Chapter 74: The Kobold Tongue

Sir Haskins immediately stepped forward, unfastened his kite-shaped knight’s shield from his back, drew his knight’s sword, and adopted a combat stance.

The kobolds before him numbered a little over twenty, yet each was taller and more robust than any he had encountered in his adventuring days. They stood in orderly formation, and many even wielded crossbows.

These kobolds sported wild, mohawk-like crests, wore necklaces of beast teeth, and had small leather skirts about their waists. The ones at the front each held a small round shield about a foot and a half in diameter in one hand and a short spear in the other, with three or four more short spears slung across their backs—clearly suited for both throwing and close combat.

Those hiding behind slung their shields over their backs and held crossbows at the ready, prepared to fire at any moment.

Such a squad of kobolds might pose a threat to ordinary adventurers, but Haskins’ defenses were more than a match for them.

Still, in Haskins’ experience, a well-trained force like this could never have been raised by some small, wild tribe. There must be many more of their kind behind them; if entangled, he’d soon face kobolds swarming over the hills.

Even the extraordinary grow weary; endless combat would deprive them of rest and recovery, eventually forcing them to slink out of the wilds in defeat.

And this was only half a day into the wilderness!

Denise, too, readied herself for battle while darting a reproachful glance at Leo, clearly blaming him for not warning them sooner about a large kobold tribe in the area.

Leo replied with a bark.

At once, the kobolds opposite grew agitated, dropped their shields, and barked furiously at Leo, hurling curses in their tongue.

Leo rested his hand on his sword hilt and took a step forward.

Immediately, the kobolds shrank back together, exchanging nervous glances, before turning and scurrying away with whimpers.

Leo’s fearsome reputation for slaying the kobold chieftain had only grown over the past two months, spreading among the survivors of that battle until he was known as the doomsday demon king in kobold legend.

To dare bark at him at all—these kobolds could already claim to be brave warriors!

Denise stood there, dumbfounded, watching the kobolds come and go in less than a minute. Unable to resist, she whispered to Leo, “Leo, Mister Mondo… do you speak the kobold language?”

Leo nodded modestly. “A little.”

“And just now?”

“That was telling them to get lost.”

Eager to learn, Denise tried to imitate, “Woof?”

“No, don’t—what you just said means ‘courtship.’ If a kobold hears that, they’ll get angry. They don’t like human women.”

Denise immediately flushed bright red and retreated in embarrassment.

Old Pete and Barrett burst out laughing at the exchange, beginning to find the young man quite entertaining.

Ever since the abandoned watchtower was taken by ogres, the kobold hunting parties had avoided their territory. Some packs had crossed east over the river, hunting squirrels, hares, foxes, and digging up the plentiful antlered cassava in the pine forest on the far bank.

That pine forest was once the wild boarmen tribe’s hunting grounds, but after the boarmen retreated, it became the Bay’s de facto logging camp.

The wildland hunters preferred to range the mountains beneath the great barrier, and would only venture onto the plains if threatened; otherwise, they shunned such open ground.

As for the Bay’s sentries, their attitude toward the kobolds was much like that of one towards their own farm dogs—dogs that could mine, no less—so they usually turned a blind eye and let them be.

Unlike the straightforward Denise, Old Pete and the others, having seen kobold pups and smiths in the Bay, easily guessed that the Bay and the kobold tribe were on close terms, certainly not foes.

Their youthful guide, it seemed, held considerable sway among the kobolds as well.

This meant he was a true native, and a respected one at that.

The journey resumed its leisurely pace, with Leo leading the company along the border between Wolfbane Plain and the foothills.

From the Bay to the shattered hills where the wild boarmen dwelled—a span of over a thousand square kilometers—Leo had explored it countless times; it was his own backyard.

The route he chose now was even easier than the pine forest of Wolfbane Plain.

Though the plain appeared broad and flat overall, it was dotted with countless little hills and hillocks, cloaked in ancient trees—dark, mysterious, home to wild beasts, riddled with ravines, swamps, ponds, and earthen mounds.

In contrast, the foothills offered wide, flat riverbanks, meadows, and sparse woods.

The view was open, allowing them to correct their course at any time, avoid gorges in advance, and never fear getting lost.

They walked the entire day without once needing to halt for the terrain.

By evening, Leo led the adventurers to the same valley where he and Bjorn had last encountered and hunted the wild boarmen’s party.

Once the wild boarmen’s camp, and later taken by the wildland hunters, it was an excellent shelter from the wind.

The valley offered ready-made fire pits, a clear mountain spring, and a dry cave for shelter or storing supplies.

Denise, exhausted from the day’s march, spread a blanket on the ground and sat down, rubbing her aching legs, unable to rise.

Old Pete and Barrett busied themselves unloading supplies, pitching tents, and preparing a campfire dinner.

Meanwhile, Leo and the ranger Lynch climbed to the valley’s highest point to survey the land.

Lynch’s keen eyes swept the surroundings until they narrowed, his green longbow rising with a steel arrow already nocked.

Leo placed his thumb and forefinger to his lips and blew hard.

A whistle pierced the air, answered by another from deep in the woods three hundred yards away.

Three or four more whistles echoed nearby and afar, before the forest fell silent once more.

Lynch stared coldly in the whistle’s direction. “Who’s there?”

“Wildland hunters,” Leo explained. “Don’t worry—they’re ours.”

Returning from the hill to camp, it was clear the others had heard the commotion. Fischer and Lynch both eyed Leo with a touch of suspicion.

It wouldn’t be the first time a local guide had led a band of adventurers straight into a bandit den, only to reap the spoils for himself; they wondered if Leo intended to do the same.

But Old Pete, Barrett, Haskins, and Denise seemed utterly unconcerned.

The first three were seasoned adventurers who had seen it all—if the guide led them to a bandit lair, well, it just meant another fight and more loot.

As for Denise, such thoughts never crossed her mind. She was far too absorbed in studying the valley they’d camped in, already searching for the words to record it in her adventure journal.