On the gentle slope west of the Forest of Gloom, dense pine forest branches and leaves blocked out the sky, letting only a few slivers of fragmented sunlight through.
Kurzadh was half-crouching behind a thick pine tree, holding a brass-colored telescope—Antonio had specifically purchased this from a human merchant in Katushir. The barrel was engraved with delicate patterns, and although the edges were somewhat worn, he could clearly see the fierce fighting on the distant high ground.
The scene in the lens shook violently; the greenskins' iron shields clashed with the bandits' scimitars, and blood splattered onto the slope, staining the dry grass red.
Just as Kurzadh curved his lips into a smile, his gaze suddenly froze—on the high ground, a dozen people dressed in black combat attire pulled back the cloth, revealing cannon muzzles the size of bowls, staring fixedly at the charging greenskins like cold, unblinking eyes.
Judging by its appearance, it looked somewhat like a Ming Dynasty 'Red Barbarian' cannon.
"A cannon?!"
Kurzadh violently gripped the telescope, his knuckles turning white from the force.
Although the cannon body in the lens was crude, he could clearly see the touch-hole at the breech and the black powder piled nearby—that was gunpowder!
He had seen this thing in historical films in his previous life; a single small cannon could scatter a group of heavily armored infantry. How could these scattered bandits and vagrants possess such a weapon?
"It seems the Brotherhood truly has a power backing them," Kurzadh narrowed his eyes, understanding instantly.
Antonio's letter only mentioned that the Brotherhood were bandits who had fled from Katushir, but he never mentioned their relationship with Prince Patton's Fiefdom—now it seemed these people were simply "Dogs" raised by Prince Patton, pawns used to disrupt the Khyprian road, and they were even willing to provide heavy weapons like cannons.
Just as he was pondering this, the cloaked man in the lens raised a fire starter.
"Boom!"
A muffled roar came from the high ground; even hundreds of meters away, Kurzadh could feel the air vibrating.
A thick cloud of white smoke, laced with Mars, rose into the sky from the high ground; a dark solid shot erupted from the muzzle, accompanied by a piercing sound of rushing air. It scraped past the Orc Boyz' shield wall and smashed into the nearby dirt slope, kicking up fragments of rock and soil, scaring several hobgoblin Boyz who quickly shrank behind their shields.
"It missed?" Kurzadh breathed a sigh of relief, then frowned—although the cannon's accuracy was poor, its power was not to be underestimated.
If it were to hit the shield wall, several of the Orc Boyz in the front rank would certainly be blown away.
The greenskins on the high ground were also startled by the loud noise, and their charging steps paused momentarily.
But before they could react, the ferocity inherent in their bones was ignited—the thing the greenskins feared least was a "powerful toy," and the more dangerous it was, the more he wanted to seize it.
"Grab that iron lump!" One Orc Boyz pointed at the cannon and charged forward with a roar.
The other Orc Boyz followed suit, raising their iron axes, bypassing the bandits' battle line, and heading straight for the cannon.
The Man in Gray Cloak clearly hadn't anticipated the greenskins being so crazy, and quickly ordered the men in black combat attire to stand in front of the cannon.
These men were clearly well-trained guards. Their scimitars swung fast and viciously; the Orc Boyz who got closest were immediately sliced on the arm by a scimitar, bleeding profusely.
But the greenskins became fiercer the more they fought.
One Orc Boyz grabbed a rogue's leg and forcibly dragged him down; another orc took the opportunity to rush over, swinging his iron axe at the cannon body—with a "Clang," the axe blade struck the iron, leaving only a shallow mark, but the impact left his hand numb.
"Load it! Load it quickly!" the cloaked man yelled at the guards beside him.
Two guards immediately rushed to the breech, using small scoops to pour gunpowder into the touch-hole, then stuffing in a stone shot wrapped in iron filings. Their movements were tense and trembling.
The Orc Boyz who was leading the charge had already climbed next to the cannon and reached out to grab the barrel.
"Boom!"
The second cannon blast erupted again.
This time, the muzzle was aimed directly at the Orc Boyz standing right next to it.
The solid shot, whistling through the air, slammed directly into his chest—his crude iron armor was shattered like paper, and the Orc Boyz' body instantly exploded, splattering blood and shredded flesh onto the surrounding bandits and greenskins .
"Damn it!" Kurzadh cursed softly on the hillside, his fists clenching until they cracked.
In the lens, the remains of the Orc Boyz were scattered beside the cannon, yet the greenskins did not retreat. Instead, they were thoroughly enraged by the bloody scene.
