Warriors will die if they charge.

The dwarf drew his one-handed axe and grumbled at the goblin who was stopped at the edge of the forest, "Damn goblin, he's been chasing after me ever since he took a little of my stuff."

Marcus, holding a torch and a war club, stared at the water ghost emerging from the water: "Brother dwarf, this is troublesome. You take the goblins with you. I've angered the water ghost, and we're going to be torn to pieces."

"Don't worry, big guy. Fighting alongside dwarves is an honor, even if you die." Though his words were light, Bardin's beard trembled, and Marcus couldn't tell if it was from tension or excitement.

Pairs of eyes glowing red, and faces twisted and ferocious, densely covered every corner of the woodland.

Their expressions appeared more frenzied and repressed, with foul-smelling saliva dripping between their canine teeth. Their scarlet eyes did not reflect greed for food, but rather the bloodthirsty desire of fierce dogs just released from their cages, fighting on their master's orders.

The number of goblins was even stranger, at least thirty.

On the other side, the water ghosts were no less formidable than the crazed goblins. They had human-like bodies, with sharp, upright fins extending from their heads to the ends of their slender tails. Their claws and teeth were sharp, and some of the stronger individuals even carried rusty iron hammers and sharp bone knives.

There were more than twenty of them in total.

The atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive. Water ghosts are humanoid monsters with a strong sense of territory, and when they are active at night, they will indiscriminately attack all creatures near the riverbank.

The goblin, whose cerebellum was about the size of a walnut, also knew that the water ghosts on the shore were not to be trifled with, but Bardin seemed to have taken away something of vital importance to them, and stood in the forest roaring in provocation.

"Brother Dwarf..." Marcus took a step back, his boots scraping against the gravel.

A breeze swept across the river, carrying a fishy smell through the bushes, and the dense rustling of the leaves drowned out the goblin's sharp cries.

Just then, the dwarf, with an uncharacteristically slippery gait, turned around before Marcus, and Bardin, with his short legs, swiftly ran upstream towards the riverbank.

Marcus, not to be outdone, followed the dwarf's pace and "ran" forward.

This is not escape, but enticement.

Being caught in a pincer movement will lead to danger. Running across the riverbanks between the woodlands, if the goblins and water ghosts catch up, a collision is inevitable.

Monsters fighting each other can definitely get them out of danger, or at the very least, shake off either side and escape at least half of the danger.

The dwarf was very agile, his short legs swinging at an incredible speed, comparable to that of a normal human. He turned to Marcus, who was standing beside him, and said, "Big guy, my name is Bardin, a ranger from the mountains."

Watching Bardin swing his leg so fast, Marcus thought to himself, "So dwarves can be rangers? Then why can't I be a thief?"

"Marcus, from Riverside Town, how did you get entangled with goblins?"

"I heard that there were dwarven items hidden in the goblin nests near Linhe Town, so I spent some time retrieving them."

Dwarves stealing from goblin lairs—this world is truly absurd.

Marcus pondered, glancing back at the goblins and water ghosts following closely behind: "Ahead lies the rocky beach. The water ghosts won't come near. Are you confident you can handle the goblins?"

"Don't worry, Old Bardin has killed more goblins than you've ever seen. And what dwarf can count how many bottles of ale he's drunk in his lifetime? Haha."

It seems that even dwarven rangers cannot escape their racial trait—bragging.

Marcus hadn't even caught his breath after running for so long, but Bardin, who had been chased for half the night, was already exhausted.

The dwarf wiped the sweat from his brow, glanced at the humans who seemed perfectly normal, and wondered how a human could have more stamina than a dwarf.

The water ghosts disappeared, and on the gravelly beach far from the river, Bardin threw down his cumbersome backpack and crossbow, and handed Marcus a round iron oak shield: "I'm wearing chainmail, and the goblin's inferior weapons can't pierce it. You'll cover my attacks later."

The dwarf's round shield was wide enough to cover most of his torso, like an iron pot.

Even a burly man like Marcus could use it to protect his vital abdomen and throat.

Marcus nodded, gripping the leather of the round shield. He admitted he didn't have much combat experience, but since this dwarf could steal things from the goblin's lair, he must be quite skilled.

He stood before the dwarf, shield in hand and club in hand, ready to cover Bardin's precise shots in the battle to come.

But unexpectedly, the dwarf stood on a sturdy rock, his beard billowing, and roared angrily at the crimson eyes that were pursuing him in the darkness:

"Come on, you goblin thieves, you stole from the dwarves, you must pay with your blood!"

Bardin jumped off the rocks, and in the afterglow of the torchlight, he gripped his axe and charged towards the goblin pile, leaving Marcus alone, bewildered in the wind.

He opened his mouth unconsciously, looking at Badin's resolute charging back, and was momentarily confused.

No, friend, aren't you a ranger? Why are you charging forward with an axe, leaving me, a warrior, to provide cover?

Marcus wanted to join the charge, but then a bad thought came to mind—the warrior's handbook contained thirty-six records of deaths during charges.

Even when facing goblins, you must not launch a charge!

Marcus walked silently behind Bardin, holding his round shield, his long legs giving him an advantage.

Bardin, who had already charged into the goblin horde, swung his axe up and down, blood staining his thick, dark beard, as he sang an ancient ballad.

"Heads fell in droves, like thunderclaps in the mountains."

"Beyond the snow-capped mountains, we will settle scores with hatred..."

Marcus followed closely behind, plunging headlong into the chaotic goblin mass.

Several short spears struck the round shield instantly, allowing Bardin, who was preparing to dodge, to unleash his terrifying power. He spun around and his battle axe drew a deadly arc, cleaving the approaching goblin in half at the waist.

The dwarf, like a skilled butcher, scattered the blood and pieces of flesh stuck to his guillotine across every corner of the gravel beach.

"Well done! Old Bardin is practically handing his back to you."

Fighting with the dwarves behind him allowed Marcus to focus all his attention on the front.

The goblin attacking him from the side resembled a wild beast with a barbed collar; with each step, its crimson eyes grew more frenzied, and it swung its rusty dagger while uttering indistinct curses and roars.

The war club struck the goblin's defenseless chest, the hardwood hammerhead sinking into the goblin's body with a wail, like hitting a lump of jelly.

He swung his round shield fiercely, the hard iron-clad edge slapping the face of another goblin that pounced on him, causing its head to turn half a circle along its neck, and several rotten teeth flew out of its mouth, rolling on the blood-stained ground.

It turned its head and stared at the knight with malevolent eyes full of hatred.

Marcus seized the opportunity, raised his right leg, and kicked the goblin's head off his shoulder.

The countless goblins surging towards him and the dwarfs gave Marcus no time to ponder what had turned the timid goblins into this state. He continued to fight these troublesome little creatures with his shield and staff.

As for the fear of the first battle?

What is that?