Half-Elf

Richard urged the fully armored beast across the outskirts. With the speed enhancement, the edges of its hard scales were like sharp blades, carving countless tiny mouth-like wounds into any flesh they brushed against. At the same time, he slightly adjusted the direction of his lance. His hand sank, and a gnoll was skewered onto it like meat on a skewer.

The maddened gnolls had long since lost all reason. Some even swung their weapons and tried to chase Richard, only for him to effortlessly pick them off one by one with his lance.

Most of the rest showed no reaction at all, continuing to fight the mercenaries around the wagon formation like beasts. The most frenzied ones even threw down their weapons and began fighting with their claws and fangs instead. Even when swords pierced their chests, they paid no heed, biting into their enemies' flesh without concern for their own lives, like fiends of unparalleled viciousness from the depths of hell.

The bloody clash between mercenaries and gnolls reached its peak, and the outnumbered mercenaries showed faint signs of collapse. The gnolls' relentless full-body impacts even caused the wedged wagons to slowly retreat. The stakes driven deep into the ground were smashed apart by sheer force!

Gunther had never encountered gnolls in the Far North Ice Plains, but his hunter's keen instincts allowed him to grasp the trick. He led his kinsmen forward with the momentum of tigers, yet suddenly slowed to a stop twenty paces away. Then, completely at ease, he pulled the throwing spears from his back and gripped them in his hands.

The maddened minds of the gnolls showed no reaction whatsoever. They continued tirelessly besieging the wagon formation, utterly unaware that deadly danger was closing in.

The barbarians wore simple, honest smiles, like old farmers gazing upon a ripe field of wheat and feeling satisfied with the harvest.

Aim, gather strength, throw.

Their muscles were as perfect as those of classical hero statues, while the freezing winds of the Far North had infused them with savage power. A dense rain of throwing spears rose into the air. After reaching their highest point, they suddenly plunged downward like falcons diving upon their prey.

Then came the second wave, the third...

The barbarians often hunted thick-skinned mammoths with massed spear throws, and could even shatter solid volcanic rock. The sounds of blades entering flesh rang out without pause. In three full waves, one hundred and fifty throwing spears were launched leisurely from twenty paces behind them, retaining unimaginable power and accuracy. In an instant, they dealt the gnolls a devastating blow.

The sharp spearheads pierced their torsos. Even armor could hardly stop them. The caravan mercenaries, who were already on the verge of collapse, suddenly found the space before them clear.

No matter how fiercely burning their battle spirit, it would eventually be drowned by blood and death. The gnolls' reason began to reclaim the high ground, but it was already too late. The barbarians rushed forward one after another and delivered the final blades of mercy.

"Tsk." Richard watched the entire process.

Twenty paces was practically face-to-face on a battlefield. Any adult gnoll needed only the blink of an eye to cross that distance. Yet the barbarians had stood there at such a range, leisurely forming ranks and throwing their spears, even finding the time to arrange their attacks into orderly waves.

Battlefield conditions could change in the blink of an eye. This behavior was wasting time! Squandering lives! It was the behavior of complete rookies!

Yet the gnolls, only a step away, had shown no reaction at all and had genuinely been beaten down by this joke of an attack.

He shook his head, not knowing what to say. A moderate taste for battle might help improve combat ability, but being as warlike as the gnolls meant they were destined to be toyed with like fools. The barbarians' tactics of throwing spears before charging with lances were extremely simple, but against the wilderness natives, they had proven effective time and time again.

This battle had brought in a great deal of experience. The barbarians, who had already accumulated quite a bit, began advancing in batches. Sixteen Barbarian Spearmen advanced to Barbarian Warriors, while another Barbarian Warrior who had advanced previously rose once more, becoming the level-five unit Barbarian Great Axe Warrior.

They were still the same people, but the increase in their overall tiers instantly elevated High Mountain Keep's military strength to another level.

Every advancement of a system soldier brought enormous improvements. Fifty Barbarian Spearmen and fifty Barbarian Warriors were completely different concepts. The former could only be called decent, while the latter could already be considered a regional overlord in the wilderness.

The gnolls who had raided the caravan were finished, and the crisis was over.

But the mercenaries still did not lower their weapons. Their eyes remained as wary as before, and the skirmishers even quietly restrung their arbalests.

This famous weapon had an effective range of over three hundred paces. Within fifty paces, fitted with heavy armor-piercing arrowheads, it could even shoot through Plate Armor. Aside from being expensive, it had no other flaws and had always been popular among mercenaries. It was perfect for sneaking in a sudden, dirty shot.

The barbarians could not stand for this. Cursing, they grabbed their weapons and prepared to attack, but Richard stopped them.

The mercenaries' concern was not without reason. They had defeated the gnolls, but in the lawless wilderness, the enemy of one's enemy was not necessarily a friend. Humans who acted as law-abiding citizens by day and bandits by night were not limited to the natives. Humans also loved unearned profits—and perhaps loved them even more.

Understanding them did not mean he had to tolerate it. Richard folded his arms and looked down at the stern-faced mercenaries with a cold smile. Windchaser beneath him was even heavier than a fully loaded wagon. One full-speed charge would be enough to scatter the wagon formation, so what meaning was there in putting on a defensive stance?

Perhaps making a brief appearance as a bandit would not be unacceptable, either.

"Lower your weapons. You've already proven your valor."

The cloaked archer on top of the wagon leaped to the ground, his movements exceptionally light. He removed his bow and the dagger from his leg and handed them to a nearby mercenary. Then, as he walked toward Richard, he lifted the hood that had covered his head the entire time.

It was a woman—and a remarkably beautiful one at that.

Richard prided himself on being well-traveled and knowledgeable. He had seen all kinds of naturally beautiful and artificially enhanced women, giving him some resistance to beauty. Even so, he could not help but lose himself for a moment in those starry-sky eyes.

"I am Richard, the Pioneering Baron and lord of High Mountain Keep." Sitting upright on Windchaser's back, he gave a slightly affected nod and put on the airs of a noble lord.

"I am Annie, a merchant of the Voya Merchant Guild. Thank you for your selfless assistance."

Annie's features were exceptionally fair and delicate. Her golden-brown, shoulder-length hair was styled asymmetrically, combed entirely to one side and revealing an ear far sharper than an ordinary human's on the other.

They were obvious Half-Elf traits. She was a mixed-blood descendant of humans and elves.

Although Pompeii's authorities had not been bored enough to create some ranking of the ten greatest merchant guilds, among the people, the Voya Merchant Guild was indeed recognized as one of the top three famous merchant guilds in the Northeastern Province. It had long monopolized the local timber and tea trade.

Rumor had it that they also had close ties with the elves. Annie standing before him was proof enough of that.

"It's nothing. My subordinates are the finest warriors, and mere gnolls are nothing worth mentioning." Richard revealed what he considered his most handsome and dashing smile.

Beside him, Gunther turned his face away and silently curled his lips. His lord's tone was completely different from usual, making him feel as uncomfortable as if lice were crawling all over him.