"Chop 'em up! Waaagh!" Bone Tree's eyes were red as he raised his iron axe, splitting open a rogue's head and charging toward the cannon.
The Orc Boyz followed, roaring like a pack of out-of-control beasts, rushing recklessly toward the cannons, even throwing their shields onto the ground.
The cloaked man turned pale and quickly ordered the guards to continue loading, but the greenskins were charging too close. The guards were flustered, having to both fend off incoming iron axes and load the cannon, spilling gunpowder onto the ground several times.
Just as the fighting on the high ground reached a fever pitch, a muffled horn sound suddenly drifted from deep within the forest—"Woo—woo—"
The horn sound was low and drawn out, carrying an undeniable command.
The greenskins who were charging madly froze, and Bone Tree suddenly snapped back to attention, a sliver of rationality slowly returning to his bloodshot eyes—this was the signal to retreat! It was the signal the boss had agreed upon!
"All of ya stop! Retreat!" Bone Tree grabbed an Orc Boyz who was still hacking away next to him and slapped him hard on the back of his head. "Boss says retreat! Can't you hear?!"
That Orc Boyz was stunned and tried to argue, but Bone Tree grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away.
Although the other greenskins were bloodthirsty, they dared not disobey Bone Tree's orders—in the world of the greenskins , the leader's word was law.
Some greenskins who still retained their senses pulled back the orcs who had gone completely berserk.
As the Orc Boyz retreated, they didn't forget to swing a few axes at the bandits; the hobgoblin Boyz clutched their iron spears and followed quickly behind.
Seeing the greenskins retreat, the bandits on the high ground immediately cheered.
Edward stood in the center of the line, his face covered in bloodstains, his longsword still dripping blood.
He watched the retreating backs of the greenskins , then looked at the immensely powerful cannon beside him, and a fervent light instantly ignited in his eyes.
"Chase them! Chase 'em down!" Edward suddenly roared. "They're scared! With this cannon here, we can kill these beasts!"
The bandits behind him also started shouting—the frustration of being suppressed by the greenskins moments ago now turned entirely into arrogance.
Over eight hundred bandits (including the main force and refugees who had temporarily picked up weapons) raised their arms and chased in the direction the greenskins had retreated, abandoning their camp entirely.
"Leader Edward! Don't pursue!" The cloaked man hurriedly stepped forward, grabbing Edward's arm, his tone urgent. "The greenskins' retreat is too strange; there might be an ambush!"
"Ambush?" Edward violently shook off his hand, his face full of disdain. "What kind of ambush could a bunch of greenskins who only know how to charge wildly set up? Didn't you see them scared senseless by the cannon?"
He pointed at the retreating greenskins in the distance, then pointed to the cannon beside him. "With this treasure here, even if it is a trap, I can blow it flat!"
The cloaked man wanted to dissuade him, but Edward didn't listen at all. He rushed out with his longsword raised, still roaring, "Kill these greenskins ! Take their armor! Take their weapons!"
Over eight hundred bandits followed behind Edward like a swarm of locusts, chasing in the direction the greenskins had retreated.
On the high ground, only the still-smoking cannon remained, along with a few refugees trembling in fear. The goods in the center of the camp lay scattered on the ground, ignored by everyone.
On the hillside, Kurzadh lowered his telescope, a cold smile curling his lips.
He raised his hand and waved behind him—two hobgoblin scouts immediately emerged from behind the trees and bowed, waiting for orders.
"Inform Keziaz to proceed according to the plan." Kurzadh's voice carried a hint of coldness. "When Edward's men enter the forest, strike."
"Yes, boss!" The two hobgoblin scouts responded, turned, and slipped into the dense woods, quickly vanishing.
Kurzadh raised the telescope again. In the lens, Edward, leading over eight hundred bandits, was relentlessly pursuing the backs of the greenskins like a pack of mad dogs.
They crossed the Khyprian road and ran toward the forest—there, Keziaz, leading over three hundred night hobgoblins Poison archers, had been lying in ambush in the Pine Forest all morning. The mushroom powder on the poison arrows had dried, and the Death Crawler's spider legs were pressed tightly against the ground, awaiting the arrival of their prey.
"The real show is just beginning." Kurzadh put away the telescope and turned to walk toward the forest.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on his greenskin. The bone staff in his hand lightly tapped the ground; every step seemed to tread upon the fate lines of Edward and the bandits.
In the distance, Edward's roaring still echoed. The residual smoke from the cannon gradually dissipated, and the forest was silent, save for the "rustle" of the wind through the leaves, like an overture of death awaiting the arrival of the prey.