Forests Don't Support Idle Goblins

"General, they dare to oppose you," Scarface said obsequiously, hunching over.

Evilthroat ignored the goblin and stepped forward to look at the neat formation opposite him.

When Three Scars saw that the general ignored him, he carefully followed behind a few goblins. However, because he got too close, one of the goblins kicked him to the ground, and he rolled twice.

Despite his pain, he immediately got up and tentatively followed, keeping a distance from the earth goblins.

He heard a few whispers behind him. Three-Scar turned around and glared venomously at the goblins. "They must be laughing at me. How despicable. But these guys are going to die soon."

The goblins were under the control of various "military leaders" and stood in small square formations. Each of them held a thick wooden stick in their hand. The goblins in the front row each held a cup containing a pale red liquid. Their faces were expressionless, as if what was about to happen had nothing to do with them.

"These guys over there are really stupid, actually thinking they can fight against the Evil Throat Army," Scarface said, standing on tiptoe and craning his neck. "Wait a minute, when those slave soldiers who have drunk the holy water charge, these guys will be scared out of their wits."

He smirked, completely unconcerned about the impending battle. "They're just a bunch of centaurs and goblins, maybe even a few ogres could easily scatter them."

He didn't understand why the other side would do this; wouldn't it have been better to just surrender and avoid dying?

"You, go and make them surrender," General Evil Throat said, turning back to point at Three Scars.

Upon hearing the general's words, Three Scars immediately ran over happily, crossing the center of the battlefield and running all the way to the front of the Xiaer tribe's lines.

The goblins in front of him were all holding nearly two-meter-long, sharpened wooden poles. They silently watched Three-Scar, who stood at the front of the formation, as if watching a clown performance.

"The general said," Scarface shouted, "that you must surrender immediately, and he might consider sparing your lives."

He stood with his hands on his hips, shouting arrogantly, then surveyed the enemy before him with a smug look, as if he were surveying goblins huddled in a corner of a camp.

"These guys will probably all obey my orders from now on and be under my control." He squinted and sneered, already planning what to do with these newly joined goblins and what tortures to use to prevent them from escaping.

With a "whoosh," an arrow whistled through the air. Sanba felt a numbness on the side of his head, followed by a sharp pain that spread throughout his head. He immediately covered his only remaining ear, only to discover that the arrow had shot off his other ear.

"Ah, my ear!" he howled, then glared fiercely at the army formation before him, cursing with almost every swear word he knew. He had hated the way the goblins around him looked at him when the goblin cut off his ear, and now his only remaining ear was gone too.

As he cursed, Scarface searched around for the ear that had been shot off, and soon he spotted it not far away.

"Go back and tell your master that if he has the guts, he can attack!" A furious shout came from the goblin army. Three Scars picked up his ear and turned around. He saw a goblin standing on a wooden platform as tall as a person under a red flag embroidered with a black dragon.

"Hmph, just wait to die." Scarface spat fiercely, then grimaced in pain, clutching his wound as he ran towards the Evil Throat Army. He was going to exaggerate their attitude and tell the general that the Evil Throat Army would charge several times, letting those goblins who had drunk the holy water and gone mad tear those guys to shreds.

Just as he was preparing his words, his face shifting from viciousness to a fawning smile, "whoosh," another sound rang out, and an arrow fell from the sky, piercing directly into Sanba's back. The powerful momentum then knocked him to the ground, and with a "thud," he was pinned to the ground.

"Ah, General," Scarface cried, spitting blood as he struggled on the ground. The ear he was holding had fallen to the side from his earlier movements. "General..."

His hands clawed painfully at the ground. This area had been leveled by the Sharl tribe, and there were only some small grasses on the ground. Three-Scar grabbed at the grass leaves, trying to get closer to the Evil Throat Army.

Unfortunately, he didn't see a single expression on General Evil Throat's face in the distance. The other party didn't even glance at him, but instead kept his eyes fixed on the enemies who were waiting in formation.

Three-Scar spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed to the ground, blankly scanning the goblins and the hordes behind them. Due to the angle of view, he could only look up at them; this was the first time he had ever seen goblins from this perspective.

"Don't look at me like that," he groaned, spitting out another clot of blood. "I am your 'Overseer'."

"No..." Scarface gripped a blade of grass tightly, then collapsed to the ground and stopped moving.

"No..." Scarface gripped a blade of grass tightly, then collapsed to the ground and stopped moving.

