Chương 75: 75：Not Your Average Goblins

She walked along the wooden barricades, her sharp eyes scanning for the fatal weaknesses hidden in the shadows: The trenches were dug deep, but the orientation of the defensive works indicated a completely passive, turtle-like posture. The soldiers rotating off the frontline gripped their weapons tightly, but their legs trembled faintly. Their eyes still harbored the profound exhaustion born from facing the Orcs.

Their mounts—warhorses meant to charge into the heart of battle—were mostly reduced to skin and bones due to a lack of fodder. Only a few beasts remained that could barely pull the supply carts. The Crimson Moon Knights without their warhorses had effectively been amputated at the knees!

"How did it come to this..." Elena furrowed her brows. The tactical situation of this entire encampment was nothing but passive! They could only rely on the terrain deep within the swamp to mount a desperate defense, surviving on minimal rations of potatoes and conjured water. This ironclad, turtle-shell formation seemed impenetrable, but in reality, they were merely trapped. They had absolutely no strength left to launch a large-scale counteroffensive against the true overlords of this swamp: the Orc Alliance!

Night fell. Inside the command tent, a meager, pea-sized candle flame flickered erratically. Leona strode in. She had washed off the grime and blood of battle and wore only a tight-fitting leather undertunic. This time, they were the only two in the tent. Gone was the explosive tension they had displayed in front of the guards during the day; the atmosphere was heavy with silence. Leona broke the silence with a cold tone.

"Finished your inspection? Care to share your brilliant insights, oh great Cleric?" Elena turned around, getting straight to the point.

"The Crimson Moon Knights are now nothing more than an infantry regiment that has lost its legs."

"You have no warhorses for a charge and no effective alchemical support. You haven't even managed to establish a vantage point for archers to cover your flanks." Elena took two steps forward, closing the distance.

"Commander, please don't tell me you intend to sit here and outlast tens of thousands of battleaxe-wielding greenskin orcs out there, while your soldiers survive on a daily diet of potatoes boiled in muddy water?"

"Your survival is completely passive, and you have zero strategic depth! Why not attempt a breakout? Seek reinforcements and an evacuation order from the Kingdom's brass! Staying in this doomed situation is just waiting to die!" A flash of bitterness crossed Leona's usually fierce and untamed eyes. Evacuate? Did Elena really think she didn't know this was a death trap?!

"You think I'm sitting here eating mud because I enjoy the sour stench of this place?!" Leona snapped her head up.

"An esteemed Priestess like you probably has no idea about the sickening political schemes brewing in the Royal Capital!"

"Two months ago, I defied their deployment orders to retreat. I led the Crimson Moon Knights to defend the Storm Rift Fortress to the bitter end! That was the only reason the civilians behind us weren't slaughtered!"

"And just for defying that one piece of bullshit military doctrine... I was given a promotion in name but a demotion in reality. The Crimson Moon Knights were slated to be used as cannon fodder!" She had to protect the veterans who had rolled through blood and mud by her side from being sent on suicide missions! Leona gritted her teeth.

"So, before we marched out, I signed a military pledge."

"I refused a single arrow or a single grain of food from the Kingdom's brass! I swore that the Crimson Moon Knights would survive and expand on our own within this Mist Swamp and its toxic miasmas!"

"I made a promise. Counting from the day the pact was sealed, within one year, I would completely carve a path through the Mist Swamp. Relying solely on the strength of a single Knight Order, I would reclaim this vast, lost territory!" Her words struck like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, slamming ruthlessly into Elena's heart. For the first time, Elena revealed an expression of uncontrollable, sheer shock! Her pale-gold pupils dilated, her red lips parting slightly.

"Are you... insane?" Elena could scarcely believe her ears. She felt that the person standing before her was no longer a military commander, but a raving gambler who had completely lost her mind! She was all too aware of the current layout of the Mist Swamp. That was the main stronghold personally overseen by Warchief Blackstone, garrisoned by a massive army of a hundred thousand troops!

"Within a year?!" Elena's voice rose an octave.

"Leona! Look at your current reality: you are severely short on manpower, you have zero sustainable magical or alchemical resupply, and you don't even possess high-yield crops!"

"Two thousand six hundred troops. In one year, you expect them to not only survive, but mount a counteroffensive capable of breaking through the main force of tens of thousands of heavily equipped Black Iron Orcs?!"

