"Idiot!"
The cloaked man watched Edward lead over eight hundred men in a frantic pursuit, grinding his teeth in anger.
He should have realized earlier that these bandits had no brains; a small victory had completely gone to their heads!
Now the camp was empty. If the greenskins turned around and counterattacked, they wouldn't even have the strength to fight back!
"Quick! Dismantle the cannon! Hide it in the tunnel by the swamp!" the cloaked man shouted, turning to the dozen guards behind him.
These guards were highly trained loyalists from Prince Patton's Fiefdom with extreme execution capability. They immediately dropped their scimitars, rushed to the cannon, and began dismantling the gun carriage
—they had to hide this secret weapon; it absolutely could not fall into greenskin hands.
But before they could unscrew the fixing bolt on the breech, a rough roar suddenly came from the bushes behind the right side of the camp: "Charge! Grab that iron lump!"
Over thirty green figures suddenly sprang out of the bushes—Scarface's head was bare, the long knife scar on his face particularly noticeable in the sunlight, and he held a gleaming iron spear in his hand;
The thirty-plus hobgoblin spearmen behind him were all hunched over, their iron spears aimed at the guards dismantling the cannon. Their short legs churned rapidly, like a pack of hungry wolves pouncing on prey.
These hobgoblins were an ambush Kurzadh had arranged earlier—while the main battle was bogged down, Scarface led them around to the bushes at the back of the camp, specifically targeting this cannon.
Scarface had clearly witnessed the scene of the cannon blasting the Orc Boyz. He had long been determined: such a powerful iron lump must be brought back to Blackrock Spire!
The cloaked man was completely stunned—how did another group of greenskins appear? Just how many greenskins were there?!
"Stop them!" the cloaked man roared, drawing the flexible sword from his waist and charging toward Scarface.
But he was too slow. Scarface was only a dozen steps from the cannon. He abruptly flung the iron spear in his hand; it whistled through the air, heading straight for the guard who was loading gunpowder.
"Pffft!"
The iron spear accurately pierced the guard's back. The guard muffled a groan, and the gunpowder pouch in his hand fell to the ground, scattering black powder everywhere.
Seeing this, the other guards immediately split up, half wielding scimitars to block the hobgoblin spearmen, and the other half accelerating the cannon's dismantling. But it was too late—Scarface and the hobgoblins had already charged forward.
"Chop off their hands! Don't let them take the cannon apart!" Scarface roared. He swept the iron spear in his hand, smashing it directly onto a guard's wrist. With a "Crack," the guard's wrist was broken, and his scimitar fell to the ground.
A nearby hobgoblin spearmen seized the opportunity and rushed forward, stabbing the guard beneath the ribs with his iron spear. Blood instantly sprayed out.
Although the hobgoblins were short, they were as agile as monkeys.
They crawled beneath the guards' legs, using iron spears to stab the guards' calves; some even clung to the guards' legs and bit them, forcefully dragging the guards to the ground.
Although the guards from Prince Patton's Fiefdom were well-trained, they couldn't withstand the sheer number and lack of discipline of the hobgoblins. Before long, they were beaten back, several collapsing in pools of blood.
The cloaked man looked at the chaos before him and knew the cannon could not be saved.
His eyes hardened. He pulled a small black bottle from his chest and prepared to throw it onto the cannon—it contained an incendiary agent. He wanted to destroy the cannon and absolutely prevent the greenskins from getting it!
But before he could raise his hand, Scarface noticed his movement and violently hurled the iron spear in his hand directly at his arm.
The cloaked man frantically dodged. The iron spear grazed his arm and embedded itself in a nearby tent pole. The black bottle dropped to the ground and rolled toward the swamp.
"Catch the one in the black robe! The boss wants him alive!" Scarface shouted, pointing at the cloaked man and yelling at the hobgoblins.
A few hobgoblins immediately broke off and surrounded the cloaked man.
The cloaked man turned pale. Knowing he would be captured alive if he stayed, he turned and ran toward the swamp—he knew how to swim, and if he dove into the deep part of the swamp, the greenskins couldn't follow him.
Scarface watched him run away but didn't pursue—the boss had instructed them to prioritize seizing the cannon; capturing the black-robed man alive was secondary.
He turned and rushed to the cannon, his eyes full of excitement as he looked at the bowl-sized iron lump: "Be careful with it! Don't damage it! We gotta drag this thing back to Stonewatch and let Dragu study it!"
The hobgoblins immediately stopped fighting and swarmed the cannon clumsily, some lifting the carriage, others moving the iron wheels. Although they were sweating profusely from the effort, they were all grinning widely—snatching such a powerful treasure meant they would surely receive a reward from the boss when they returned!
Meanwhile, the refugees who had been used as human shields at the back of the camp were already in complete disarray.
