The Forest Feeds No Idle Goblins

"General, they dare to defy you," Scarface said, bowing obsequiously.

Evil Throat ignored the goblin. Instead, he took a few steps forward to observe the orderly formation across the field.

Seeing the General ignore him, Scarface cautiously trailed behind a few Earth Goblins. He got too close, however, and one of the Earth Goblins kicked him to the ground, sending him tumbling a couple of times.

He ignored the pain, scrambled back to his feet, and tentatively followed again, this time keeping his distance from the Earth Goblins.

A few whispers came from behind. Scarface turned, glaring venomously at the other goblins. ’They must be laughing at me. How despicable. But they’re all about to die anyway.’

The goblins were organized into small squares by their respective Military Leaders. Each held a thick wooden club. The goblins in the front rank also held a cup filled with a pale red liquid. Their faces were expressionless, as if what was about to happen had nothing to do with them.

’Those fools on the other side are so stupid, thinking they can fight the Evil Throat Army,’ Scarface stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck. ’Just wait. When the Slave Soldiers who drank the Holy Water charge, those guys will be scared out of their wits.’

He curled his lip into a cold sneer, completely unconcerned about the coming battle. ’The enemy is just a mix of centaurs and goblins. A few Ogres would be enough to scatter them.’

He couldn’t understand why they were doing this. If they just surrendered, they wouldn’t have to die.

"You. Go over there and tell them to surrender," General Evil Throat ordered, turning to point at Scarface.

Hearing the General’s command, Scarface was overjoyed and trotted over immediately. He crossed the center of the battlefield and ran right up to the front of the Shire Race’s formation.

The goblins before him all held sharpened Long Spears nearly two meters long. They silently watched Scarface as he stood before their lines, as if watching a clown’s performance.

"The General has spoken!" Scarface shouted. "You must surrender immediately! If you do, he might consider not killing you."

He yelled with his hands on his hips, full of arrogance, then smugly scanned the enemy before him, just as he would scan the goblins cowering in the corners of their camp.

’These guys might all be under my command soon, all mine to control.’ He narrowed his eyes and sneered, his mind already scheming what he would make these new goblins do, what tortures he would use to prevent them from escaping.

SWISH! The whistle of an arrow cut through the air. Scarface felt a numbness by his head, followed by a sharp pain that spread across his entire skull. He instinctively clapped a hand to his only remaining ear, only to realize the arrow had just shot it clean off.

"AARGH! MY EAR!" he wailed. He then glared viciously at the enemy formation and cursed, using nearly every foul word he knew. When an Earth Goblin had cut off his other ear, he had hated the way the other goblins looked at him. Now, his only remaining ear was gone too.

Cursing, Scarface began searching the ground for his severed ear. He soon spotted it nearby.

"Go back and tell your master to attack if he has the guts!" an angry shout came from the goblin ranks. Scarface picked up his ear and turned to look. Under a large red banner embroidered with a black Giant Dragon, a goblin stood on a wooden platform as tall as a man.

"Hmph. Just you wait and die," Scarface spat viciously. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he clutched his wound and ran back toward the Evil Throat Army. He planned to report the enemy’s attitude to the General, exaggerating every detail. Then he’d get the Evil Throat Army to charge a few more times, letting the crazed, Holy Water-fueled goblins tear those bastards to shreds.

Just as he was crafting his lies, his malicious expression shifting into a fawning smile, SWISH! Another sound echoed. An Arrow descended from the sky, pierced through Scarface’s back, and its powerful momentum slammed him face-first into the ground. THUD! He was pinned to the earth.

"Aargh... General..." Scarface sputtered, spitting blood as he struggled on the ground. The ear he’d been holding had already fallen to the side. "General..."

His hands clawed desperately at the ground. This area had been leveled by the Shire Race, and only small blades of grass grew there. Scarface clutched at the grass, trying to pull himself closer to the Evil Throat Army.

But he saw no flicker of emotion on General Evil Throat’s face in the distance. The General didn’t even glance his way; his eyes remained fixed on the enemy formation.

Scarface coughed up a large mouthful of blood. Lying on the ground, he stared blankly at the Earth Goblins and the goblins behind them. From his vantage point, he could only look up at them. It was the first time he had ever seen the other goblins from this perspective.

"Don’t look at me like that," he groaned, spitting out another clot of blood. "I’m your ’Commander-in-Chief’."

"Don’t..." Scarface clutched a single blade of grass, then his whole body went limp, falling flat on the ground. He moved no more.

