Chương 106: The Northern Expedition

The grand coronation address concluded, and Li Qinwu strode down from the sweeping stone battlements. Following his official ascension to the throne, his maximum personal party size capacity had achieved a terrifying leap, skyrocketing to a massive 310 system troops. To capitalize on this, he ordered the 2, 500 armored Goblins in the courtyard to lock into brutal, one-on-one sparring matches.

The individual victors who emerged from these duels were instantly selected to serve as non-commissioned officers, whom Li Qinwu then formally bound via system recruitment. Through this methodical deployment of systemic oversight, he established absolute, seamless control over the entire common host. Yet, the strategic boons of proclaiming his kingdom expanded far beyond a simple numeric quota. Diving back into his clan management interface, Li Qinwu navigated directly to his companions.

His current inner circle comprised Shaman Doggy, Miss Hana, the Crimson Queen, and the lingering spirit of Western Hayden. As a Tier 3 Clan, his sovereign house possessed the legitimate right to field three entirely independent companion parties. Without a moment's delay, he formally designated Shaman Doggy, Miss Hana, and the spectral Western Hayden as autonomous field commanders, ordering them to establish independent parties and immediately conscript the surrounding heavy Hobgoblins to fill their ranks.

In the mechanics of Mount & Blade II, a companion NPC's maximum troop capacity was dictated entirely by their personal Leadership and Stewardship skills. Shaman Doggy, having formerly served as the supreme chieftain of a massive wilderness tribe, possessed exceptionally high default ratings in both attributes; to Li Qinwu's pleasant surprise, the old Shaman could independently field a party of 150 men!

On the other hand, the capacities of Miss Hana and Western Hayden were considerably more modest, capping at 65 and 75 men respectively. Given that both individuals were highly specialized assets tailored exclusively for magical arts and aristocratic diplomacy, it was entirely natural that their military parameters were lacking. Regardless of their limitations, this tactical reorganization instantly granted Li Qinwu a combined pool of nearly 300 secondary system troops.

On the battlefield, these 300 unconditionally loyal, fear-immune vanguard assets could be deployed at the absolute tip of the spear, served as anchors whose suicidal bravery would easily ignite the faltering courage of the surrounding common conscripts. Outside the grand gates of the Governor's Manor, the 2, 500 heavy Hobgoblins fought viciously to secure their martial authority.

Once the internal hierarchy settled, Li Qinwu systematically organized the individual victors into an officer corps of company commanders and platoon leaders. He restructured his heavy infantry into 25 newly minted combat companies. Combined with the original 10 veteran companies of the Punisher Army, his primary strike host comprised 35 companies, totaling 3, 500 heavily armored troops.

He slated their departure for the following dawn, marching directly north to violently sever one of the approaching noble contingents before they could merge! Before setting out, Li Qinwu marched his inner circle toward the city's massive central storehouses.

He intended to completely fill his systemic inventory slots with thousands of rations; by utilizing the system's infinite carrying capacity, his physical army would be completely unburdened by lumbering supply trains, allowing them to march across the terrain in a hyper-mobile, lightning-fast strike formation. However, before he could take more than a dozen steps down the avenue, a figure suddenly barred his path.

The severely disfigured Goblin, tightly holding the hand of his dazed Leopard-kin mother, dropped heavily to his knees directly before Li Qinwu's feet.

"Y-Your... Your Majesty..." the disfigured youth stammered, awkwardly mimicking the formal titles he had overheard the surrounding soldiers use.

"Oh? It is you," Li Qinwu halted, immediately recognizing the unique Goblin who had first demonstrated that his race was capable of experiencing genuine, selfless love. Intrigued by this anomaly, he had previously sequestered the youth and his mother within the secure sectors of the Governor's Manor to facilitate closer observation, though his continuous absences during the sweeping campaigns had prevented him from gathering any significant data.

The disfigured Goblin swallowed hard, his entire frame trembling violently under the primal, instinctual dread that any lower Goblin felt when standing before an absolute apex predator. Li Qinwu was, without a doubt, the most terrifyingly powerful entity he had ever laid eyes upon; his gleaming armor, masterwork firearms, and supreme social status left him completely awe-inspiring. Yet, for the sake of his mother, the youth steeled his resolve and forced out his core request.

