The Undead were already very familiar with Toril's Goblins.
The most crucial problem with these little runts was not that they did not know fear, but that they could not tell whether their opponents were actually stronger than them... Whenever their numbers seemed endless, too many to count, Goblins would always believe themselves invincible.
Of course, if Hobgoblins stood behind them, then they would be unbeatable!
The several thousand, perhaps even tens of thousands, of Hobgoblins in the Giant's Spine Mountains gave them the courage to fight even Gods... Mere Elves did not even have half their numbers!
As for the difference in levels, what the hell did that matter!
Faced with these monsters charging straight down from the mountainside, the Undead seemed a little flustered... Of course, they were not afraid of Goblins, but these little monsters were always accompanied by a stench that could choke the heavens. The relatively cleanliness-loving Undead would rather face enormous divine monsters; even ten thousand of those would be no problem.
Between fighting until they were half-dead and being smoked half-dead, they chose the more tiring job.
Prince Holmes, standing atop the open carriage and watching the battle, was actually somewhat surprised. He felt that the Undead took Goblins much more seriously than they had Demon worshippers.
Especially the Mages, who had always seemed rather nonchalant. They cast Meteoric Firestorm across the sky as though mana cost them nothing.
The Imbutu Crown Prince was a little unable to understand what exactly the Terrasil Elves prioritized.
He was not surprised that Mages did not act. No matter how many Mages there were, they had to consider whether they were counting spell slots or calculating mana points to get by. Even if they had enough of both, casting materials were an expensive expenditure for anyone.