least.

As they worked, a sudden horn sounded from the dense western forest. It was the scouts’ alarm. Almost immediately, the same horn call echoed from the nearby camp.

The quiet camp became a flurry of activity. The elderly, women, and children tumbled out of their tents and hid behind the palisade by the riverbank. The tents under the other palisades were roughly torn down by militiamen, turning them into makeshift barricades.

Scooping up the little mouse, Leo sprinted toward the camp with the others. Midway, they spotted small, squat figures emerging from the western woods on the river bend peninsula.

Fortunately, the peninsula was vast, with nearly a thousand meters of barren ground separating the western forest from the riverside camp. Half of this ground, close to the camp, was blackened from burning, making it impossible for the kobolds to approach undetected, especially with the scouts’ warning.

Back in the camp, Leo put the little mouse down and shouted, “Militia, form up! Form up!”

By this time, the figures from the woods had crossed the wild grass and appeared on the burnt plain. A large group of kobolds, varying in size, was charging. There were more than before, but their fighting strength was clearly uneven.

Unlike last time, when they all carried spears, this group had only a few with such weapons. Most wielded small iron picks, clubs, wooden spears, or sharpened stones.

The strongest and fittest kobolds ran in front, followed by a horde of small and old kobolds, some empty-handed, others clutching stones. The weaker ones quickly fell behind, scrambling on all fours to keep up. Leo couldn’t tell if kobolds were devolved from dogs or evolved from something else—those who ran upright were slower than those on all fours, leading to a comical scene of tripping and jostling.

“Don’t panic! It’s just kobolds,” Ulyan called out, relaxing as he stood atop a wagon with several archers, bow in hand, calming the villagers.

“Steady! Do as I taught you!” Leo gathered twenty militiamen, suppressing his urge to charge recklessly, and set them in formation. “Slings ready!”

A group of young villagers, plucking up their courage, armed themselves with hoes and pitchforks and lined up at the palisade flanking the militia, trying to look imposing.

The twenty militiamen formed a loose line, sticking their two allotted spears into the ground, holding shields with one hand and slings with the other, loading pebbles.

With several battles behind them, these men were no longer frightened as they had been at first. Those who survived till now could be considered veterans. They might not be fearless, but they wouldn’t panic at the sight of kobolds.

Leo, his soul mingled now with the original’s fiery spirit, felt his hair stand on end and his blood surge at the thrill of real combat. Yet his modern restraint kept the barbaric urge in check.

When the kobolds reached a hundred meters, Leo began swinging his sling. “Prepare!”

The militiamen followed his lead, whirling their slings.

“Release!”

Pebbles flew through the air, most landing harmlessly, though a few struck the charging kobolds. Only one, hit hard, failed to rise; the rest staggered up, only to be bowled over by those behind.

Kobolds were more tenacious than humans—a skull cracked by a stone, yet the creature still struggled to its feet.

Leo was not disappointed; this was exactly as he’d expected. With their numbers and lack of training, this kind of ranged attack was little more than a token effort.

For slings to be truly effective, you needed long practice and dense volleys. Expecting barely trained militia to kill with slings was pure fantasy. Still, the slings had a use—they further disrupted the already chaotic kobold ranks and slowed their charge.

Many kobolds, eager to retaliate, hurled stones and spears, but overestimated their strength. Most fell short, landing before the militia line.

Meanwhile, Ulyan and his archers on the wagon loosed arrows over the militia, felling several kobolds in quick succession.

“Spears ready!” Leo called.

The militia picked up their spears.

“Throw!”

Twenty spears flew out, pinning seven or eight kobolds to the ground in an instant. Hitting the densely packed kobolds was easier than hitting trees in a grove.

There was no time to savor the result. Leo shouted again, “Spears ready!”

“Throw!”

After two volleys, the kobolds were within ten meters. “Shields up!” Leo ordered.

Having thrown their second spear, the militia immediately drew weapons and closed in, twenty round shields pressed together, only a few spear and sword points jutting out.

The largest kobold warrior, at the front, bared sharp teeth and howled, spittle flying as he leapt at the line, trying to vault the shield wall.

“Die, you cur!” Leo roared from the center, swinging his flail in a wide arc and hurling it like a sling.

Powered by his great strength, the heavy weapon shot out like a cannonball, meeting the kobold leader head-on. The beast spun through the air before crashing down, its head shattered in a bloody mess.

Faced with the shield wall, the armed villagers on both flanks, and their leader’s grisly fate, the battered kobolds let out a chorus of whimpers, collided in panic, and then turned to flee in a chaotic mass.

This was their true nature—bullying the weak, fearing the strong, valuing life above all, fleeing at the first sign of trouble.

Without a leader to rally them, the kobolds broke and ran even faster than Leo had hoped.

Watching them retreat, Leo finally breathed easy. With the camp’s defenses so thin, driving off the kobolds without casualties was the best possible outcome.