"Your Majesty! I want to enlist... I want to join the Punisher Army!" Li Qinwu blinked, momentarily taken aback. He had specifically placed the youth and his mother within the manor out of a rare surge of personal sentimentality, shielding him from the meat-grinder conditioning of the standard military barracks. He had never anticipated that the boy's personal resolve would be so profound as to actively volunteer for the vanguard.

"Have you thoroughly weighed the consequences?" Li Qinwu inquired, his voice dropping into a solemn register.

"The military law of the Union is merciless. There are times when, even if you commit no errors yourself, you will still perish brutally due to the raw stupidity of the soldier standing next to you." The disfigured Goblin's expression remained unyielding. Gripping his mother's hand with white knuckles, he looked directly into Li Qinwu's eyes for the very first time.

"Your Majesty! I am certain! I must join! I have watched the drills through the palisades every single day; I know I can endure the training!" Li Qinwu pressed further, "Are you truly certain? Do you have any idea how precious the luxury of choice you currently possess is to the thousands of commoners outside these walls?" The youth's response was absolute, devoid of even a shred of hesitation.

"I am certain, Your Majesty. I must enter the Punisher Army! I want to uphold the order of the Union, and I want to protect my mother!" Li Qinwu stared deeply into the youth's eyes for a long moment, sensing the absolute truth behind the words.

"Do you possess a name?"

"My mother calls me Kanda!" the youth responded. In the old Orcish dialect, Kanda translated directly to "Little Beast"—a term of endearment identical to a human mother calling her infant "my sweet baby."

"Very well, Kanda. I shall remember your name. From this moment forth, you are a recognized soldier of the Punisher Army. Gobu Spear!"

"Present, Boss!" the veteran stepped forward instantly.

"Issue him a full set of armor, hand him a standard-issue firearm, and assign him directly to the line of fire. Let him fight within the ranks of the line infantry!" A flash of hesitation rippled across Gobu Spear's face.

"But Boss... he isn't even a Hobgoblin yet. His frame cannot properly absorb the recoil of a heavy firearm. Forcing him into the line infantry right now might turn him into a liability for the company."

"It matters not. I shall bestow the system's grace upon him, accelerating his transition into a Hobgoblin on the spot. Your sole duty is to instruct him on how to become a true piece of the Punisher Army." With a thought, Li Qinwu withdrew a masterwork hand-cannon featuring a +10 damage modifier from his system inventory and placed it firmly into Kanda's hands.

"Kanda, see to it that you do not disappoint me. The Union shall oversee your mother's welfare. Even if you fall upon the field of honor, she will receive full military dependent status—the state will sustain her until the day she passes of old age. That is the exact purpose of the order you have volunteered to defend!" Leaving those final words behind, Li Qinwu turned and strode away. A faint, genuinely pleasant expression graced his features.

Kanda's voluntary enlistment was driven by a conscious desire to protect his kin; if a low-born Goblin could arrive at such an advanced realization of societal duty, it was only a matter of time before the rest of his race followed suit. This validation left him profoundly confident in the ultimate trajectory of the Union. A few days later, deep within the northern territories of Poloia, sat a sprawling woodland known as the Redcedar Woods.

The entire sector was blanketed by massive, ancient redcedars whose foliage transformed into a brilliant, striking crimson during the spring, summer, and autumn seasons. The local human nobility had long frequented these woods for their seasonal autumn hunts, clearing out vast tracts of open ground amidst the dense timber over the centuries. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Currently, this clearing was choked by an endless, sprawling sea of military tents. Numbering in the thousands, a massive coalition army had entrenched itself across the field. This was the combined military might of over thirty regional lords from the northern reaches of Halyun Province, comprising a formidable host of 4, 000 professional heavy soldiers and 8, 000 auxiliary militia conscripts.

They had camped within the timber for over half a month, waiting passively for the military grain promised by Count Fischer to arrive before commencing their grand march south. Today was a magnificent day. A supply train composed of 1, 000 peasant drivers guiding 500 massive Earth-Drake beasts had finally arrived.

These reptilian beasts of burden—each matching the size of a heavy tricycle—pulled massive freight wagons laden with tons of military grain, providing more than enough provisions to sustain the 12, 000-strong host during their southern deployment. The supreme commander of this coalition was Count Mitheus. He received the supply convoy with immense enthusiasm, immediately ordering a grand, all-camp banquet to celebrate.

