Bearfolk Night Raid on the Dwarf Tribe

The current situation was about a hundred Bearfolk, leading four to five hundred Rabbit-headed Humanoids, fiercely attacking a ten-yard-long breach in the wall.

Richard couldn't see the exact number of Dwarf warriors from his vantage point, but since they were in a stalemate with the Bearfolk, there were likely around two to three hundred of them.

Richard lowered his binoculars and turned back to the warriors of High Mountain Keep, grinning to reveal a mouthful of white teeth.

In the pitch-black night, he looked like a beast ready to devour its prey.

"Get ready, it's our turn to shine."

Richard drew an exaggeratedly large two-handed greatsword from his back and gripped it.

He had realized it after the last battle: a battlefield wasn't a boxing ring. Destructive power, with its wide, sweeping movements, was far more important than agile, swift techniques.

Using a weapon weighing only a few pounds, like a common Pompeii warrior, was a complete waste of his divine strength. So, Richard had a blacksmith forge him this super-heavy sword, whose blade alone was half a man's height and a palm's width.

His previous Starfall Refined Steel sword, named Dragon Slayer, had been melted down and incorporated into the new sword to further increase its weight and hardness.

As a result, the new sword weighed an astonishing seventy-two pounds, roughly the same as the Kobold Nehru's body weight.

The lord's talent for naming things was truly lacking, so the new sword was still called Dragon Slayer. If the previous Dragon Slayer had a slight hint of clickbait, this one at least seemed very plausible.

Once a weapon's weight crossed a certain critical point, sharpness became irrelevant. The sheer inertia carried by its swing alone was enough to shatter a target made of hardwood the width of a person.

Therefore, this greatsword wasn't sharpened at all, embodying a true holy style.

Behind him, the Barbarian warriors spread out into a battle formation on either side.

The Far North Ice Plains were a land vastly different from Pompeii, sometimes experiencing a magical polar night that lasted up to half a year. The Barbarians whose ancestors lived there had to learn to live and fight in the dark, so their night vision was among the best in the entire human lineage, making a night battle completely effortless for them.

In contrast, the Centaurs were somewhat fumbling in the dark. These excellent archers could only see a surging mass of shadows at this moment and couldn't aim or shoot at all, destined to play a supporting role.

Richard charged at the very front, wielding his greatsword, followed by the equally silent Barbarians.

The distance between the two sides was only a few hundred yards. At full charge, this meant only tens of breaths remained until engagement.

The Rabbit-headed Humanoids' large ears proved useful. They detected the anomaly from the unusual footsteps before their liege, and immediately began to shriek.

Their voices were harsh and unpleasant, but for the Bear warriors, this was a life-saving warning, allowing them to turn and face the enemy before the attack landed.

Charging in the dark was still too difficult. The Barbarians hadn't been able to maintain their usual training formation, resulting in a chaotic clash of chaos against chaos.

A yellowish-brown halo of light descended from mid-air, enveloping the Barbarians in the front. They immediately felt a sudden heaviness, and their skin perception became somewhat dull—this was the Stone Skin spell cast by the Ogre Shaman, Humph.

There was no need for probing or questioning; this battle ignited with the ferocity of lightning striking dry tinder from the very start.

"Aoooo!" The leading Bear warrior, one of the few elites clad in iron armor, let out an earth-shattering roar like a wild beast, swinging a rusty iron axe down towards Richard's head.

The lord had no intention of retreating whatsoever. He roared back, swinging his weapon towards the opponent's skull.

The moment the greatsword and iron axe collided in the night sky, there was a thunderous explosion. The sudden burst of sparks was so dazzling it even stung eyes accustomed to the darkness.

Richard's tiger's mouth went numb, and blood streamed down his yellowish-brown skin. The greatsword, mixed with Starfall Refined Steel, even had a rice-grain-sized chip knocked out of it. But the Bear warrior was in a more tragic state; his iron axe was struck back by an immense and irresistible force, its handle deeply embedded in his own facial bones. Blood instantly sprayed out like rain.

This tall and burly warrior, like a small giant, swayed twice without uttering a single word, then stumbled and fell to the ground, lifeless.

Experience +257

, the small words at the side of his vision slowly rose and faded.

Nehru, trembling, finished chanting his fireball spell, only to find that the lord had already led the Barbarians and Bear warriors into a chaotic entanglement. The old Kobold secretly glanced at Hert beside him. Reason compelled him to abandon the tempting idea of hitting everyone with one spell, and he shot the already-formed fireball into the distance.

He then began preparing the Bloodlust Art. According to Nehru's experience from tribal wars, using a buffing spell at this time was very appropriate. As long as he could ensure the main target of the buff was his own side, leaking a little to the enemy wouldn't matter.

But Hert suddenly reached out and gripped his slender arm, forcibly interrupting the process that had just begun.

"What are you doing!"

Nehru was startled. While a shaman's spell being interrupted wouldn't cause a backlash like a human mage, it was by no means a pleasant experience.

"The lord said you absolutely cannot use the Bloodlust Art without his command." Hert emphasized the word "absolutely," and combined with his powerful physique, it made him particularly convincing.

"Why?" The moment the words left Nehru's mouth, he knew it was a pointless question. How would that great dictator explain why? If he dared to ask, he'd surely get another kick.

"Richard must have his own reasons." Annie smiled, but her hands were clasped together, her inner turmoil far from as calm as she appeared. "I think he's simply incredibly talented at commanding small-scale battles."

The Centaurs remaining nearby were all nodding. Nehru wasn't foolish enough to argue with them at this point and could only stare blankly at the battle unfolding before him.

Highland Barbarians were already considered the tallest among humans, but standing before the Bearfolk, they were clearly dwarfed.

Among the diverse intelligent life forms, there was a general rule: size and strength were positively correlated. The strength a five-hundred-pound body could contain was simply greater than that of a two-hundred-pound one.

Therefore, strong races were often very tall, and even exceptions like Dwarves were heavily developed horizontally.

According to this rule, the Barbarians' strength should be inferior to the Bearfolk's because their physique was a full size smaller.

And in large-scale melees, the advantage brought by overwhelming strength was difficult for anything else to compensate for.

The combatants clashed without hesitation, their war cries and the clang of weapons suddenly erupting with fiery intensity. Moments later, victory and defeat were decided, and surprisingly, a swath of Bearfolk was knocked down.

The Barbarian warriors of High Mountain Keep were no longer the simpletons who roamed the ice plains. The changes brought by the system's attribute bonuses were nothing short of earth-shattering, enough to bridge the gap in strength between the two.