Centaur

To express their gratitude for High Mountain Keep's selfless aid, Annie offered two cartloads of goods as a return gift. Richard, blushing, feigned refusal a few times, but ultimately couldn't withstand her sincere enthusiasm and repeated invitations, reluctantly accepting.

He felt awkward asking what was in them while she was present, secretly hoping it was tea cakes, which were valuable hard currency in the wilderness.

However, when the Hum-Ha Duo laboriously pulled the carts up the hill and began unloading them into storage, he was surprised to find that things seemed a bit unexpected.

He slit open a sack with a dagger, and out poured white, pure-smelling powder—refined wheat flour. The cover on the other cart was pulled back to reveal an entire load of black coal. And from the scattered bits and pieces from the other carts, it seemed the entire caravan was carrying only these two types of goods.

Richard stroked his chin, a little perplexed.

Due to the immense demand from pioneering nobles and indigenous peoples, wilderness trade had always been quite prosperous. Goods worth at least several hundred thousand gold coins flowed into the wilderness each spring and autumn, exchanged for large quantities of livestock, furs, and even magical materials on the return journey, making it a very important trade route for the Pompey Empire.

But the types of goods traded in the wilderness had always been very fixed. Tea, cotton cloth, and even smuggled ironware were the most popular and profitable commodities. He had never heard of anyone selling refined wheat flour and coal.

Wilderness folk had no habit of eating flour, and besides, they couldn't afford the price of at least one silver coin per sack. As for coal, no one would even inquire about it; the most common fuel here was dried animal dung, which was inexhaustible.

Even if flour and coal could be sold, the profit would likely be questionable. The Voya Merchant Guild must have extensive trading experience, so why would they make such a choice?

Richard briefly explained these conjectures to the barbarians. The discussion of trade and profit made each of their faces look as pained as suffocating fish, but they still managed to grasp that their leader suspected the caravan.

"So what do we do?" Gunther cupped a handful of white flour, thinking that if he could fry a pancake with it until the edges were slightly crispy, it would surely be fragrant and delicious. It would be even better if he could catch a rabbit for the filling.

"Let's observe for now," Richard waved his hand, urging the ogres to quickly store the goods in the cellar. Whether it's strange or not, once it's in storage, it's mine.

"Tonight, we'll make meat pies. I'm sick of that black bread, it's like rocks."

The barbarians let out a burst of ear-splitting laughter, clamoring their demands for better food. Just then, everyone suddenly heard a sharp, piercing copper whistle blow.

"Alert!"

The barbarian lookout on the roof was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Hah, today really isn't peaceful!" Richard sneered. First goblins, then gnolls, and now who knows what other monstrosities have appeared. The prosperity and chaos of the wilderness truly opened his eyes.

The easy smiles on the barbarians' faces vanished instantly. They grabbed the weapons they had just put down and began to enter a state of readiness for battle, a surging excitement silently spreading among them.

"Follow me!" Richard drew his longsword and swung his arm, leading the barbarians menacingly out of the wooden building.

The scout standing high up was pointing with his spear. The view from the relatively higher hill was extremely wide. Following the direction of the spear tip, they could see vague dark figures slowly advancing towards High Mountain Keep across a boundless, undulating sea of green grass.

Richard squinted, counting twenty-one.

"Can you see clearly?"

"Not very clearly, but it looks like cavalry," Gunther shook his head like a rattle.

A slight stir arose in the caravan camp at the foot of the hill. They had also heard the scout's warning, but their poor visibility prevented them from seeing where the danger came from. A light-armored skirmisher tried to go up the hill to scout but was held back by the barbarians with gazes colder than blades.

Hyenas weren't fit to associate with the Mighty Lion; this group of burly brutes had never thought highly of these mercenaries!

As time passed, the dark figures drew closer to High Mountain Keep, and more details became clear.

They weren't cavalry, but it was understandable that Gunther mistook them for such. They had the same four limbs and body as a horse, but a human upper body grew from their neck—these were Centaurs.

Centaurs were recognized as a powerful combat race. Physicians, through dissection, found that most of their internal organs were located within their horse body, and the human part, aside from the head, was almost entirely composed of muscle and bone, making them much stronger than humans of comparable size.

Their unique body structure gave them both the charge of cavalry and the flexibility of infantry. Adult warriors often possessed excellent archery skills. This made Centaur tactical organization extremely flexible and varied; they could act as skirmishers, harassing with bows, and when the time was right, immediately switch to close-quarters combat.

In the northwest of the Pompey Empire, the continuous raids by large Centaur tribes were even difficult for regular legions to handle.

But…

Richard cracked sunflower seeds, the discarded shells carried away by the wind into the grass, vanishing in an instant.

To attack High Mountain Keep with only twenty-one Centaurs was undoubtedly the most preposterous pipe dream. Anyone with such arrogant thoughts would only receive an unforgettable lesson today.

"Javelin."

Immediately, a barbarian handed a javelin to their lord. Richard took it, weighed it twice in his hand, and then threw it with great force towards the Centaurs.

At this moment, the two sides were at least four hundred paces apart, a distance that exceeded even the effective range of a siege ballista. For Richard's ranged weapon skill, a direct hit would truly be a miracle.

The thrown javelin cut an unusually flat arc, striking the ground three hundred paces away with a thud, kicking up a spray of dirt.

This was called "shooting an arrow as a boundary," representing a warning—once the boundary marked by the arrow was crossed, there would be no more buffer between the two sides; they would directly enter a state of full-scale war.

The Centaurs clearly saw this and understood its meaning, but they continued to advance, though their speed became slower.

Richard's eyes narrowed, his eyeballs slowly rotating as they followed the Centaurs' steps.

As they approached the fallen javelin, the leading Centaur suddenly picked up a gray, tattered piece of cloth. Then, as if gaining some assurance, it pulled out the javelin and continued to advance slowly.

"What are they doing?" Richard thought it looked like some kind of traditional sorcery, but even so, it couldn't be underestimated. While shamans in the wilderness were primitive, there were still powerful individuals who truly mastered the mysteries of elemental forces.

This inconspicuous cloth might be some kind of magic amplification.

"It looks like a white flag…" Gunther said uncertainly.