Chapter 40: The Joint Operation Begins!

By dinnertime, Leo suddenly sidled up to Freya, his face ingratiating.

“What are you doing?” Freya asked warily.

Leo plucked the little mouse from atop Freya’s head—where it was diligently smoothing her unruly fur—and put on a serious face. “Tell me, if someone bullies you, shouldn’t you bully them back?”

Freya answered without hesitation, “You should tell the teacher!”

Leo coaxed her patiently: “But what if your teacher isn’t around? Look, those boarfolk have been picking on you, and your teacher can’t help. Shouldn’t you fight back?”

At this, Freya shrank into her plump body, tucking in her limbs, her head bowed and eyes darting nervously. “But... but... I’m just a weak little marmot!”

Leo snapped, “Aren’t you a great bear? You need to stand up for yourself!”

Freya hung her head in silence, looking for all the world like a schoolchild caught misbehaving.

“I don’t even need you to fight. Just do exactly as I say...” Leo proceeded to explain his plan.

“Can’t we send someone else? Why don’t you go, Little Mouse?” Freya pleaded, still struggling, when her giant flatbread, as large as a pot lid, finished baking.

Leo snatched the bread and took a huge bite, devouring a good chunk of it.

“Will you go or not?”

“I’ll go, I’ll go!” Freya replied in panic, clutching her beloved bread, tears welling up as she saw the new gap left by Leo’s bite.

After dinner, Leo gathered fifty Riverbend militiamen and laid out his plan in detail.

The militiamen were already aware of the boarfolk’s presence. Their recent drills had centered on the boarfolk as the primary imaginary enemy.

But the sudden announcement of an offensive left them hesitant and uneasy.

They were, after all, not born warriors or bandits; they were farmers who’d barely set down their hoes. If not for Ulyan and Leo’s relentless training and leadership, they might not have dared challenge even the kobolds.

Though Leo had painted the boarfolk threat in dire colors, without having witnessed it firsthand, the ordinary militiamen were unwilling to confront it.

“Trust me,” Leo urged, “Just follow my orders. This fight won’t be dangerous—think of it as live training.”

“And when we return victorious, there will be meat at every meal.”

Despite his efforts, morale remained low.

Ulyan, unable to watch any longer, stepped up and bellowed, “A bunch of cowards! What’s so frightening about the boarfolk? I used to wipe out a whole nest by myself! Grow some backbone! Kill a boarfolk, and you’ll get an acre of land! If you’re too scared, leave the militia now!”

With Ulyan’s promise and threat, the militiamen finally rallied, if only a little.

The next morning at dawn, Leo set out with Freya and the militia, planning to swim across the river upstream.

Before departing, Leo instructed Olivia to stoke the campfire as high as possible, to serve as a signal so the wildfolk would notice their movements.

They hadn’t yet crossed the river when a large band of kobolds emerged from the woods.

The militiamen, startled, nearly mistook them for enemies and instinctively raised their shields.

At the front, Fisa called out, “We, the kobolds, want to fight too!”

“Neighbors! Allies! The boarfolk are our enemies!”

“You?” Leo frowned, unimpressed.

There weren’t many kobold warriors left; though the ordinary golden-haired kobolds had grown plump and glossy in recent days, making them look far more agreeable, the more agreeable they looked, the less battle-ready they seemed—just a collection of foolish, good-natured creatures.

Fisa had brought sixty or seventy kobolds, all armed with homemade wooden shields, slings, and short spears—far better equipped than before.

This was the sum of the kobold valley’s military strength, a sign they were prepared to risk everything.

“All right, but keep your distance and follow my orders, understood?” Leo, believing the more the merrier, accepted Fisa’s request.

A few dozen kobolds flinging stones and short spears from the flanks might be useful, after all.

But he dared not mix the kobolds into the militia’s ranks—he’d seen their fighting spirit, or lack thereof. If they panicked at the boarfolk and fled, they might drag the whole militia down with them.

“Understood,” Fisa agreed, tail wagging furiously.

Watching Fisa lead the kobolds after the militia, Ivan, a nearby militiaman, muttered gloomily, “So now we’re fighting alongside kobolds?”

“What, is that a problem?” Leo asked.

“My older brother was killed by kobolds,” Ivan whispered.

Leo was taken aback, clapped Ivan on the shoulder, but found he had no words of comfort.

The boarfolk tribe was said to be thirty-odd miles from Riverbend, but the true route was even longer. Leo had scouted ahead to ensure the straightest and easiest path.

Halfway there, Leo saw Bjorn with several wildfolk hunters standing atop a massive stone by the roadside, watching the militia advance.

Clearly, the militia’s numbers failed to impress the wildfolk hunter. When Leo approached, Bjorn spoke: “So few of you—you’ll never break the boarfolk’s lair, and you can’t withstand their charge.”

“I know. You lot just handle the archery. If the battle goes poorly, you’re free to withdraw,” Leo replied confidently, then added, “Can you and your people clear out the boarfolk sentries ahead, so they don’t spot our movements?”

Bjorn regarded him for a long moment before nodding. With a wave, he and his companions melted into the forest.

Leo led the militia another seven or eight miles, arriving at a mountain valley, where he finally halted the group.

He looked around, murmuring, “This is the place.”

“Freya, it’s your turn!”

...

A few hours later, Freya, covered in mud, appeared outside the boarfolk lair.

She crept forward, head low, stopping and starting, moving with furtive caution.

Yet the scattered rocks near the lair—some a meter, some half a meter high—could do nothing to conceal her massive form.

The boarfolk on guard were gripped by terror. After half a month, the giant beast had returned!

“What should we do?” a boarfolk whispered to the squad leader.

“Pretend you didn’t see it; wait for it to leave,” the squad leader replied helplessly, “Go inform the chieftain.”

Aside from one boarfolk who rushed off, the rest simply stared at the sky, acting as if the marmot didn’t exist.

Seeing the boarfolk ignoring her, Freya grew anxious. She glanced around, then suddenly her eyes lit up. Taking a few steps forward, she wrapped her claws around a millstone-sized boulder.

She spun in place twice, building momentum, then flung the rock in a broad arc.

The heavy stone soared over a hundred meters, smashing down atop the boarfolk’s watchtower.

With a thunderous crash, the entire tower collapsed, the sentry hurled away with a scream.

The Marmot Catapult!

The boarfolk chieftain arrived in haste, originally prepared to swallow his anger, but at this sight, he could bear it no longer. Roaring, he ordered, “Charge out and kill it!”

The boarfolk lair erupted in chaos. Nearly a hundred boarfolk warriors and hunters, driving more than twenty one-tusked boars, poured out of the camp, charging toward Freya outside.

Seeing her task complete, Freya wasted no time. With a shrill cry, she turned and fled.

After several paces, she remembered she was a marmot and dropped to all fours, darting swiftly into the forest.