Half-Elf

Richard spurred the scale-covered beast, and as it swept past the outer perimeter, its hardened scales, enhanced by speed, acted like sharp blades. They carved countless small, mouth-like wounds into the flesh they grazed. At the same time, he slightly adjusted the direction of his lance; with a heavy thrust, a Gnoll was impaled on it like a skewer.

The frenzied Gnolls had long since lost all reason. Some even brandished their weapons, attempting to chase Richard, only to be easily picked off one by one by his lance.

Most of the others showed no reaction, continuing to fight fiercely with the mercenaries within the wagon formation like wild beasts. The most deranged even discarded their weapons, resorting to claws and fangs to fight. They paid no heed even when blades pierced their chests, desperately biting at their enemies' flesh and blood, like fiends from hell.

The bloody exchange between the mercenaries and the Gnolls began to reach its peak. The outnumbered mercenaries showed a clear tendency to collapse. The Gnolls' continuous body slams even caused the wedged wagons to slowly retreat, tearing the deeply embedded stakes from the ground!

Gunther had never seen Gnolls during his time in the Far North Ice Plains, but at this moment, with a hunter's keen intuition, he discerned some cleverness. He led his kin in a charge, their momentum like tigers, but then, twenty paces away, he suddenly slowed to a halt, calmly drawing the throwing spears from his back and gripping them.

The frenzied brains of the Gnolls showed no reaction to this. They continued their tireless assault on the wagon formation, completely unaware that deadly danger was approaching.

The barbarians displayed a simple smile, like old farmers gazing at a ripe wheat field, content with their harvest.

Aim, power up, throw.

Their muscles were as perfect as classical heroic sculptures, infused with wild power by the icy winds of the Far North. A dense rain of throwing spears rose into the sky, reaching their apex before plummeting down like diving falcons hunting their prey.

Then came the second wave, the third wave…

The barbarians often used massed spear throws to hunt thick-skinned mammoths, even capable of shattering hard volcanic rock. The sounds of blades piercing flesh rang out continuously. Three full waves, one hundred and fifty spears, launched calmly from twenty paces behind, retained unimaginable power and accuracy, instantly delivering a devastating blow to the Gnolls.

The sharp points pierced through torsos; even those wearing armor found it difficult to resist. The mercenary guards, on the verge of breaking, instantly felt a sense of relief.

Even the most fervent fighting spirit would be drowned by blood and death. The Gnolls' sanity began to regain the upper hand, but it was too late. The barbarians rushed forward, vying with each other, delivering the final, merciful blows.

"Tsk." Richard watched the entire process.

Twenty paces on a battlefield was practically face-to-face; any adult Gnoll could cover that distance in the blink of an eye. Yet the barbarians stood at that distance, leisurely lining up to throw their spears, even having the leisure to organize them into neat waves.

The battlefield situation was ever-changing, and this behavior was a waste of time! It was squandering lives! It was utterly amateurish!

But the Gnolls, just a step away, showed no reaction to this and were truly overwhelmed by such a ridiculous attack.

He shook his head, unsure what to say about it. Moderate belligerence might help improve combat effectiveness, but being as warlike as the Gnolls only ensured they would be played for fools. The barbarians' tactic of spear throwing followed by a lance charge was very simple, yet it proved consistently effective against the natives of the wilderness.

This battle yielded a significant amount of experience, and the barbarians, who had already accumulated considerable experience, began to be promoted in large numbers. A total of sixteen Barbarian Spearmen were promoted to Barbarian Warriors, and one Barbarian Warrior who had previously been promoted was again promoted to the Level 5 unit, Barbarian Great Axe Warrior.

The people were still the same, but the overall increase in rank elevated High Mountain Keep's military strength to a new level.

The improvements brought by each promotion of system soldiers were enormous. Fifty Barbarian Spearmen and fifty Barbarian Warriors were completely different concepts; the former could only be described as decent, while the latter could be considered a dominant force in the wilderness.

The Gnolls who had plundered the caravan were finished; the crisis was averted.

But the mercenaries still hadn't lowered their weapons, their eyes as vigilant as before. The skirmishers even quietly re-strung their crossbows.

This famous weapon had an effective range of over three hundred paces, and within fifty paces, combined with heavy armor-piercing arrowheads, it could even penetrate plate armor. Its only drawback was its expense, making it very popular among mercenaries, perfect for a sudden, sneaky attack.

The barbarians couldn't stand this and grumbled, wanting to retaliate, but Richard stopped them.

The mercenaries' concerns weren't unfounded—the Gnolls had been defeated by them, but in the lawless wilderness, an enemy's enemy wasn't necessarily a friend. It wasn't just the natives who acted as ordinary folk by day and bandits by night; humans also enjoyed making easy money, perhaps even more so.

However, understanding didn't mean he didn't mind. Richard stood with his arms crossed, looking down at the stern-faced mercenaries, a cold smile on his face. Windchaser, even unladen, was heavier than a fully loaded wagon. A single full-speed charge could shatter the wagon formation, so what was the point of adopting a defensive stance?

Perhaps even moonlighting as a bandit wouldn't be unacceptable.

"Lower your weapons. You have proven your bravery."

The hooded archer on the carriage roof jumped to the ground, moving with remarkable agility. He unslung his bow and the dagger from his leg, handing them to a nearby mercenary, and as he walked towards Richard, he pulled back the hood that had covered his head.

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

Richard prided himself on his extensive experience, having seen countless natural and artificial beauties, and thus possessed some resistance to charm. Yet, he couldn't help but be slightly entranced by her starry eyes.

"I am Pioneering Baron Richard, the master of High Mountain Keep." He sat upright on Windchaser's back, prentending to nod slightly, adopting the air of a noble lord.

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

Annie's features were exceptionally fair and delicate. She had shoulder-length, golden-brown hair styled into an asymmetrical cut, all swept to one side, revealing an ear that was significantly more pointed than an ordinary person's.

—Clearly a Half-Elf trait; she was a mixed-blood descendant of humans and elves.

While the Pompeii government hadn't bothered to create a "Top Ten Merchant Guilds" ranking, among the populace, the Voya Merchant Guild was indeed recognized as one of the top three famous merchant guilds in the Northeastern Province, having long monopolized the local timber and tea trades.

It was rumored that they also had close ties with the elves, a fact that could be confirmed by Annie's presence.

"It's nothing. My subordinates are the finest warriors; mere Gnolls are insignificant." Richard displayed what he believed to be his most handsome and dashing smile.

Beside him, Gunther turned his face away, grimacing. His lord's tone was so different from usual, it made him feel as if he'd caught fleas, utterly disgusted.