"The natives are trying to organize a coalition army. This is their invitation." A faint breeze stirred across the wilderness, blowing Hert's wild, long hair in the wind.
His tone was grave, but the gravity failed to infect Richard.
"Well, they're pretty capable." Richard grinned. He was considering whether, if the natives really managed to organize themselves, it would be more appropriate to call them a coalition army or a bandit gathering.
By common sense, aside from joining forces to rob others when they had no other choice, the natives rarely had any opportunity to unite.
"My lord, before you arrived, a group of kobolds lived here. Their leader was a rare Kobold Shaman who wielded the power of fire elements, knew divination, and was also highly skilled in herbal medicine. He held tremendous prestige among the surrounding tribes." Hert pointed toward the wooden tower on the hill.
Richard suddenly understood. When he had first arrived, he had been puzzled as to why such an excellent place in every regard had been occupied by a group of kobolds. Now, everything made sense.
The scarcity of medical skills in the wilderness was self-evident. So the kobolds had actually possessed a highly versatile professional.
"After the tribe was dealt a heavy blow, the shaman held a grudge and used his prestige to summon a coalition of tribes. Their target is—" Hert paused before continuing, "you!"
"Me?" Richard's expression instantly became wonderfully animated.
"Yes. The natives of the wilderness have always rejected outsiders, especially nobles from Pompeii. It's a long-standing tradition. Once outsiders establish a foothold, they will encroach on the space the natives need to survive."
"Then what about you..." Richard scrutinized the centaurs without blinking.
"We're wandering spirits forced to leave our homeland. We were unwilling to sink into the wilderness and join the natives, allowing our descendants to become bandits and criminals. The Gale Clan is willing to join High Mountain Keep. From this day forth, we will raise our blades in your honor." After Hert finished speaking, the faint, chaotic sound of hooves rang out as twenty-one centaurs stepped back and pressed their fists to their chests.
The display caught Richard completely off guard, but he quickly nodded. "On behalf of High Mountain Keep, I welcome you to our ranks."
Someone else might have suspected that this was a double agent ploy by the natives, but Richard had no such concern at all.
It only took a little thought to understand—the system's acceptance criteria certainly weren't limited to verbal loyalty. Anyone harboring hostility who pretended to pledge allegiance would inevitably fail. Since he had already received the centaurs' applications to join the ranks, that was enough to prove they weren't a bunch of treacherous turncoats.
This was an invisible benefit brought by the system. In the future, High Mountain Keep would become a place where there was no need to worry about spies or infiltrators.
He led the centaurs up the hill. The barbarians were quite enthusiastic, taking turns high-fiving their new comrades in welcome.
A single lie often took ten thousand lies to cover up.
Since Richard had once deceived the barbarians with dough balls disguised as potions, he now had no choice but to put on the full act and deceive the centaurs as well. He returned to his room and counted out the remaining pills like counting beans—twenty-one in all—then handed them to Gunther and had him demonstrate their effects.
That would make the effect better. More importantly, it would spare someone a slight pang of conscience.
Richard watched as several barbarians dazzled the centaurs with a torrent of persuasive nonsense. Only after the centaurs swallowed the pills, half excited and half doubtful, did they pass their applications to join the ranks one after another.
Compared with the barbarians' simple and brutal path of heavily armored infantry focused on close combat, the centaurs had far richer advancement potential. Starting from the lowest tier, the Centaur Herdsman, the progression went upward through the Centaur Recruit and then the Centaur Guard.
Further advancement led to two branches. One was the Centaur Skirmisher and Centaur Eagle Archer path, filling a role similar to human mounted archers. The other was the Centaur Shock Lancer and Centaur Vanguard path, equivalent to Heavy Cavalry.
Once this versatile troop tree, capable of fighting at both long and short range and equally suited to mounted or foot combat, took shape, it would greatly enrich High Mountain Keep's military composition and completely change its current awkward situation of lacking cavalry and relying on javelins for ranged attacks.
What disappointed Richard slightly was that the centaurs' abilities were far too uneven.
When the barbarians had first joined, every one of them had been a level-three soldier, and their combat power had already been quite impressive. But the twenty centaurs were divided into three tiers—two level-three Centaur Guards, nine level-two Centaur Recruits, and the rest were all fresh Centaur Herdsmen.
At this level, they were only slightly stronger than militia. Their combat ability relied almost entirely on their racial talents. Even an adult herdsman who had never trained in Martial Arts would have no trouble taking on two skilled human soldiers.
As a hero, however, Hert was on par with Gunther and even possessed a fairly high Trading skill. His honest, simple expression certainly didn't give that away. People who looked honest often dealt the most vicious blows when they decided to cheat someone.
Richard saw the people in the distant caravan camp pacing about uneasily. The drivers had even harnessed the horses to the wagons, but they still hadn't made up their minds to leave.
They had heard the sentries' warning, yet still had no idea what had happened. They didn't know where the suddenly appearing centaurs had come from, nor whether High Mountain Keep's attitude toward them had changed again. They were as anxious as prisoners awaiting judgment.
Richard waved vigorously toward the camp, signaling for them to come over quickly. The situation had yet to be settled, but Annie took a deep breath and walked toward the hill. Four or five brave mercenaries then chose to follow and protect their employer.
The barbarians blocking the way automatically parted to make a path for Annie and One-Eyed Dragon. When the third person tried to follow, however, two barbarians shoved him from both sides with their shoulders. He staggered back several steps before losing his balance and landing hard on his backside.
"Stay there!" The barbarians laughed unabashedly.
The centaurs didn't know why the barbarians were laughing, but they joined in with wild laughter anyway. The combined laughter of so many brawny men was practically earthshaking. The remaining mercenaries' expressions shifted uncertainly. Their hands gripped their weapons so tightly that their knuckles turned white, but in the end, none dared draw them.
"Be more polite to our guests." Richard rolled his eyes.
The two barbarians exchanged glances and sighed at the same time. One helped the fallen mercenary up, while the other brushed the dust and grass from his clothes. "We didn't mean to, sorry for the trouble, brother."
"Miss Annie." Richard entered the wooden tower with Gunther and Hert and said in a low voice, "High Mountain Keep may soon face a war—a war with the natives."
"Soon? How soon?" The sudden news changed the Half-Elf's expression.
The caravan could only remain in High Mountain Keep and seek its protection for now. Being dragged into a war that had nothing to do with them was naturally not what Annie wanted.
"It's time for dinner. Let's talk while we eat." Richard took the seat of honor at the head of the long table in the hall.
When Gunther heard that there was food, he casually dragged over a chair and sat down. Annie and One-Eyed Dragon could only suppress their questions and silently sit on the other side. Hert couldn't use a human chair, so the centaur settled directly on the floor. He was about as high as everyone else who was seated.
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