Hunting Kobolds (Lower)

After distributing his stats, Renard glanced at the text in parentheses behind them and found it still unqualified, which made him scratch his head.

Of course, he hadn't held out much hope. Given the System's usual behavior, reaching the qualified standard in three years would be a stroke of luck.

Just as Renard was contemplating how much he would gain tomorrow, Tommy shivered as he crawled out from outside the tent. He quickly burrowed into his sleeping bag and let out a long sigh of relief.

Renard turned his head and saw that Tommy's hair was already frosted with ice. A look of admiration appeared on his face, and he extended his hand, giving a thumbs-up. "You guys are awesome!"

Tommy didn't understand what he meant, smiled reservedly, and continued to shiver in his sleeping bag.

A moment later, Ben also walked into the tent, shivering. He was more reserved, bowed in greeting, and then slowly crawled into his own sleeping bag.

Renard turned over and looked at Ben, asking, "Ben, I've noticed these kobolds don't seem very strong."

Ben also turned sideways and confirmed, "That's right. Their combat power isn't even as good as a half-grown child's. To put it bluntly, even you, young master, could easily kill a few of them."

Renard wasn't angered by his analogy and asked again, "These guys can't even be called opponents. Why doesn't Saint Brieuc Fortress just send people to wipe them out?"

This question had been bothering him for a long time. He didn't expect a precise answer, just some clues.

However, Ben's wisdom exceeded his expectations. He raised two fingers and said, "Two reasons."

"I'm eager to hear them," Renard said, putting on an attentive expression.

Ben retracted his middle finger and said, "Firstly, indigenous races like kobolds, goblins, and orcs have very high reproductive rates. If there's enough food, they can have at least two litters a year, totaling over twenty offspring."

"Like rats?" Renard raised an eyebrow.

"Just like rats!" Ben's tone was firm. "And these indigenous people aren't actually weak. What we're seeing are just wanderers who have been cast out."

"Cast-out wanderers?" Renard frowned. "Continue."

Ben cleared his throat. "The so-called cast-out wanderers are indigenous people who have been screened and driven out of their homes. Most of them are the old, weak, and sick."

"Survival of the fittest?" Renard began to understand.

"That's not wrong," Ben nodded affirmatively. "The living conditions of these indigenous people are very harsh, and food scarcity is a major cause of death. To ensure the survival and reproduction of the entire tribe, the old, weak, and sick can only be driven out to fend for themselves, so as not to drag the tribe down."

Renard took a deep breath. Such things were not uncommon. He had heard of people sealing away elderly people who could no longer work to die in tombs.

Cruel? If they weren't forced into it, who would do such heinous things?

Ben continued to speak eloquently, "For these indigenous people driven out of their tribes to survive, they must band together for warmth, and that's how indigenous camps come to be."

Renard's pupils contracted slightly. He looked down at his hands. Although they were clean, they seemed to be stained with countless sins.

After a long pause, he sighed dejectedly. He had no choice.

Ben seemed to sense his thoughts, tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Young master, are you pitying these indigenous people?"

Renard didn't answer, or rather, his answer was already given.

"There's no need," Ben wiped his nose. "These guys are not to be trifled with. We can kill them easily because we are professionals. If ordinary farmers encountered them, they would be gnawed down to the bone."

"Every winter when there isn't enough food, they come in groups to raid the countryside. They won't spare pigs, dogs, cattle, or sheep, and they won't even spare people."

"They don't produce anything, they only plunder others. What's the difference between them and bandits? Is such a species worthy of pity?"

Renard felt a little better. "If these are all wandering indigenous people, then where are the real indigenous tribes?"

Ben shifted his body, finding a more comfortable position. "The truly powerful indigenous tribes are deep in the mountains and old forests. They have their own civilizations, much like us humans."

He pointed to the west. "Have you noticed something? The closer we get to the Ambrisset Mountains, the stronger the indigenous tribes become. For example, in the No. 1 kobold camp you designated, there are thousands of indigenous people."

Renard nodded, affirming his statement.

Ben smiled. "Don't you understand yet?"

Renard frowned. He often heard people mention the dangers of the Ambrisset Mountains. "You mean all those indigenous tribes are inside the Ambrisset Mountains?"

"That's right," Ben sighed. "Killing these outer indigenous people is only a temporary fix. I dare bet that if nothing unexpected happens, within two or three months, the camp we razed will become lively again."

Tommy, finally freed from the cold, chimed in, "Unless you can go deep into the Ambrisset Mountains and strike a major blow to their tribes, no matter how many you kill, more will emerge."

He struggled to turn over and continued, "However, the strength of the indigenous tribes that can settle there is terrifyingly immeasurable."

Going deep into the Ambrisset Mountains? Renard twitched the corner of his mouth. Even the king probably wouldn't dare.

"What about the second reason?" Renard's curiosity was piqued.

"The second reason?" Ben pondered for a moment, then looked at Tommy, indicating for him to answer.

Tommy perked up and smiled. "Young master should have heard an Eastern proverb: 'When the birds are gone, the good bow is put away; when the cunning rabbits are dead, the hounds are cooked.' It means..."

Renard waved his hand, interrupting him. "I know what it means. You can continue."

Tommy's expression was awkward. He said sheepishly, "If these indigenous people didn't help, how would those farmers and tenant farmers willingly gather under the lords' banners?"

He sighed. "The reason the Barren Land is barren is because of its sparse population and lack of labor. In reality, the land here is very fertile and vast."

Renard wasn't stupid. He immediately understood what they meant. If there were no dangers in the wilderness, the farmers and tenant farmers could go and cultivate the land themselves, and wouldn't need to serve the lords or pay high taxes.

He gave a self-deprecating laugh and said softly, "Dirty politics, disgusting exploiters."

At this point, his expression suddenly froze. He then thought of himself. Wasn't he a descendant of exploiters now?

He coughed awkwardly twice and quickly changed the subject. "The indigenous people are inexhaustible. Only the lords can protect their people from harm."

Tommy and Ben exchanged glances, and simultaneously turned over, sleeping with their backs to him.

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