"Do you realize that not even the Holy Church's most fanatical zealots would believe such a prophecy?! It's pure fantasy, a complete daydream! Even if the Moon Goddess herself descended, it would be an impossible mission!" Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Hearing Elena's piercing, brutally honest words, Leona forced a cold sneer, maintaining a facade of total indifference.

"Cut the pessimistic crap. As long as my soldiers aren't all dead, I'll rip out that old Greenskin Blackstone's throat with my bare teeth before the year is up!" But deep down, Leona knew the truth. Facing a monstrous enemy force that outnumbered them a hundred to one, with zero logistics, zero equipment replacements, and a damned environment that corroded them every waking second... she had indeed bitten the bullet and walked straight into a guaranteed death trap. The atmosphere grew heavy once more.

Time had slipped away since the day the military pledge was signed; two months of her one-year deadline were already gone. Yet, the main force of the Crimson Moon Knights had accomplished nothing more than erecting a few rows of dilapidated barricades in this mud pit. They were surviving on souring potatoes. Let alone reclaiming lost territory and breaking the Orcs, they couldn't even organize a single proactive strike of a thousand men. Leona abruptly turned her back to Elena.

She refused to show even a sliver of exhaustion in front of this rival who had been sent to contest her military authority. However, her faintly trembling hands, clasped behind her back, betrayed her profound inner turmoil. Right now, she was more anxious than anyone else alive! Amidst this overwhelming uncertainty, Leona's mind clung to a single, desperate lifeline: the phantom of a cold, black-haired man. Soren! The Captain of the Crimson Moon Knights' First Vanguard Battalion!

The military genius who, regardless of how hopeless the situation seemed, could employ unheard-of tactics to scheme the Orcs into absolute, gruesome oblivion! Back when they were forced to retreat into the swamp, Soren's detachment had split off to operate and expand independently. If there was a single person in this world who could actually complete this impossible mission within a year, it was Soren! But where the hell did that bastard run off to?! Leona roared anxiously in her heart.

It had been a full month and a half! Even during her intelligence exchanges with Galahad and Gabriel at the Ironwood Fortress, she hadn't been able to pinpoint the brat's base of operations. (To maintain operational secrecy, Galahad had deliberately withheld the location of Soren's Greywater Village). She had dispatched every elite scout within the Crimson Moon Knights to scour this vast, miserable swamp for any trace of him. Yet, her efforts had sunk like stones in the ocean!

Elena watched the remarkably stubborn woman who was holding the line in this desolate swamp. Without her realizing it, her daytime hostility melted into a profound, heavy sigh.

"Commander, if a miracle does not occur... then I can only offer my prayers for you." However, the brooding Leona had no idea that a miracle was already taking place. Deep within the Mist Swamp, on the outer perimeter of Greywater Village's territory. Thick, acidic fog rolled across the murky ground. An elite scout of the Crimson Moon Knights, Falke, had half his body submerged in a fetid mud pit. He was shivering uncontrollably. He had been wandering aimlessly through the swamp for half a month.

His dry rations had run out long ago, his calves were covered in festering, pus-filled boils from venomous insect bites, and his physical endurance was at its absolute limit. Just as Falke resigned himself to dying and rotting into the swamp mud today, from the corner of his eye, he spotted something in the dense fog ahead: a neat, uniform row of sharpened wooden barricades! Human defenses?! A burst of wild ecstasy flooded Falke's chest.

He scrambled frantically out of the mud pit, throwing caution to the wind as he sprinted toward the barricades. But he barely made it ten paces. Swish! Swish! Two faint, sharp whistles sliced through the air, grazing right past his ears. Thwack! Thwack! Two projectiles embedded themselves deeply into a rotting log just inches from his boots. They were blow-darts, gleaming with a sickly, dark-green venom! Falke froze instantly.

A veteran's instinct, honed from years of dancing on the razor's edge of life and death, made every hair on his body stand on end. He slowly raised his head. From the withered fern bushes and mud pits ahead, and even from the branches of the gray trees dozens of feet above, the "mud" seemed to peel away. Silently, over a dozen short, lithe figures materialized into view. Goblins! But Falke was utterly bewildered. These goblins weren't wearing ridiculous, filthy rags.

Every single one of them was clad in uniform leather armor, their eyes radiating a chilling, professional coldness. They didn't shriek or make any chaotic, guttural noises. Instead, they exchanged sharp, precise tactical hand signals. Moving with practiced efficiency, they formed a flawless inverted-triangle formation, locking him in an inescapable encirclement.