Chapter 42: Demonstrating Strength

"Roar is coming, woof..."

"Run fast, woof..."

The Kobolds of Blackwell, who were currently queuing up for their meals, scattered in a frenzy. Some ducked into the Blackwell mines, while others scrambled up the surrounding hillsides, stuffing delicious food into their mouths even as they ran. Wild bison were notoriously difficult to bring to their dining tables.

Only four people did not run.

More accurately, two people, one goblin, and one kobold.

That kobold was none other than Goth. Judging by his incessantly trembling legs, it was clear that he, too, was filled with terror toward the tall, burly fellow before him.

As for why he didn't run, Goth couldn't quite explain it himself; he just felt that, at a time like this, running was not the right thing to do.

Steeling himself, Goth stepped forward and said, "Respected Lord Roar, we..."

"You actually... dare to steal my offerings... die!" Roar threw down his bulging backpack, let out a furious roar, and swung a massive wooden club toward Goth.

The club in his hand was essentially a small tree uprooted whole; it had been crudely processed at the base, but even its thinnest end was as thick as an adult's arm.

Though simple, it was thick and massive, and combined with the immense strength of the man wielding it, it possessed terrifying lethality.

If that blow landed true, Goth wouldn't just suffer broken bones; he would be smashed into a meat patty on the spot.

Goth never expected that Roar, who could usually communicate, would lose his mind the moment they met today and immediately try to club him to death. He retreated incessantly, but he could never escape the shadow of the massive club's strike.

Just as Goth thought he was doomed, a large hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and tossed him aside.

Goth tumbled several times after hitting the ground.

*Boom!*

The massive club slammed into the spot where he had just been standing, kicking up a cloud of dust. The powerful recoil caused the club to bounce up half a person's height.

The human man stood less than a step away from the right side of the club. It was clearly he who had thrown Goth out of the way.

What was he trying to do?

He wasn't planning on engaging this ogre in melee combat, was he?

Was he insane?

The ogre before them was nearly twice his height, with fists larger than his head and arms thicker than his waist, possessing enough strength to snap small trees.

Even the wildest barbarian wouldn't dare engage such a monster in close quarters.

The wisest choice would be to let the goblin sorcerer behind him blast him with magic.

But what the man did next left Goth dumbfounded, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

The human man actually had the goblin sorcerer transform him into a kobold.

Not only did he want to engage in melee combat, but he wanted to do it in the form of a kobold.

The man, now transformed into a kobold, held a spear—the most common weapon used by kobolds.

He swung the ordinary kobold spear with such force that it whistled through the air, his small stature darting incessantly around the ogre's feet.

Whether thrusting or slashing, every move was aimed at the ogre's legs.

While fighting, the transformed man shouted in Kobold: "These large fellows, woof, look very intimidating, woof, but in reality, they have fatal weaknesses, woof! That is, they are too slow, woof! As long as you master the rhythm, woof, his attacks are very easy to dodge, woof! Especially this behavior of swinging the club in wide circles—it's incredibly stupid, woof!

Before the club lands, woof, I have enough time to poke him several times, woof!

With his strength, he doesn't need to build up momentum like that, woof. He only needs to strike quickly and short; if he lets an attack land on me, woof, even a casual blow could flatten me, woof.

This kind of spear is best suited for thrusting, woof. Especially against thick-skinned fellows like this, woof, don't expect to pierce through in one go; you don't have that kind of strength, woof. As long as you keep thrusting at the same spot, it will eventually work, woof.

But I recommend the slashing tactic more, woof. Doing this will continuously strike the muscles in his legs, woof, causing him pain, and eventually even affecting his movements, woof.

If we're talking about the best combat style for kobolds, woof, it's short weapons, woof—especially dual blades. Make as much use of your small and agile bodies as possible, woof. As long as you sever their tendons, woof, their combat effectiveness will drop by sixty percent immediately, woof!

Shields are the least recommended, woof. When facing those who are taller and stronger than you, never try to block; that is using your weakness to challenge their strength, woof. Dodging so they cannot hit you is the correct way, woof.

Don't forget your tails; they are your third point of attack and your most powerful means of striking, woof. Especially when your body is spinning, woof, the power is greater and it's easier to catch them by surprise, woof.

But remember, such attacks must always be unexpected, woof. When you deliberately build up power, it's equivalent to abandoning your greatest advantage, woof, making it easy for the enemy to seize an opportunity. Once a mistake is made, the consequences will be fatal, woof!"

In just a few minutes, the man-turned-kobold had cycled through four or five different weapons, handling each with great familiarity, his thrusts, slashes, and chops flowing like water.

Roar was driven to madness. He swung his massive club with a loud hum in one hand, while his other hand constantly reached down, trying to grab the kobold dancing around his feet.

However, compared to the man-turned-kobold, the burly Roar was as clumsy as a giant bear, missing every single attack.

Before long, Roar's legs were covered in wounds. Most were not fatal, but they were painful—especially the strikes aimed at the tendons and bones, which caused sharp pains whenever he moved, directly affecting his overall movement and making it harder to hit his opponent.

"Woof! Woof! Woof!"

Cheers and shouts of encouragement erupted from the surroundings.

The kobolds who had originally scattered had somehow gathered back together, each one excitedly cheering for the man. They looked so bloodthirsty and excited that it seemed as if they wanted to rush forward and fight the ogre themselves.

At this moment, Goth completely understood the man's true intention.

He wasn't just using this ogre to establish authority; he was also using him to bridge the gap between himself and the kobolds.

Fighting an ogre while transformed into a kobold would clearly win more favor from the other kobolds; even if they knew he was a human, they would still stand on his side.

This had been the man's plan from the very beginning.

Goth thought back to three days ago, when the man had first started practicing various weapons by transforming into a kobold.

Looking at him in the arena today, a chill ran from the base of Goth's tail to the top of his head. This young man, who didn't look very old, was absolutely a top-tier combat genius among humans.

Fortunately, fortunately, they hadn't clashed with him at the start, otherwise, they would have been slaughtered long ago.

*This is a super thick thigh; I must cling to it tightly in the future.*

"Good!" Goth jumped up and down, shouting louder than any other kobold. At this moment, he had completely abandoned any thoughts of scheming against Gawain; he was determined to cling to Gawain's thigh, to be his loyal hound, and to follow him to the very end.

Once he made this decision, his previous hesitation and worries vanished instantly. He felt his entire kobold life was filled with hope—beautiful hope.

In the future, he wouldn't have to worry about ore trades or whether his tribe would have enough to eat, or if they would encounter even more powerful monsters.

Because there was a more powerful existence to shield them from the wind and rain.

Most importantly, this powerful existence seemed very kind; not only did he not enslave them, but he also provided them with delicious food every day.

Could there really be such good things in the world?

No wonder his clansmen had been so happy lately.

He should have thought this way much sooner.

*Awooo!*

Roar let out a grief-stricken scream and slumped to the ground, unable to stand.

The tendons in both his feet could not withstand Gawain's repetitive, meat-slicing strikes; both had been severed.

Gawain smacked his lips as if unsatisfied and shouted, "Anna, treat him! I haven't finished cycling through my weapons yet!"