He was dead. In death, his hand finally relaxed its grip. The blade of grass he had held, stained with his blood, swayed upright in the gentle breeze.

​

"Good shot," Shire said loudly. Beside him, Centaur Oreco lowered his Longbow. His previous high-arcing shot had precisely pinned the arrogant goblin to the center of the battlefield.

The surrounding centaurs and goblins said nothing. All of them were nervously watching the enemy army. Shire had already told them about the foe they would be facing and reminded them that their opponents would go berserk. Still, many had never personally witnessed the suffocating sight. A horde of red, mutated goblins, dragging their own entrails, charging at you even with their limbs shot off. When their blood-soaked eyes stared you down, fear alone could be enough to overwhelm a person.

"Get ready!" Shire shouted. "The enemy is about to charge! Our homes are right behind us! If we retreat, those Earth Goblins will subject us to the same Enslavement they forced on their own kind!"

"None of us will ever have a full belly again! No more warm beds! No more smiles! No more tomorrows!"

"If you don’t want to live that kind of life, if you don’t want to go back to living in constant fear, if you don’t want to become a walking corpse like them..."

"Then grip your weapons tight! Stare down the enemy charging at you! They are not invincible. Their bodies bleed and can be hacked apart just like any other. As long as you are not afraid and hold out until the end, victory will be ours!"

"There are no saviors coming for us, nor do we rely on the Gods! If we want to win, if we want to live, we can only rely on ourselves!"

"Victory belongs to us!"

Shire roared. Visibly moved, the goblins tightened their grips on their Long Spears. They squeezed into a dense formation, all their Long Spears pointing forward like a porcupine. Any enemy who tried to attack them would have to crash into that wall of spear tips first.

As the Shire Race stood in disciplined formation, the Evil Throat Army on the other side began to move.

Goblins continuously walked forward and formed several ranks. It appeared the enemy intended to commit a hundred Slave Soldiers right from the start.

Next, the goblins drank the "Holy Water" from the cups in their hands. As the liquid went down, their hunched bodies began to writhe, and they howled in agony. Some of the smaller, weaker goblins collapsed directly onto the ground, their bodies trembling and convulsing.

Gradually, their green skin darkened, and visible steam began to rise from their bodies. As they continued to shudder, their blood vessels started to bulge, crawling all over their skin like ugly earthworms.

Finally, a goblin roared and tore off its tattered clothes. Its entire body had turned red—not the color of flushed skin, but more like its subcutaneous blood vessels were engorged.

More goblins shrieked as their bodies began to swell. Compared to their terrified brethren in the formation behind them, they now looked a full size larger.

"ROAR!" A frenzied goblin brandished its wooden club. With bloodshot eyes and drool flying from its mouth, it roared, raised its club, and charged toward the distant enemy.

With this one mutated goblin’s Charge, the remaining hundred or so goblins also raised their clubs and rushed forward, their shrieks rising and falling in a cacophony.

"Heh heh," Earth Goblin Evil Throat sneered, the corner of his mouth twitching. This time, he had committed nearly a hundred mutated goblins at once. He was confident they would crush the enemy’s formation.

He understood goblins. They were cowardly creatures who spent their days foraging in the forest and hiding in their holes after eating. They would flee at the slightest disturbance. All he had to do was periodically behead a goblin and mount its head around their burrows to effectively intimidate them into obedience.

Now, these fools across the field thought they could resist his Evil Throat Army just by huddling together with those Long Spears. It was nothing but a fool’s dream.

Once the first wave of goblins impaled themselves on the spear tips and still madly tried to push through to tear at the enemy, those cowards would be terrified. They’d throw down their Long Spears and turn to flee. Then, their dense formation would become the very shackles that hindered their escape.

"Let’s see how long you can last," Evil Throat muttered, his eyes narrowing. His nose grew even redder with excitement.

But immediately after, the sound of collapsing earth echoed from the center of the battlefield. Mutated goblins were continually stumbling into traps. Some fell into deep pits, while others shrieked and crawled on the ground, their legs caught in bear traps, unable to run or Charge any longer.

Seeing this development on the battlefield, Evil Throat frowned. ’These guys were already prepared. But only a few fell into the traps. I have plenty more Slave Soldiers. They’re as numerous as weeds.’

He waved his Longsword, ordering the next batch of goblins forward. At the same time, he had the Military Leaders ladle out the pale red liquid from large wooden barrels and distribute it to the goblins.

’Next time will be your doom.’