The column reformed, and the caravan began to roll forward again. It left two wheel ruts in the flattened grass, a grim echo of the dismembered corpses left behind.
This land was never short on scavengers; it wouldn't be long before the corpses vanished without a trace.
The battle might have seemed to involve nearly four hundred Kobolds and Goblins, but the Beastman Barbarians killed almost a hundred with their first volley of javelins. Afterward, the rest were cut down like reaping wheat, falling in droves. The Beastmen emerged unscathed.
It could hardly be called a battle. "Massacre" was a more fitting term.
Forty-one Kobolds and only twenty-three Goblins survived. They were herded forward, forced to march with the caravan.
At one point, a Goblin, apparently failing to grasp its own predicament, took advantage of the Beastmen's joking around to make a dash for the Wilderness.
Seeing this, Muto and Zat exchanged knowing smiles and started to make a bet.
"Bet you I can let it get a fifty-pace head start and still kill it with a single javelin."
Muto spoke with an air of arrogance. As the strongest Warrior in the Tribe, his Throwing skill was second to none. Not even a mighty Ice Tiger could withstand one of his spears.
"Fifty paces? Hell, I'll let it get eighty!"
Zat scoffed dismissively.
"You're bragging," Muto said, clearly skeptical.
'Eighty paces, and with pinpoint accuracy?' He admitted that his kinsman possessed far greater Power than he did; throwing a Fine Steel Javelin eighty paces wasn't out of the question, but hitting a target with precision at that range was simply unbelievable.
Zat didn't retort. He simply clutched the Steel Spear in his hand, mentally calculating their relative positions.
Just as the sprinting Goblin neared the eighty-pace mark, Zat let out a roar. Veins bulged like earthworms on his brawny arm. He twisted his body to the side and then violently hurled the spear forward.
WHOOSH!
The Fine Steel Javelin flew like a black streak, skimming across the grass. With a soft THUNK, it easily pierced the Goblin's chest, dragging its body along and pinning it to the earth.
"What?"
Zat's incredibly sharp throw thoroughly shocked Muto, who finally understood the gap between them. He instantly became dejected.
"If you're trash, you just gotta train more!"
Zat clapped Muto on the shoulder and said with faux earnestness.
Inside, though, he felt a thrill as refreshing as ice on a summer day, a jolt of pleasure from his toes to his scalp.
'The Boss always used to say that to me. I never thought I'd get to say it to someone else.'
'And damn, it feels good.'
Grinning, Zat jogged over to pull his Fine Steel Javelin from the ground. He then slid the Goblin off the shaft as if pulling meat from a skewer.
Once back at the caravan, he shot a cold sneer at the other Goblins and Kobolds. Right in front of them, he grabbed the barely-living Goblin and ripped it in two with his bare hands.
"This is what happens to anyone else who dares to run!"
The Goblins trembled uncontrollably, and the terrified Kobolds tucked their tails between their legs.
Old Neil, in particular, swallowed hard again and again, his legs turning to jelly.
'I was just thinking about running,' he thought. 'But that Goblin got eighty paces away and still couldn't escape.'
'Those Beastmen were just pretending to chat. It was all a deliberate act. They were toying with us, waiting for one of us to run just so they could hunt us down for sport.'
Overcome with despair, Old Neil completely abandoned any thought of escape.
"A simple warning would've done the trick. No need to be so gory about it. It's bad for morale."
Levi, lazing on the cart and enjoying the cool breeze, offered this mild rebuke only then.
"Got it, Boss."
Zat was already used to the strange words that often came from his Boss's mouth. He tossed the two halves of the corpse onto the roadside, then casually wiped his hands on the grass.
...
The caravan traveled for another two nights, finally venturing deep into the Wilderness.
All traces of civilization had vanished from the landscape. As far as the eye could see, there was only an endless plain covered in ankle-deep grass, overgrown from the summer growth spurt.
A true no-man's-land. A true realm of chaos. A true, vast, and open expanse.
At times, the vast expanse of the plains would stir an ineffable loneliness in Levi's heart, and he couldn't help but let out a few howls. The only answer he ever received was the WHOOSH of the distant wind.
The Beastman Barbarians, bored by the monotonous journey, started tormenting the Kobolds for entertainment.
They'd tie an apple to a hemp rope, fasten the rope to a stick, and declare that any Kobold who managed to snatch the apple could keep it.
The Kobolds would spend ages jumping and scrambling for it, usually failing. When one did manage to snatch it, a fight would inevitably break out among its kin over the single apple.
The eventual winner would be bruised and battered, only to hastily swallow the prize in two gulps and start choking, its eyes rolling back in its head.
This sent the hulking brutes into fits of laughter.
Alternatively, each Beastman would pick a "champion" from among the Goblins and have them fight. The winner's prize was a bowl of leftover noodle soup.
It was just like cricket fighting.
It certainly made the tedious journey a little more interesting.
Levi didn't stop them, only warning them not to take things too far.
He, too, was bored, lying on his cart and immersing himself in an ocean of knowledge. When his eyes grew tired, he would simply cover his face with a book and fall asleep.
Perhaps their reputation from that first battle preceded them, or perhaps the Wilderness Natives deeper in were smarter than the Goblins and Kobolds. Either way, no one else dared to provoke a column of fifty well-equipped Beastman Barbarians.
However, this peaceful stretch of the journey was a major disappointment for the Beastman Barbarians, who were itching to experience the "Gift of the War God."
The caravan stopped beside a winding river, and a temporary camp of tents quickly rose up on the flat riverbank.
The Beastman Barbarians, their throats parched from days of eating dry rations, eagerly piled up stones for campfires. They set up iron pots and began to boil potatoes and black bread.
Muto, however, came up with a mischievous idea. He announced that he was going to show Levi a special trick and add a little something extra to their meal.
While Levi looked on in confusion, the Barbarian charged into the group of Goblin captives, grabbed the scrawniest one, and tied a rope around it.
Then, he chopped down a crooked sapling as thick as a man's arm and fashioned a crude fishing rod.
He then hunkered down by the river and began to "fish," with the terrified Goblin dangling over the water as bait. Snot and tears streamed down the pitiful creature's face as it begged for its life.
The other Beastmen watched with cold sneers, completely unmoved.
One should never be deceived by a Goblin's appearance. It might look pitiful now...
...but if it were set free, it would go right back to abducting females of other races, torturing them day and night and using them as breeding machines.
"Heh, here we go!"
Muto's face lit up. The Goblin's frantic struggles had apparently attracted something. A dark shadow was now visible just below the surface.
In the next instant.
CRUNCH!
A saw-toothed gator, several feet long, lunged from the water, its jaws clamping down on the lower half of the Goblin's body.
Muto's muscles bulged. With a seemingly casual flex of Power, he yanked the two-hundred-pound saw-toothed gator clean out of the water and flung it onto the bank.
While the creature was still dazed from the impact, Muto rushed over and caved its head in with a single, powerful punch.