Chapter 66 - The Tails of Two Piggies
I found Armstrong dusting off his fur near the blast site. The other scrappers held a javeline mauler that I recognized.
“I know you,” I said. “You’re Hrodd.”
“Hrott,” he snarled. “What is beco of Rotte?”
I glanced back toward the reserve that I’d led down from the top of the bluff. “Dead,” I said. “He’ll trouble
no more.”
Hrott surged against the scrappers, and very nearly got loose. He was in his teen levels, after all. Quite a force to be reckoned with. It was no surprise he’d survived the blast.
“I kill talking goblin for this!” he roared, spittle flying from under his helt. “Lord of Habberport pay big for your capture, but I will bring him only your head! Will slaughter your—”
“Armstrong!” I said, holding my hand out. He dropped his rifle into it, and it very nearly drove
to the ground. I swung it around, struggling to lift it to point at the mauler chief’s chest.
Boom!
A red button blossod on Hrott’s chest armor. His words choked off as the realization took him. His legs gave out under him, and the javeline leader sagged to the ground, head drooping forward. His captors tentatively let his arms drop. They fell limp at the javeline’s sides.
I handed the rifle back and raised my voice. “Take his helt, and their tails! We’re making a new totem to commorate this day!”
A resounding cheer erupted from the surviving goblins. They pulled knives and cleavers, each one eager to be the goblin that claid the prize. They sward in, and I backed out of the press to take a breath.
The brothers had naced my tribe almost since the day I arrived on Rava. They were responsible for hundreds of goblin deaths, including several that had happened through lethal wounds dealt to
personally. More than that, they were disgusting traffickers of goblin parts. This wasn’t like Ringo and his under-educated swamp boglins. I wasn’t here to make friends with the Javeline. They lost that chance. I wanted them out of my forest.
There were other survivors, of course. But the tribe had a food shortage. Seed like an easy two-birds-one-stone kind of situations.
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System, how many days can the tribe subsist off the fallout from this battle?
We’d lost enough goblins and gained enough piggies to stave off our imdiate food concerns. A little pork goes a long way, and I had no doubt the noblins would stretch every al out of it that they could. But they’d be back to hamring iron soon enough. Industry awaited. And now, the biggest obstacle to our tribe’s growth had been soundly defeated.
I summoned my taskmasters for a powwow while the tribe began the task of collecting anything of value from the battlefield—a task that would likely take the rest of the day and a good portion of tomorrow.
“I know you all wanted to keep
safe,” I said. “But it’s clear that I can’t just sit back and let the tribe do the dirty work. I can’t just be a king, I have to be a leader. Starting tomorrow, we’re re-staffing Canaveral. Now that our tribe is safe, the next priority is food security, and then unification of the other bluffs.”
“And tonight?”
“Tonight we’re going to friggin’ party!”
* * *
Turns out goblins can get drunk off fernted bomb-fruit juice if you get at it before it goes explosive and boil the volatile bits out. Thank God for the igni bonus to heat-based crafting. The moon was fully lit by the ti I stumbled over to the cuddle puddle and collapsed on top. But before I could go to sleep, the System notification window popped up. I squinted and waved it away, but it was insistent.
Well, seeing as we’d just won a huge victory in large part thanks to firearms, so bigger goblins specialized in carting around so heavier firepower seed prudent. If I had to guess, the rounds we were using were about equal in power to a small pistol round, or maybe a varmint rifle. That was enough for goblin-sized threats like the javeline, who were only slightly taller than we were. But it was only a matter of ti until we ca across sothing needing more oomph. Goblins being only a ter tall and about as strong as a 6-year-old sowhat limited their proficiency with higher calibers.
Give
the Noblin Cannonneers.
The Cannonneers, please.
Christ, the second one!
* * *
The spell was a success.
But where are they?
The stars are blind in this matter.
The Great Spirit is silent.
We will scour the globe.
There is no need. If the stars are blind…
…then they are shadowed…
…by Raphina’s watchful eye.
End of Arc 1
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