Following a night of drunken revelry, the entire host would dismantle their tents and march at dawn. However, no sooner had the command for the feast been issued than a scouting messenger burst frantically into the Count's silk command tent.

"My Lord! Disaster! An enemy host has been detected twenty miles due south of the Redcedar Woods!" Count Mitheus, who was currently sipping a goblet of fine red wine, choked violently, coughing crimson droplets across his maps.

"What?! An enemy? Where in the heavens could an enemy come from?!" He genuinely believed his hearing had failed him. Under the current strategic landscape where the entire civilized world had declared war upon them, how could the short-handed monster army possibly possess the sheer audacity to march north?

"My Lord! Our scouts have verified the deployment! The enemy force numbers roughly 3, 000 men, and they are entirely composed of Goblins! They appear to have tracked the heavy wagon ruts left behind by our grain convoy!" Count Mitheus narrowed his eyes, sinking into brief calculation before casting his wine goblet aside with an aristocratic sneer.

"The monster chieftain possesses decent courage to attempt an offensive, but he is a step too late—our grain has already entered the camp. Now, we shall make them pay an absolute price for their slow feet. Assemble the host! Prepare for open battle!" The sharp, piercing blare of military horns echoed across the sprawling encampments. The coalition soldiers, who had spent the last fortnight resting and conserving their strength, reacted with exceptional speed.

They quickly rallied under their respective lords' house banners, drawing up into rigid phalanxes as they awaited the command to advance. Mounted upon a magnificent black warhorse, Count Mitheus rode to the vanguard of the massed battalions, shouting to his assembled vassals:"Gentlemen! Just moments ago, my scouts informed me that a contingent of monsters has dared to march out from the gates of Poloia, extending their reach north into our very homelands!

Furthermore, their total strength numbers a mere three thousand!"

"Hahaha!! I am firmly convinced that the chieftain of these monsters has completely lost his mind!" The surrounding lords burst into dutiful, mocking laughter.

"My friends, this monstrous host clearly intended to intercept our supply train, but their movements were far too sluggish. Now, the tables have turned! Once you have eaten your fill and drunk your wine, we shall ensure that not a single one of them returns alive! See to it that your blades move swiftly—the enemy has brought only three thousand heads, so secure your kills properly to claim your military merits before Count Fischer!!"

The nobles roared with laughter, unsheathing their sabers and longswords in a raucous display of martial enthusiasm. They had spent half a month lounging in the woods out of sheer boredom; to have a wealth of easy military merit delivered directly to their doorstep was a magnificent turn of events! Having successfully whipped the aristocracy into a competitive frenzy, Count Mitheus leveled his longsword toward the horizon.

"Advance! We shall annihilate them within the Cedar Glade!" The so-called Cedar Glade was a massive, natural clearing nestled deep within the dense redcedar forest. Amidst the tightly packed timber sat a sweeping corridor measuring roughly 700 meters in width and 3 kilometers in length. Due to its unique, localized topography, it served as a flawless, natural battlefield that had played host to countless private feuds between rival lords over the centuries.

Because the dense redcedar growth made it physically impossible to conceal or maneuver large military formations within the tree line, both opposing armies were forced to deploy their numbers openly across the clearing. The engagement would be a pure test of heavy armor, martial discipline, and raw physical strength—tactical trickery and complex stratagems were entirely useless here.

When Count Mitheus guided his host into the throat of the Cedar Glade, he discovered to his slight irritation that the monstrous army had actually beaten them to the location. Drawn up into pristine, geometric blocks, the Goblins stood waiting in perfect silence, their lines completely formed.

"Form ranks! Form ranks! Draw up the phalanxes!" Mitheus bellowed, initiating his standard tactical deployment. His battalions moved into position with practiced ease, quickly locking into an array of heavy infantry squares. The host he commanded numbered a full 12, 000 men, 4, 000 of whom were career professional soldiers fully encased from head to toe in airtight steel plate.

While the remaining 8, 000 militia conscripts were considerably less impressive, every man had at least been issued a proper spear and a padded gambeson. Yet, as the Count focused his spyglass across the field to scrutinize the monster army, a sharp jolt of alarm struck his chest. The entire front rank of the Goblin host was completely encased in heavy human plate armor.

