Maestro of Battles
The Lair of Litvart was at the entrance of Grave Mountains, a three hours trip on horseback from the Citadel.
The colt Weed was riding on occasionally diverted off course, and even chewed on grass leisurely. He had to cajole it to stay on course.
In front of the lair, a soldier who would look after the horses was waiting for them.
“Johnson, take good care of the horses.”
“Yes, sir.”
The punitive force led by Sir Midvale left their horses to the soldier, and entered the lair. Weed was finally relieved of the colt.
“Ready for battle!”
“Set in battle formation!”
The punitive force shielded themselves with steel bucklers and armed themselves with spears and swords. Compared to them, Weed’s equipment was pathetic. An iron sword and a bow.
Sir Midvale in chain mail approached.
“Is that all you have, Weed-nim?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are poorly armed to fight on the front line. Stay behind and support the troops.”
“Yes, sir.”
The troops held the bucklers forward and marched on the lair. Weed followed them from behind.
Making a little headway, they spotted five kobolds that were camping around a bonfire, cooking something. Surprised by the sudden appearance of the troops, the kobolds sprang to their feet.
“Grakht!”
“Enemy! Human attack!”
The kobolds are Lv. 20 midget-like monsters, below four feet in height, armed with coarse wooden shields and bronze swords.
“Kill, kill!”
“Drive evil human away! They wreck shelter! Rise, brave kobold warriors!”
When the kobolds rushed out, the soldiers got tense. New recruits, fresh out of boot camps, had not engaged in a battle before. Weed looked toward Sir Midvale, but the knight watched his men with indifferent eyes as if any casualty was acceptable.
‘Isn’t a knight supposed to care if his soldiers die or not? Perhaps he wants them to have firsthand combat experience on their own’ Weed thought.
The soldiers quickly formed a linear formation and charged against the wave of kobolds. A couple of kobolds flung stones with slingshots, but the projectiles barely troubled the troops. Outnumbering the enemy and better equipped, the soldiers gained supremacy over the kobolds with few casualties. Every time a kobold fell, a small piece of metal dropped on the ground.
“Buren, Becker, gather the spoils.”
The two soldiers whose names were called out by Sir Midvale began gathering the metal pieces. They were copper or poorly smelt iron of little value, yet sufficient for farming tools.
One of the reasons why the kingdom operated such a punitive force, other than to train new recruits and restore security to the outskirts was to collect war booty, a creative injection to the budget.
“I need to move in at some point…” Weed said to himself.
On the next battle, he took out the Bow of Theo Grande and aimed at a kobold’s neck.
‘Hold your breath, steady your hands and aim at the target.’
Swish
Weed’s high agility and handicraft skill guided his arrows precisely to the targeted kobolds.
When Weed slew three kobolds, a level-up message window popped up. Those kobolds at a level higher than twenty gave enormous EXPs to Weed who was only at level thirteen.
Every kobold shot by his arrow immediately fell because he picked those who were nearly drained of life.
Cleverly, Weed sniped at easy game from behind while the soldiers were risking their lives in the front line.
It was a selfish and secure tactic. An arsonist torching a house is more of a saint than the neighbor plundering jewelry and china from the burning house, isn’t he?
What Weed was doing was very wicked, taking full advantage of brothers-in-arms bleeding and sweating hard to fight the monsters. A good man could not create such exploitation.
On the other hand, Weed was concerned that this tactic could backfire once the soldiers began to notice it and criticize him. Imagine how duped they would feel if a kobold short of a final strike dropped dead because of an arrow from out of nowhere.
Weed only shot kobolds who were running away in a desperate attempt to survive, or when a soldier was helplessly surrounded by two or three kobolds.
Each time a kobold was taken down, Weed smiled gleefully. While the other soldiers were fighting hard in the battles, all he needed to do was to shoot arrows blindly from a safe place. What else was easier than that?
His level was skyrocketing as fast as the stock price of Google. Weed’s scheme to buy the bow right before the quest paid off.
On the way deeper into the lair, they found a wide, open place. Sir Midvale and his men circled around it, slaying kobolds as they were detected, and then returned to the place.
“Take a rest and prepare lunch,” Sir Midvale ordered.
“Yes, sir.” Buren and Becker rustled to take out large pots and light a fire.
As the youngest in the party, they were made to do chores. Weed walked to them and picked up a knife.
“I’ll help you,”
Weed said, smiling sheepishly.
“Oh, no need,”
Becker said.
“Well, I like to cook. I am still an amateur, but wouldn’t it be nice if I serve you brave warriors who are devoting your swords and shields for Rosenheim?”
“It is very kind of you, Weed-nim.”
Weed spontaneously won favor among the soldiers. A man who volunteers to do manual labor on a journey is always highly welcomed. For one thing, Becker and Buren’s attitude toward Weed changed. They couldn’t help but like he who picks up the knife and slices beef.
Of course, he had his own agenda, and it had nothing to do with universal benevolence or whatever. Improve his Cooking skill.
Weed sliced and threw beef in the pot, added vegetables and flavors to make a stew. The ingredients that were needed to serve 32 men were quite a lot. Weed was aware that cooking plenty of food was the short cut to improve his cooking skill as fast as possible.