Goblin

After parting ways, Renard continued heading northwest.

The further northwest he went, the more desolate it became, until finally, not a single human figure could be seen. Before him lay an endless expanse of barren land, with wild grass half his height. Dry branches and leaves were adorned with sparkling ice flowers, swaying feebly in the cold wind.

He quickly rallied his spirits, for this was already monster territory.

The tall, thin wild grass was enough to conceal the tracks of kobolds and goblins. Those detestable and cowardly creatures often jumped out unexpectedly to trouble adventurers.

As expected, he hadn't gone far before he was blocked by dozens of natives.

Dark green skin, large pointed ears, a bulbous nose, short stature, and completely naked, they were dressed like vagrants squatting on street corners.

If Renard guessed correctly, what appeared before him was a relatively organized band of goblin bandits. He accepted the goblin extermination quest, preparing for his second battle in this otherworld.

The goblins at the forefront wore a few decent pieces of armor, though they were so filthy it was impossible to tell when they were last washed. Spears made of animal bones could barely be considered weapons.

The leading goblin chieftain even carried a tattered wooden shield, his smug expression making one feel both annoyed and amused.

To be honest, goblins weren't very strong. They were only as tall as eight or nine-year-old children, and their strength was even less than that of a child.

However, underestimating them because of their appearance would surely lead to a great loss.

Goblins were actually very tricky. They held grudges, used tools, and their sheer numbers, combined with their skill at hiding in the grass and ambushing with rocks and sharp iron tools, made them formidable.

Most importantly, they could concoct poisons and would coat their weapons with them to deal with enemies.

These poisons were often derived from certain poisonous creatures, and their toxicity was so potent that even a scratch on the skin could cost half a life.

Scum Renard had once been careless and fallen victim to their tactics, lying in bed for three days and three nights. If not for two seasoned alchemists in Saint Brieuc Fortress, it was questionable whether he would have survived.

Yet, it was precisely this mastery of poison concoction that brought the goblins unforeseen disaster.

Alchemists were very fond of these little creatures. They were clever, obedient, focused on their work, and most importantly, worked without demanding payment. Furthermore, goblins' physical structures were quite similar to humans', making them excellent test subjects.

The Kingdom of Arthur strictly prohibited inhumane acts like human experimentation. Thus, alchemists settled for the next best thing, finding goblins as substitutes for their experiments, resulting in hundreds of thousands, if not more, of goblins dying at their hands each year.

The immense demand created countless renowned goblin hunters. Ordinary hunters, struggling to make ends meet, also identified goblins as a significant source of income. The law of the jungle, survival of the fittest, was vividly displayed here.

In the past, Renard would have gladly captured and sold these goblins to the alchemists in Saint Brieuc Fortress. But now, with a System quest before him, he couldn't afford to show mercy.

The two sides remained at a stalemate for about five minutes, with the goblins showing no signs of attacking.

Renard sighed in frustration, spurred his horse, and charged forward.

His warhorse let out a chilling neigh. He swung his greatsword fiercely, its sharp blade cleaving directly towards the nearest goblin chieftain.

"Screech!" The fragile head was instantly split in two, and foul-smelling brain matter splattered out.

With their strongest fighter instantly killed, the surrounding goblins immediately knew they had provoked someone they shouldn't have. Terrified, they scattered like startled birds.

Renard rode his horse, charging left and right, truly like Zhao Zilong's seven charges and seven retreats at Changban Slope.

However, the results were not significant; after a long while, he had only cut down a dozen or so goblins.

The goblins' cunning and persistence were almost as renowned as their cowardice. When they realized Renard's strength was not as formidable as they had imagined, they regrouped and trailed behind him, waiting for an opportunity.

Renard knew that unless a decisive victory was achieved, he wouldn't be able to shake off these bloodthirsty natives.

As expected, the slowly regrouping goblins regained their courage. They moved their slender legs and attacked from three sides, even managing to maintain a semblance of formation. Such rigorous combat tactics could rival street brawls.

Perhaps spurred by their numerical advantage, the goblins at the front couldn't help but raise their weapons, letting out sounds that seemed like challenges.

Renard reined in his horse, turned it around, and his face took on an unprecedented seriousness.

If he had intended to intimidate the goblins and escape earlier, he now intended to annihilate these annoying creatures completely.

He had to give his utmost attention, even if his opponents were the most cowardly and fearful creatures of the Barren Land.

Seeing their opponent adopt a fighting stance, the goblins who had been relentlessly pursuing immediately slammed on the brakes. Their companions behind them, unable to dodge in time, crashed into each other in a chaotic mess, their attack formation instantly becoming disastrous.

The chaos continued for a long time. The goblins reformed their ranks, incessantly shouting "Ogre ogre!" as if to show off, but they dared not advance a single step.

They jostled and shoved, as if trying to push their companions in front of them. The goblin motto was: run to the back during battle, rush to the front for spoils, send companions to die, and enjoy the benefits yourself.

A faint smile of mockery appeared on Renard's lips. He immediately stopped wasting time, sword in hand, his warhorse whinnying, and charged into the goblin bandits with an invincible demeanor.

The goblins, who had been shoving each other, were suddenly caught off guard by the opponent's unannounced assault. Their reaction was to freeze in place.

It wasn't until the warhorse was upon them, kicking the bones of several front-line goblins to smithereens, that the remaining goblins cried out and swung their weapons in resistance.

However, their inferior spears were unable to pierce the warhorse's thick cloth armor, let alone penetrate Renard's leather armor and harm him.

He then became like a tiger entering a flock of sheep. His longsword transformed into countless cold glints, slashing horizontally, vertically, and diagonally. In less than ten minutes, he had once again routed the goblin bandits.

More than half of the goblin bandits were killed. The remaining ones were utterly terrified and soon fled in disarray.

Only after all the goblins had disappeared did Renard let out a weary sigh of relief. In truth, killing goblins was not as easy as it looked; at the very least, wielding a sword while riding a horse was an extremely difficult skill to master.

He rested for a few minutes, and sensing no one else moving around, he dismounted and began searching the mangled goblin corpses.

Ten minutes later, Renard returned to his warhorse with a smile, several tattered leather pouches in his hand.

As mentioned earlier, goblins were masters of poison. Some were so skilled they could rival alchemist apprentices. What he held in his hand was the poison he had scavenged from the corpses.

Although he didn't know its effects, it would surely come in handy.