He died, and after his death, his hand finally loosened. The little blade of grass he had been holding, stained with blood, swayed and stood tall in the breeze.

…………

"Well shot!" Charles shouted. The centaur Orek beside him put away his longbow. That arrow had accurately pinned the arrogant goblin to the center of the battlefield.

The centaurs and goblins around them remained silent, all intently watching the enemy forces opposite them. Earlier, Sharl had told everyone about the enemies they would encounter and reiterated the fact that the enemies would go berserk. However, many people had not yet witnessed the suffocating scene firsthand: a group of red mutated goblins, dragging their intestines, some even with their limbs shot off, would still charge at you. When their bloodied eyes stared intently at you, fear could overwhelm many.

"Get ready!" Charles shouted. "The enemy is likely to charge soon. Our homeland is behind us. If we retreat, those goblins will enslave us just like they enslaved the goblins."

"No one will have enough to eat, no one will have warm beds, no one will smile, and no one will have a tomorrow."

"If you don't want to live that kind of life, don't want to go back to the life you used to live in fear and trembling, and don't want to become a walking corpse like the person on the other side."

"Then, grip your weapon tightly, stare intently at the enemy charging towards you. They are not invincible; their bodies will bleed and be cut to pieces. As long as you are not afraid and persevere to the end, victory will always belong to us."

"There has never been a savior, and we do not rely on any gods. If we want to win and survive, we can only rely on ourselves."

"Victory belongs to us."

"Charles roared, and the goblins visibly tightened their grip on their spears, forming a dense formation with all their spears pointing forward like a hedgehog. If any enemy tried to attack them, they would inevitably run into the spear tips first."

Just as the Sharl tribe was on high alert, the opposing Ferocious Throat Army made its move.

Goblins kept stepping forward and forming several rows, making it seem as if the other side intended to deploy a hundred slave soldiers from the very beginning.

Immediately afterwards, the goblins drank the "holy water" from the cups in their hands. As the liquid went down, their bodies hunched over, and they began to wail in pain. Some of the thinner goblins even collapsed to the ground, their bodies trembling and convulsing.

Gradually, their green skin darkened, and visible heat began to emanate from their bodies. As their bodies trembled, their veins bulged, crawling all over their bodies like ugly earthworms.

Finally, a goblin roared and tore off his tattered clothes. His entire body had turned red, not like the skin turning red, but more like the blood vessels under his skin were congested.

The goblins roared continuously, and their figures gradually grew larger. Compared to their silent companions in the army behind them, they looked a whole size bigger.

"Roar!" A crazed goblin brandished his wooden club, his eyes bloodshot and saliva flying. He roared as he raised the club and charged toward the distant enemy.

As this mutated goblin charged, the remaining nearly one hundred goblins also rushed over, wielding wooden clubs, their roars echoing throughout the area.

"Hmph," the goblin sneered, a smirk playing on his lips. This time, he unleashed nearly a hundred mutated goblins, confident he could break through the enemy's formation.

He understood goblins; those cowardly creatures who searched for food in the forest every day, and after eating, they would just cower in their burrows. At the slightest disturbance, they would run away. He only needed to cut down a goblin regularly and display its head around the burrows of those guys to effectively intimidate them and make them obedient.

These guys on the other side are huddled together, trying to hold off my Evil Throat Army with those spears. They're just delusional.

As long as the first wave of goblins crashes into the spearhead and continues to frantically try to squeeze in and tear the enemy apart, those guys will be so frightened that they will drop their spears and turn to run for their lives. In this way, their dense formation will become a shackle that hinders them.

"Let's see how long you can hold out." Evil Throat narrowed his eyes and said in a low voice, his nose turning even redder with excitement.

But then, a collapse sound came from the center of the battlefield. Mutated goblins kept stepping into the traps. Some fell into the deep pits, while others roared and crawled on the ground. Their legs were caught in the animal traps and they could no longer run or charge.

Looking at the changes on the battlefield, Evil Throat frowned. "These guys were already prepared here, but only a few have fallen into the trap. I still have many slave soldiers; they're like weeds on the ground."

He brandished his longsword, signaling the next batch of goblins to step forward, while the officers scooped out a pale red liquid from large wooden barrels beside them and distributed it to the goblins.

"Next time will be your doomsday."

The wildly popular online novel, "Forests Don't Keep Idle Goblins," is a heartfelt work by Kapibala, the author of "Taking a Bath."