Armed in uniform fashion with massive tower shields, broadswords, battleaxes, and heavy morningstars, their sheer visual weight was profoundly unsettling.

"Damn it all! That equipment was unquestionably plundered from the Poloia Garrison! Those absolute incompetent fools! How could they allow so much masterwork steel to fall into the hands of base monsters?!" Count Mitheus raged internally. As a native of Halyun Province, seeing the region's premium military assets turned against them filled him with immense bitterness.

"Pass my command! Advance the lines in a single, continuous surge! Overwhelm them beneath our numbers!" WOOOO— WOOOO— WOOOO— The deep, guttural blare of human war horns reverberated through the glade. The human phalanxes commenced their advance, a massive wall of 12, 000 men rolling forward in a grand, heavy wave.

The rhythmic crash of thousands of iron-shod boots coupled with the metallic screech of grinding plate armor created a deafening, terrifying wall of sound—an auditory display of raw power that would cause any poorly disciplined army to instantly break and flee. The noble lords at the vanguard began to exchange lighthearted jests, even placing casual wagers on whether the monster army would turn and scatter the moment the distance closed.

Yet, to their profound disappointment, the monstrous host stood pinned to the earth like ancient stones. They remained completely motionless, refusing to emit even a single stray sound. This absolute, eerie silence caused a tremor of unease to ripple through a few of the more experienced nobles.

Because the lesser lords were desperately attempting to ensure their conscript lines did not fracture during the advance, the human host moved at an exceptionally slow, deliberate pace—almost akin to taking a casual stroll, halting every few dozen paces to realign their formatting. Perhaps finding the human advance to be unacceptably sluggish, the monstrous army suddenly opened their mouths and began to sing. The melody was staggeringly resonant.

Though sung by a force of 3, 000, the vocal execution was so immaculately synchronized that it sounded as though a single, titan-sized throat had flung open to roar across the glade. This was the unmistakable hallmark of rigorous, long-term discipline. A wave of sharp commotion rippled through the human ranks—the monsters were executing a formal military anthem! Although the nobility could not comprehend the guttural syntax of the Goblin tongue, they recognized the underlying implications.

The capacity to execute a perfectly synchronized choral anthem across thousands of throats was an exceptionally advanced military trait; it proved that the army possessed unyielding discipline, that the individual soldiers maintained absolute trust in the collective, and that their internal coordination was flawless. The smiles rapidly faded from the nobles' faces. Left profoundly unsettled, they turned their heads toward Count Mitheus's staff.

Standing beside the supreme commander was a high-tier court mage; the wizard cupped his hand to his ear, channeled a localized translation spell, and repeated the translated lyrics aloud to the surrounding aristocracy line by line:"Raise up the musket to shatter the line, Fix the cold steel where the horsemen align. Souls bound together beneath the Round Star, Bleeding as one for the Union afar. High flies the banner across the dark sky, Sons of the Forest, our Union stands high!

Ogres shall smash through the vanguard ahead, Spider-clad riders where cowards have fled. Freedom belongs to the fearless and bold, Fight for your brother till bodies turn cold. Born of the Union, for Order we stand, Never retreating while steel's in our hand! Never succumbing until we are slain, Armor and musket shall silence the pain. Gorget and plate shield our flesh from the blow, March with the line, we shall fear no foe!" Hearing the translation, the expressions of the aristocracy turned incredibly bizarre.

A minor lord inquired with a tremor of confusion, "Is... is that a legitimate military anthem?" The surrounding lords remained completely silent. Weren't monsters supposed to be chaotic, feral, and utterly barbaric creatures? How could such abominations possibly possess a formalized military culture and a national anthem? Count Mitheus let out a cold, dismissive snort.

"What does it matter if they can sing? The jesters in my court can sing as well. Look closely—our main lines have already closed the gap. The moment contact is made, those wretched creatures will dissolve like morning snow!" Across the blood-red glade, the human phalanxes completed their agonizingly slow advance. Maintaining a pristine, unbroken wall of steel, they locked into position a mere twenty meters from the Goblin front lines.

At this extreme proximity, the soldiers of both armies could clearly see the whites of each other's eyes through the narrow slits of their visors.