Chapter 18: The Meeting
At the top of the Black Earth Fortress, inside a room built from piled obsidian stones.
The stone room was about a hundred square meters in area, with a round stone table placed in the center. A flame burned at the heart of the table, casting a dim, yellowish glow throughout the room.
At this moment, the stone room was filled with orcs, dwarves, goblins, and a few trolls. These people were either standing or sitting, noisy and boisterous. The hot-tempered dwarves occasionally roared out, and the orcs were not to be outdone, shouting at the top of their lungs. This was the tribal faction's meeting.
Bang, bang, bang!
A troll about four meters tall slammed the stone table, trying to stop the dwarves and orcs from arguing.
Seated around the stone table were several leaders of the Black Earth War Zone: a muscular minotaur, a mountain dwarf king, a goblin inventor, and the troll who was slamming the table—a frost troll, a rare spellcaster among trolls.
These four were the highest commanders of the Black Earth Fortress. There was no hierarchy among them; if an important decision needed to be made, it required discussion at a meeting.
Behind these four stood their respective tribesmen. Anyone who could enter this stone room was a high-ranking member of the tribal army.
As the frost troll slammed the table, the stone room quieted down a bit.
"Silence!"
The frost troll was clearly furious. In his view, everyone in the stone room except the trolls was a rabble.
"Hmph."
The mountain dwarf king next to him snorted coldly. His thoughts were the same: aside from the dwarves, all other races in the room were useless.
"We need unity. Lack of unity is the main reason we've been unable to defeat those imperial bastards."
The orc leader of the Black Earth War Zone, the minotaur Armstrong, sighed. Although he looked rough, his temper was the best among the four present.
"Yes, we need unity."
A sharp, thin voice came from a goblin inventor wearing a golden crown and at least twenty rings on his ten fingers. These rings were not decorations; all his skills lay in them.
The goblin race was like a weather vane; they wouldn't make proposals on their own. Whichever side had more people, they would lean toward.
"The imperial army is about to attack. You all heard the shouts. In the previous battle, the orcs suffered heavy casualties. Therefore, this battle cannot have the orcs leading the charge again."
The frost troll nodded to the minotaur Armstrong. Armstrong felt a warmth in his heart and silently noted the frost troll's kindness.
"They're not leading the charge? Then who will? The dwarves? They have the numbers."
The goblin inventor sensed something was wrong and quickly shifted the blame to the dwarves.
"Fart your pig stench! If we dwarves suffer massive casualties, will you fight with wooden sticks?"
The hot-tempered dwarf king slammed the table and glared.
"If you won't go, should we goblins go..."
"Good idea."
"That's right."
"I agree with this opinion."
Before the goblin inventor could finish, the other three all looked at him. The dwarves' behavior was truly detestable; in all past battles, they had always stayed in the very rear.
"Impossible."
The goblin inventor flatly refused. Using the orcs as cannon fodder had almost become a tradition.
"The enemy is about to attack, and we can't even choose a vanguard. Sigh."
The frost troll let out a long sigh. This was why the tribal army, though more than three times the size of the imperial army, had always been confined to the edge of the continent.
There was no other way. There were inherent conflicts among the various races of the tribal faction. Even if they were forced into an alliance by the pressure of the empire and their harsh living environment, they couldn't elect a supreme leader—unless that leader was a hybrid of all four races, which was the only slim possibility.
Furthermore, intermarriage among the royal families of the tribal races was very difficult. Imagine a female goblin marrying a troll. What would the wedding night be like? 'Straight to the stomach' was not an exaggeration; it wouldn't be a marriage, it would be murder.
There were cases of intermarriage among orcs, goblins, and dwarves, and they produced decent offspring. But the trolls remained an insurmountable obstacle.
Moreover, even if a four-race hybrid were born, the subsequent troubles would be endless. Therefore, the tribal faction directly adopted a council system.
The advantage of the council system was that it reduced conflicts between races, with each race holding some power. The disadvantage was that making a decision was too troublesome, such as deciding which race would be the vanguard to defend the Black Earth Fortress now.
"The situation is urgent. Our trolls will take the vanguard."
"No."
The goblin inventor was the first to object.
"Frost, do you want your race to go extinct?"
The dwarf king put away his fiery temper. The trolls' fertility rate was already low. If the trolls suffered heavy casualties, it would be a severe blow to the tribe.
"There's no other way..."
"Our orcs will take the vanguard."
The minotaur Armstrong stood up, his figure looking somewhat desolate. He looked around at the other three.
"Fellow tribesmen, the day we unite will be the day those imperial bastards are destroyed. Until then, we can only cower in Chimney Mountain."
Armstrong turned and walked out. He pushed open the door, ducked to avoid the doorframe, and left the stone room. The other three leaders inside fell silent.
As soon as he stepped out of the stone room, Armstrong felt a slight tremor in the fortress beneath his feet.
Boom, boom, boom...
The march of hundreds of thousands of troops caused the ground to tremble slightly.
"So soon. As expected of the Border Blood Lion, Carlos."
Armstrong walked to the edge of the city wall and looked down. By the moonlight, he saw the army half a kilometer away.
At the front of the army, a man riding a warhorse and wearing blood-red armor caught Armstrong's attention.
"Is that... Carlos!?"
Armstrong shook his head in disbelief and blinked. After confirming for over ten seconds, he was certain it was the Border Blood Lion, Carlos.
"This guy... has he gone mad..."
Armstrong began to feel a bad premonition, a very bad one. He turned and rushed back into the stone room, his bull horns knocking a piece of obsidian off the doorframe.
With a muffled bang, Armstrong charged into the stone room. The three leaders inside were startled.
"Armstrong, what's wrong..."
The frost troll noticed Armstrong's grim expression.
"The imperial army has arrived."
Armstrong's face twitched.
"Pfft~"
The goblin inventor let out a snicker, laughing at Armstrong's flustered state. Wasn't it just the imperial army attacking? He was used to it.
"The Border Blood Lion, Carlos, is leading the vanguard."
"What!?"
The three leaders stood up simultaneously.
"This is bad."
"Has Carlos lost his mind? If he dies..."
"Nonsense! If the Border Blood Lion, Carlos, personally leads the charge, once the battle starts, how high will the imperial soldiers' morale be?"
The four tribal leaders all realized the severity of the situation.
"Frost, let's find a chance to eliminate him."
Armstrong snorted a puff of white air from his bull nose.
"Alright."
The frost troll stood up. Among the orcs and trolls, only the strong could become leaders; the strong were the royal family. In these two races, royalty was not inherited by bloodline but was held by those capable.
"Count me in. Everyone knows Carlos's strength, and the Dark Elf Princess is probably nearby. Rumor has it those two are an item."
The mountain dwarf king let out a cold laugh.
"No, you can't go. Who will command the defense of the Black Earth Fortress?"
Armstrong flatly refused.
"Am I just a decoration? Sometimes brains are more useful than muscles. If the Dark Elf Princess really is near Carlos, then he's as good as dead."
The goblin inventor let out a sly laugh, as if victory was already in his grasp.