They watched the greenskins and guards fight, neither daring to step forward to help nor daring to run—until they saw that the hobgoblins were focused only on seizing the cannon and ignoring them entirely. Only then did they secretly gather goods from the ground and scatter, fleeing toward the swamp and the dense forest.
Scarface glanced at them but gave no order to pursue—these unarmed refugees grabbing a few things and running posed no threat, and there was no need to waste effort.
At the same time, at the end of the Khyprian road, Edward was leading over eight hundred bandits, chasing toward the forest like a pack of wild horses running loose.
"Faster! Don't let the greenskins escape!" Edward ran at the very front, swinging his long sword and roaring incessantly.
The bandits behind him ran breathlessly. Some, wearing leather armor, ran slowly and gradually fell behind; others, bare-chested, ran quickly and even surged ahead of Edward.
The originally neat formation gradually stretched into a long line, spanning over a hundred meters from front to back. More and more bandits fell behind, yet no one dared to stop—everyone wanted to seize the greenskins' armor and weapons, and everyone wanted to prove themselves in front of the leader.
"Leader! Wait for us!" the bandits in the back shouted breathlessly, but no one looked back.
Edward paid no attention to the chaos of his ranks. His mind was consumed with slaughtering all the greenskins , leveling their camp with the cannon, and then taking the reward from Prince Patton's Fiefdom to return and become the lord of Katushir.
He watched the backs of the greenskins ahead getting closer, a cruel smile curling his lips—in just a moment, he would be able to completely exterminate all these greenskins !
Soon, the bandits charging at the front entered the forest.
Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The forest was silent, save for the footsteps and heavy breathing of the bandits.
"Where are the greenskins ?" The rogue at the front stopped, looking around in confusion—the greenskins who had been running ahead had suddenly vanished.
Just then, a "rustling" sound came suddenly from the canopy above.
"Who is it?!" The rogue abruptly looked up, only to see pairs of green eyes staring intently at him from the dark canopy.
"Fire!"
A sharp command came from the treetop.
Immediately afterward, countless black lassos descended from the sky like venomous snakes, wrapping around the rogue's neck and limbs.
Before the rogue could react, he was violently yanked upward and left dangling from a branch, emitting muffled cries before quickly falling silent.
"It's an ambush!" The bandits behind him screamed in panic, turning to run.
But it was too late—the night hobgoblins in the canopy stood up one after another, their poisoned arrows notched on their bowstrings, the dark purple poisonous mushroom powder on the arrowheads particularly conspicuous in the dappled light.
"Swish, swish, swish!"
Poisoned arrows rained down on the bandits. The unprepared bandits were hit one after another.
The struck bandits felt their bodies go numb, their weapons dropping to the ground. They immediately foamed at the mouth, fell down, convulsed a few times, and stopped breathing.
"Run out of the forest!" Someone shouted. The bandits scattered like headless flies, running toward the edge of the forest.
But the night hobgoblins, riding Death Crawlers, leaped agilely between the canopies, constantly firing poisoned arrows. Some bandits were struck by the arrows and fell to the ground without even seeing their enemies.
Even worse, some bandits, desperate to escape, fired arrows wildly, failing to notice their own comrades ahead—one arrow pierced the back of a rogue in front, who screamed and fell to the ground. The bandits behind him stepped over his corpse and kept running; the scene was utterly chaotic.
In just fifteen minutes, over a hundred bandits who charged into the forest had died.
The remaining bandits huddled in the clearing, wildly brandishing their weapons, their eyes filled with terror, yet they couldn't even clearly see the shadows of their enemies.
In the canopy, Keziaz rode a three-meter-tall Death Crawler, his black cloak billowing in the wind.
He looked at the panic-stricken bandits below, a cold sneer curling his lips—the boss was right; these human bandits were nothing but a bunch of useless trash.
He raised his hand and waved behind him. The night hobgoblins immediately stopped shooting arrows, slid down from the canopy, mounted their Death Crawlers, circled behind the bandits, and quietly blocked their retreat.
Outside the forest, Edward finally arrived with the bandits who had been trailing behind.
He looked at the scattered corpses in the forest and his panic-stricken subordinates inside, and his face instantly turned ash-white—he finally understood that the cloaked man had been right; this was nothing but a greenskin trap!
"Retreat! Get out now!" Edward roared, wanting to charge into the forest to lead his men out.
But before he could take a step, a unified roar suddenly erupted from the forest—"WAAAGH!"
Immediately after, countless green figures burst out from the shadows in the forest—Bone Tree, leading over a hundred Orc Boyz, charged toward Edward, wielding iron axes and cleavers.
Their earlier deliberate retreat was intended to lure the bandits into the forest. Now, it was time to close the net!
Edward looked at the charging Orc Boyz and then at his surrounded subordinates in the forest, completely losing his composure.
The long sword in his hand trembled. For the first time, he doubted his own "victory"—just how big of a scheme had these greenskins laid?